PAD DAY – 24 6 Tell it to the _________poems .....

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6 Tell it to the ____  poems

Tell it to the mountain and all that jazz

You might as well

tell it to the towering

mountain – over the

hills – singing all that

j

  a

    z

      z

some have proclaimed

far greater announcements

resonating across the land

go tell it to the mountain

climb the peak and stand

in a harbored crag – as

wildflowers fill the cracks

in your soul

and solid stone

smiles

~

Tell it to your child

Look deep into


that child’s eyes


and tell your truth

rather than your


well-intentioned lies

~

Aw heck – tell it to the judge

No sense in foolin

with it – shuffling up,

down, sideways 

and around

tell it to the wispy 

shimmered robe

who will set you

 in the waiting

 gaping 

opened 

ground

~

Go tell it! 

It doesn’t much matter

to whom, or where or

when, if injustice

fouls your space

GO TELL IT!

shout it

blast it

there

and

then !

 ~

Go Tell It To The Sea

it will not much matter

if you sob and wail and cry

a torrent of your falling tears

will inform the aquamarine seas

as they roll and roil in shimmer under

the spreading cerulean sky

so drop your tears in

buckets or stingily one

by one by one

tis what forms

the sea from

the beginning

shall continue

far past when

you are gone

and done

~

Tell it to the child sitting alone

tell the child it does not matter

though right now it feels so far from small

the teasers, tattlers and torturers shall become

the steel forged for more important battles – the child

so armoured will fight them someday all

~

Tell it to the short boy in the eighth grade

the girls who looked down on you

who giggle behind soft taloned hands

who run past you at your locker and in the ball-field stands

the girls who huff, and wiggle and slide their eyes over you and by

will be guffawed at by high-school boys who will send them to their rooms to cry….

~

PAD - Day 23 - Location Poem - Looking for Home

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Looking for home

From the lamb

bleating

in the field

wandering circles

to the

squinted eyes

staring

at controls

as Earth spins below

in the all in-between

creatures young, old,

plaintive, contemplative,

searching, and even

those foolishly believing

they are there

all are 
f
      l
             o
                  a
          t
i
     n
          g

floating in the

filament of the

infinite silken strands

self constructed paths

weaving a waving

tapestry through the

universal beyond

dark into light

light into dark

floating

destination

uknown

~

PAD - Day 21 - Optimist/Pessimist Poems

Fire – Bearers

Be they risen from the

sludged shore of bygone

yesteryear – lumbering

with smudged faces

Or dropped drifting from

the tip of a Celestial finger

they were

they are

they will be

the fire-bearers

arsonists and illuminators

it all depends …..

on a flicker

Old Story

a child in a room filled

with fragrant hay

whirls and claps

flushed with joy

another in a room

filled with hay collapses

dipped in desolation

one child flings sunshine

scented hay in the air

looking for the pony sure

somewhere to be there

the other smells only

shit

Awaiting

Puts on her party hat

and waits in the waft

of urine-lilac scented

sunroom – beams

lighting parchment skin

waiting for them

to come even as

shadows grow tall

ready to laugh

Laughter and Tears

Comics and Poets

There are those who

exult in the laughter

they draw with silver

tongues and clever words

There are those who

exult in the tears

they extract as aloe

from cacti

Optimists?

Pessimists?

who decides?

who decides?

Sand Castle

“Don’t build your sand

castle near the water”

she cawed cigarette

dangling from her lips

“It’ll get washed away”

But the child drizzled

sweet wet sand into

turrets and placed a

bright tiny red flag at the

top – dug a trench and

dropped shells into the

gathered water and

watched as the bit of banner

waved in the late afternoon

breeze and the shells

sank shimmering in

the setting sun

and the child sat

and watched as

the inevitable tide

crept and licked at

the sides and did not

cry when the castle

began to tilt

knowing that all

castles eventually

do

return

to

the

sea

eventually

and as her mother

lit a cigarette and

packed the blankets

she let her chiding

“You see?!!”

melt into the cawing

of seagulls

smiling

And walking from

the beach dragging

her plastic pail and

shovel she knew with

the certainty of the coming

dark – better to have

had that castle of

drizzled- arc beauty

returned to the sea

than create a bunker

sturdy and arid

built for a bit longer

only to be kicked to

oblivion

Sweet Candy Kisses - The Children's Blues

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Sweet Candy Kisses - The Children's Blues

There

on the bridge they stood

Rocking on small bare feet

clutching twice stolen candy

in their pockets 

Letting the sway of the wind

blow away the sharp ache in

her sparrowed shoulder bone - 

the open mess of his split lip

Letting all go in the sway 

as though they stood cradled in

a sturdy crevasse of a huge limb

holding them safe, sticky candy

waiting like kisses in their pockets – 

until his florid raging face faded 

and with returned joyous abandon

they threw the memory over

the side - watching it sink in the 

deep water below - as they -

rocking on small bare feet

pulled out their candy, 

sucked

the sweetness 

and laughed

once again – 

in the 

open.  

Whoops – Catch Up – Days 13-18 PAD 2014

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~Whoops – Catch Up – Days 13-18 PAD 2014~

DAY 18 – Weather

Bright and Sunny September

The weather report

bore out the sky

outside my window

simply cerulean

clear – the crisp almost

audible outside my

window – a beautiful

September morning

clear, sunny and cool

so that when towers

inexplicably exploded

and incomprehensibly

fell- it was through the

cerulean clear crisp

suddenly surreal sun

shining

shining

shining

shining 

on shoulders of those

tumbling from windows

papers whirling in the

sooted wind, frantic

faces upturned to the

sun that kept on shining,

in that incongruous blue sky

~ 

DAY 17 – Pop Culture

Pop Culture

pop-culture

the ultimate

oxymoron

~

From the dust 

From the days and months and

years of dust and destruction

rose

the only antidote

to twenty-four seven

loops of loss

as aching arms 

opened to embrace

those

living

large

From the dust 

From the days and months 

and years of 

dust and destruction

rose the only antidote

to twenty-four seven

loops of loss

and aching arms 

opened to embrace

in joyful respite

the inane doings of

those 

living 

large

~

Day 16- Elegy

Elegy for the large family table

Elbows off

and elbows

on – laughter

tinkling on

cut cystal

bellowing in

bowls of passed

mashed potatoes

and fish-eyed looks

of sister-in-laws and

under the table hand

holding as faces above

held on the topics of

justice – social and

otherwise- a fork

dropped and a call

to the kitchen

“Are you coming to

sit down with us?”

a spilled glass of

something that will

thankfully stain

until all that

remains now

is the faded pink

of that spill of long ago

and the whispers

of laughter – spilled

and now dried and

gone – gone – gone –

dancing on dust

~

DAY 15 – LOVE/ANTI-LOVE

“Make Love – Not War”

we marched arm bands

proud in the sunshine

bare feet dancing in park

and believed

truly believed

with dancing eyes, hearts

feet, and mind, that this was

not a slogan, but a goal to be

reached with outstretched

opened arms

~

DAY 14 – If I Were ______

If I Were My Old Self

This screen would

stay quiet replaced

by a simple stack

of yellow pads and

think black rolling

writers – packed in

a single bag with

a bathing suit two

long white shirts

and my ticket

to ride back to

the sea

the aquamarine

sea where in the

sunshine sunset

of years yet to

unfold I would sit

at the shimmered

shore of youth and

write out the last

chapter

happily

 ~

DAY 13 – Animal Poem

Oliver

He came

not quite two

pounds of coal

fluff - as I was

writing macabre

Kaitlin poems of

a little murdered

girls who appeared

to me in a yellow

sundress as a

November PAD

unfolded

He came

three times

to the door

so tiny that

his persistent

nickel sized

paws only

grazed the

door-jam

He came and

I mistook him

for an incarnation

of Kaitlin and kept

writing of the

dead child

I thought I find

him a good

home - a so called

forever home as

I held him and wrote

poem after poem

never thinking that

he had already

chosen