The Dirty Shirt Hearthbreak

 

You know that piece of clothing you wore when you were a kid that was just the berries?  Whether it was a dress or a pair of boots or a hat or a shirt, you would wear it every day and in between times too.  It didn’t matter how ridiculous it looked on you, you would wear it and it was the only thing that made you feel comfortable and made you feel like you.  When I was a little girl I had this dress that I loved but I was so clumsy and such a dirt magnet that it would get filthy quite often.  It never felt the same when it wasn’t on me.  This is poem is dedicated to all those pieces of clothing.

 

Dirty Shirt Heartbreak

 

My favorite shirt is dirty

It’s sitting within view

A top my pile of laundry

Still covered in dusty dew

 

How I wish it were clean

So that I could wear it

I wish I had not seen

The stain from that carrot

 

It doesn’t really look good on me

But it’s my favorite, my absolute favorite

It doesn’t really fit either

But it’s so soft, so absolutely soft

 

I don’t think I’ll go out today

I just don’t want to

There is just no way

I need my shirt, I just do

The Dregs

An ode to coffee - one of my favorite things to do and drink.

The Dregs

I have come to the end of my cup.

I see the leavings and little bits of things

Lying against the sides and

In the pit of this porcelain pool.

 

I did not think that such things,

Like coffee grounds and fuzz,

Dwelled at the bottom of such

A divine and able vessel.

 

They cling desperately to every surface

As if begging not to be consumed.

But I am not tempted by the traces of

This once glorious beverage.

 

I don’t want them.

Nor do I need the dried trails

Of coffee.

 

I want something even greater than it’s predecessor

 

I want the sweet lazy sugar,

Slow to dissolve,

That still lingers in the basin

Simply waiting to be devoured.

 

I take out my spoon

As if to say,

“I am done and shall not have any more,”

Then I lunge.

 

And savor

The sweetest part of the cup,

The best and the last,

The Dregs.

The Bloom

Here is today's poem.  This is dedicated to my mother, who taught me this great truth, and to Andrew, who continues to help me live it.

The Bloom 

It is said that a flower’s importance

Lies in the fact that she is completely useless.

 

She cannot serve to clean the pot

Or take out the mark of a coffee stained spot.

She only sits and basks

With her head to the sky and her feet in a flask.

 

She cannot bring you good advice

Or scare away your kitchen mice.

She can only embrace her beauty

And be…

 

Yes her only purpose is to exist

In lovely layers no bigger than a fist.

But it is this that makes her necessary

For she teaches us what is truly arbitrary.

 

Sometimes it is most important to be

Not to achieve, gain, speak, or even see.

We must always drink up living

And remember our lives are beauty giving. 

A new page

Dear blog readers,

As you know and have seen by the state of my empty blog, I have been a tad bit preoccupied.  The process of getting married and recording a new album, though wonderful, have taken their toll on writing any more than songs and thank you notes.  And though my blog's readers are few they are faithful and for this I am sorry.  Truly I apologize. You did not deserve the neglect that you received and as I ruefully look back at my behavior I have made a determined decision to change.

The blog will now take a more interesting format.  Instead of being a wordy and emotional train of thought, the blog will become a sort of challenge for me. 

Let me explain.

When I write songs I tend use my deepest emotion. I lean therefore toward a more contemplative and sensitive view of the world and often find myself drowning in imagery and history and poignant feelings. 

The challenge is to keep the energy flowing and continue writing despite the constant attraction of being caught up on an emotional roller-coaster and being unable to put anything down on the page.  The new blog is meant to keep the waters flowing - to keep it fresh.

Each day, or hopefully close to, I will write a new poem and post it for you to read.  Being from a family of poets this is an intimidating task so I will therefore make no promises of excellence.  Keep in mind that not all blog entries will be meant seriously.  Feel free to laugh or cry laughing or click the x box on your window. 

Enjoy the new blog.

Here is the poem of the day:

There is an open window

Propped there with  an old milk bottle

For it cannot stand up on its own.

Together they fight against the powers that do not show.

Gravity and wind around their efforts tangle

Breaking hope - faith now blown.

And why is it that they must stand so,

Poised and balanced at this strange angle

And Fate's purposes to them unknown?

 

But I, their silent master, now must go

Or I shall risk a breath fatal

For in this room rank smell has made a home

So stand strong oh courageous duo

And never falter in your battle.

You've saved me from this scent that through your port has flown.

No greater love could you have shown

Than to lay down your life so the smell will leave me alone.