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Saturday, January 29, 2011

January dribbles - 29

Music in his ears, he stomped the beat, oblivious to traffic’s roar. Stars in his eyes, he read the text; dreaming of other places, hit reply. Thoughts in his mind of flowers drove out the stench of everyday; fingers hit keys. Cars tried and failed—can’t stop. Today he died.

I just heard from a friend about a young man who died where she works; he walked straight into busy traffic while listening to headphones and texting. It kind of puts that youtube video of the woman walking into the fountain into perspective. If you're reading this, please warn your family and friends.

Friday, January 28, 2011

January dribbles - 28

They have a hundred words for rain: Storm-soaked and cold as pain; showered, drenched with blessings; ground needs it; ground’s falling away; drizzle on mist-wreathed trees; Scotch mist we used to say, when unrelenting puddles drooled from skies all dull and gray.

A hundred words to turn the forests green.

January dribbles - 27

Mist of secrets hides the blemished valley. Chemical steam, wreathed soft, melts onto trees of green. Sweet water flows like silk under the gold where sun breaks through. And you?

Mists of secrets hide your eyes from me, while smoky dreams are tossed to flowing streams; love sets us free.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

January dribbles - 26

Cold outside; the promised sun is high but gray mist here. We drive
through forests looming out of doom where bright inverted sunshine turns the sky
to rain’s reflection splashing dry.
It’s cold outside but in the car
the mystery and joy will travel far. There’s hope inside
and fun.

January dribbles - 25

Little kit through shadows creeping
Snatches mouse through narrows sneaking
Sleek, delicious, cleans her whiskers
Yum.

Bluebird high in tall tree flitting
Down on squirrel never quitting
Sitting watching feeding birdseed
Yum.

Kitten’s oft-inspiring treks now
Rest in dreams in comfort’s house, how
Vanished hopes are banished, canned, still
Yum.

Monday, January 24, 2011

January dribbles - 24

The spider stalked across the grass. Except this green was carpet, and small boy screamed.

“No problem,” said Mum, capturing errant beast with card-capped cup. She told the child to open the door then freed her ancient foe into the wild. “He’s okay now.”

Child hurried out and squished it.

January dribbles - 23

Shall we stay? Shall we go? Promised sun threads feeble rays through growing nests of clouds. But trips are planned. Time rests on our command. We make our way.

So, stay or go? Standing atop a mist-wreathed cliff, looking down on painted river under sky, Sunday’s sun-fire. A glorious trip!

Sunday, January 23, 2011

January dribbles - 22

It’s the books’ fault. She dreamed the honey of love on his lips but tasted garlic. She dreamed the touch of silk and he wore jeans.

It’s the movies’ fault. He imagined music and breathless enticement and images blurred at the seams.

It’s the truth; electricity fades but love keeps.

Friday, January 21, 2011

January dribbles - 21

One day they went to a tourist trap, flies drawn to food. She watched couples hold hands and wished he’d make some sign for her. If he’d just press her shoulder—better, take her in his arms; kiss her perhaps… She fell in love but all he did was smile.

January dribbles - 20

Dreaming butterflies in shadows
Curtains flutter and the hallowed sky
Reflects on specks of dust.

Dreaming squirrels in the trees
He sees that patterns of the breezes fly
Like rainbows into rust.

Dreaming mystery and magic
See the kitten and the puppy fly like
Clouds of summer dancing winter’s fire.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

January dribbles - 19

In dreams, she flies through times gone by. Remember when… her child comes to her bed; she pats his head. In dreams child smiles and she’s at peace. Nurse leaves the room. “She’s good today.” Son visits and she dreams her spouse, sets table in their house. “She smiled today.”

January dribbles - 18

Boy dreams a wide computer screen where scheming aliens bleed. Girl dreams a valiant princess setting plans that win the war. Boy dreams the princess rescued from a ship of awesome hoods. Girl dreams her rescuer’s blood and saves his life. Boy dreams of mighty power. Girl wins the hour.

January dribbles - 17

Small boy dreamed fields of green then worked with money. Small girl dreamed fields of gold, then tended bees and worked with honey. Boy met and married girl, combining dreams and scenes. She keeps a honey farm; he keeps the books; and bees keep fields arrayed in gold and green.

Monday, January 17, 2011

January dribbles - 16

The sun came out, surprising so dark into winter; girl played in the yard, hard stones pretending fancy fields of green. The smell of gasoline like flowers blew restless past the gate; a car backfired.

Girl ran in crying, found her Mom in sobs and on TV a stranger dying.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

January dribbles - 15

Dreaming sometimes made him cry, seeing how long, wondering why the world would never change. He waved his hands up high, forgot to remember why it seemed strange. Would the world ever hear?

Dreaming sometimes made him cry. A stranger made the dreamer bleed and die; red tears black streaming.

Friday, January 14, 2011

January dribbles - 14

“The sky’s crying,” said the little boy, plucking a broken bird’s egg from the ground. They buried the shell under leaf-mold and weeds; and rain kept falling down.

“The sky’s dripping,” said little boy’s sister, shaking the wet from her hair.

“Sky’s splashy,” laughed the baby with never a care.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

January dribbles - 13

In a moment I’ll wash the pots—smell lemon, fingers bubble-soaked in suds. In a moment I’ll tidy the mail—ice-cold with the gray outdoors. In a moment we’ll go for a walk, where green grass covers mud with seeds of life. In a moment, she says—mother and wife.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

January dribbles - 12

Dreaming rivers flow
To open seas where winds of
Change and reason blow.

Dreaming spires will fall
When blooms of spring all turn to
Memories and dust.

Dreaming birds awake;
Shaken feathers fall like rust
Burning snow’s shadow.

Dreaming hope reflect
On promises and end of
Trust that seasons spent.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

January dribbles - 11

Open it. It’s blank.

Read it. It’s blank.

Think about it… and slowly the writing appears. The picture… See what you’re thinking of? No? Tell me who. Have you guessed that I’ve sent you this card. Think of me. Picture me.

Open it. I’m reading your thoughts on my machine.

Monday, January 10, 2011

January dribbles - 10

When they replaced me with robo-mom I thought it’d turn out okay. Looking back, I suspect I wasn’t so sure beforehand, but I didn’t have much choice. So here I am, up to my elbows in suds one moment; flat on the floor throwing sparks from my wiring the next.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

January dribbles - 9

Station platform is cold, rain like snow, skies like stone, while whistling rails atone for ice and time. Woman shivers, gloved fingers grasping her cane; she, tight-folded, statue-still with frozen eyes.

Train pulls in, hobbled lady, “Sit here.” Tunnel looms, engine zooms.

Blue skies are bright as woman’s warming gaze.

January dribbles - 8

Child tries to run. “No,” says Mama. Child stops.
Child tries to climb. “No,” says Mama. Child drops.
Child tries to sing. “No,” says Mama, before
Child tries to cry. “No,” says Mama. Closed door.
Child tries and Mama cries. Wait. In the end
Mama’s bending to child’s trying love.

January dribbles - 7

They’ll change the world with their words, with their recital of others’ words, with their endless urge like tides to make more words. They’ll change if they can ever agree, or nothing changes, like waves washed under the sea.

Change it; change everything; keep it the same. Time’s changing too.

Friday, January 7, 2011

January dribbles - 6

Like kings crowned with wisdom, irrelevant degrees held as scepters under their arms, naysayers fill their words with ink-spilled blood, telling all what to think. Newspaper prints what’s heard, what sells, till reader, thinking stilled, believes what the writing tells… till acid rain destroys again, and warming births its pain.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

January dribbles - 5

Recycling goes in the yellow bin.
Recycled dreams turn yellow with age, like sepia photographs bent in brittle frames.
Recycled hopes are yellow-green where envy’s weeds seep in.
Recycling goes in the yellow bin, but New Year promises smell sweet.
Don’t have to recycle. Repeated resolutions are good to keep.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

January dribbles - 4

Fear tastes like copper, or blood. It sounds like too many voices, like noise on the line. It tingles your nose; feels like cotton-wool over your eyes; looks like a TV screen when the signal’s gone bad, out of sync, out of time.

“Next please”—the dentist’s chair awaiting me.

January dribbles - 3

The girl climbed the gate, wood splintering under fingernails, knees scraping against paint. She hooked a leg over the bar then settled safely down, queen of her castle, monarch of all she surveyed—street, town, a passing bird, puddles and sky.

“Look Davey, here’s how you climb.”

Big brother sighed.

Monday, January 3, 2011

January dribbles - 2

Becky couldn’t do math. The numbers wouldn’t stay still—just skittered sideways in her mind. One and one, she thought—but one of what? And why? –then all too soon forgot what was required.

Becky couldn’t do it, till Mom said, “Use your fingers.” Now she’s counting all the time.

January dribbles - 1

“Climb down,” said Dad. The girl was scared. Climbing up was easy but now she seemed so far above the ground, and couldn’t fly.

“Climb down,” said Dad. “I’ll help.”

“But it’s too hard.”

“Baby’s can’t use climbing-frames,” her older brother sighed.

Girl jumped and landed safe in father’s arms.