Off the top of my head
I’ve plucked thoughts of laundry
dinner and love
how one is never done
one must always be planned
and one is never mine
at least not
to my exact specifications
and how all of them
begin with something clean
a cloth a pan a heart
and end up stained
dirty broken or burnt
and I am left to (with some trepidation)
try to get what’s dirty
clean again
poet
Cheers
Drinking Red Bull and Jäger
in a barroom where
broken promises and hearts mingle
with slurred words; distortions
and the beat of glass striking tabletops
instead of tears
an “upper downer” so to speak
that in its own strange way
helps me to take it all in
acceptance that tomorrow
is just another of the very same
day
She writes
She scrawls out heartbreak
in black ink
across white space
a solitary blood-letting
rivulets mark the page
in messy loops and turns
until a clot forms
to bottle up her nerves
and she can breathe
one deep sigh
confirms catharsis…
for now
she is ok.
Unpacking
I’m Lisa, and this is my blog. While I’d like to say I’ve done a million things and I’ve got a laundry list of things I can say about ME and all I have accomplished so I am here to share, I can’t. No gold star. I’m still trying to figure out who I am. That’s, in large part, why I began this blog and why, if you take a look back at some of my earlier posts you’ll see a bit of an evolution. Me, moving in some small way with each post (in essence, a piece of me that I am with some trepidation sharing with the world) toward an understanding of who I am and what I am “about.” I am a work in progress. I am a poet and a writer.
One of the thoughts pervading my mind as of late is, what will I say about myself when I am 50? Fifty years old. A half a century. Two 25 year spans within a lifetime. How will I have changed? Childhood seems far away when I simply look at the numbers, yet hearing a train horn in the distance as I lay in bed can suddenly take me back as if it were yesterday. Sometimes, it definitely feels so.
So there it is. I have no “about.” I have a journey that’s not over yet. A journey that is in constant evolution and one that I have been blessed with the ability to share through words. When I take the time to tap out a simple string, tied together by an idea, a feeling, an emotion, a memory, I connect more with who I am. Perhaps then, when I am 50 I will know more. Maybe then, I will be able to create and clearly articulate who I am, summed up neatly and succinctly on an About page. Until then I will journey and write in this place, this place of words.
Flight delay
birds don’t carry baggage
they leave it behind
and fly
perhaps that’s why we’re so different
because we carry with us
a pebble here, a twig there
baggage that bleeds
but never gets lighter
and keeps us earthbound
helplessly flapping
with our eyes skyward
exhausted by heavy weight
but still seeking ourselves
in the treetops
we are only sure to reach
if we let go
Hidden
Split and splintered
like weapons, words hurled
at once cut me off at the knees
down I fall silently
in a wood surrounded
by those with stronger roots
a crash heard only in my heart
bits of me
who I used to be
unfound and cloaked
in dust
Limbo
Presently I am alive
but I’m feeling rather dull
as happens when you shoot for the moon,
miss the mark and find yourself
crashing down without a safety
burned to the point of numbness
and wondering when the pain ended
and limbo began
then the epiphany…
there are bills to pay
and mouths to feed
an alarm clock shouting orders
and a bladder full of yesterday
screaming to be emptied
so with quiet, masterful care I
sit on the edge of my bed
forgetting to remember
what it means to really live
and with one great heave
propel myself into the routine
that keeps me here
Navigation: lost
Sometimes there’s just a hole
and sometimes it remains
no matter what you use
to try to fill it
to smooth out the road ahead
sometimes the sun won’t shine in
the dark spaces between
no matter your speed or
the size of the dust clouds
kicked up by road-worn tires
no matter how you try
to blink away the clouds
and the storms they bring
so you open the floodgates
let the roiling pain slip through
to light flash strips on the pavement and in morning find yourself a different being…mourning the lightness of what once was while trying to navigate the heaviness of what is
watching the mile markers go by
lost
Headspace
All I do is scream
Even my conversation
is a shout, unbearable
to my own ears
Who am I?
It seems anger has taken over
speaks for me in my dreams
and waking hours
In harsh tones and insults
An axe blade to chop down
Feelings of vulnerable me
that later show themselves as hot tears, salt poured on wounds too deep to heal
A headspace I want desperately
to leave…
Moon
Love you are
a silver glow
a ball of light
in my night sky
I chase, you hide
behind clouds, with stars around you
and disappear with dawn
never mine
Your gravity holds me
I’m pushed out to sea
and drawn in once more
you wax and wane
and I
in the darkness you leave
look skyward
still…
Golifely 