My life needs to learn how to hit the ‘undo’ key
so I can back up a space to where I
actually knew what I was doing.
My life needs to learn how to call ‘time outs’,
where I can huddle and plan my next move
without someone changing the rules.
My life needs to learn how to chill,
that every move doesn’t have to be
a lesson, or a character building exercise.
Maybe it isn’t life who needs to learn the lessons,
maybe it’s me.
#80
Raucous raven roosts on railing
ranting, in the rising rays.
Ratty, raddled, rabble raiser,
ready reaver roams and raves.
Ravaging the rubbish, reaping
refuse as his rank repast.
Rattling with righteous ruckle
reciting rhymes with riant rasp.
Rascal, robbing random relics.
Rogue, regard my rambling request.
Retreat to rackety, rickety, rookery.
Refrain from ransoming my rest.
#78
I can hear the new grass growing.
Spring is softly stirring, throwing
off her downy coverlet,
that winter left all thin and wet
I can see the warm wind blowing.
Spring is whispering soft and low and
licking icicles to tears of
joy that trickle free and clear.
I can taste the sunlight tingling.
Spring is gath’ring dead wood, kindling
fires of fresh dreams in my flesh
and songs of starting in my breast.
I can feel the sweetness wafting
Spring is breathing scent aloft in
clouds, low slung with watery vows
that spring is almost here and now.
#77
I had a plan of where to be and what to do and say
But chaos overtook my plan and random far away
and, tangled in string theory, that dimension now is loath
to interpret my existance as alive or dead or both.
If Schrodinger had named his cat he never would have thought
to use him in experiments and put him in a box.
I think I’ll spring Schrodinger’s cat, name him Chuck, and so,
like anomalous phenomena, we’ll just pick up and go.
#75
“I love a mystery” she says
then delves into the mystery with the sole
intent of unravelling it.
“I love the view” he says
then builds a house with a big window facing the view
so he can pull the curtains.
“I love you just the way you are” they say
then point out reasons that way is wrong and how
you should change.
Beware of sentences starting with I love.
#74
Once upon a million years ago or maybe more
some of us climbed dripping from the ocean to the shore.
Some of us breathed in the air and stood on new fledged limbs
and turned our backs upon the home where we once used to swim.
And some of us remember still the ebb and flow and tide
of our ancestral home where our siblings still abide.
Some go back to the water, some stay away in fear,
but all of us have memories of the sea that salt our tears.
#73
She dreams of half squeezed tubes of oils,
the scent of turpentine, and the loose, paint smudged shirt
draping her body.
She dreams of the vacant stare of the canvas,
waiting on the easel, the perfect light slanting, and
the thumbnails scattered on the speckled table.
She dreams of the handthrown pot, bristling with brushes,
the pallet knives, the rags and scraps of yesterday’s news,
like leaves waiting to turn and fall.
She dreams of the pallet perched on her arm like a hawk, fierce
and unafraid, raises the loaded brush, takes a deep breath,
then wakes up and goes to the office again.
#72
Know, believe
Feel , perceive
These are only starting points,
useless without action.
Guilt, sympathy,
compassion, empathy.
These are only starting points,
Useless without action
Do, change, speak
help, try, seek.
These are actions.
This is where it starts.
#71
The younger you are
the more future you anticipate.
Glory days all waiting in
treasure chests and you hold the key,
like a queen in your garden of dreams.
Some days my head hurts with dreams.
I am overwhelmed by who I might become.
Glory days are forever in a moment
a moment in forever.
The older you get
the more past you accumulate.
Glory days all locked in
individual cells and you hold the key,
like a warden in your prison of memories.
Some days my head hurts with memories.
I am overwhelmed by who I have been.
#70
Fatal moth went flying,
flying through the night,
nightly through the dark,
darkly t’wards the light.
Light pulled like a magnet,
magnetic north, it called,
called the blind to follow,
follow, one and all.
All the moths flew vainly,
vainly t’wards the moon,
mooning for her touch,
touched since the cocoon.
Cocooning through the day,
daily grey moths sleep,
sleep until the moon rise,
rises them to fleet.
Fleet from grey bark nest,
nestled in the brush,
brush dust from their wings
in the frantic rush.
Rush to this new light,
alight on candle’s flame,
flame dancer writhe and fall,
fall and end the game.
#69
Linda Studley 