Category: Writings

Doin’ the Limbic Limbo

lindastudley2 Comments

I hope this ringing in my ears isn’t bothering you
It’s just the residue
of too much thinking at the wrong time.

In the middle of the night my brain builds
Dada poetry out of my life,
cutting and pasting fragments together until
I wake up wondering ‘what the hell was that about?’
 
Day time finds my brain in relatively sane working order
reasoning and resolving, reasoning and resolving.
But at night it’s like a sixteen year old left alone
in the house. “No parties” I warn as I drift into sleep.
 
But as soon as my eyes close my brain pops the cork
and the world begins to show up,
in costume,
on unicycles
and ready to party.
 
Just before I wake, my brain attempts to make
a sketchy clean up but I’m sure those stains on my cerebellum
are from a couple of hippocampus with dirty feet
doing the limbic limbo
while my amygdala debates
flight versus fight.
“Oh my God, she’s waking up! Run!”
Good Morning.

 

#21

Triskaidekaphobia

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Did the builder really skip the thirteenth floor?
Is there really no room 13?
Maybe they exist in an alternate plane of reality
Maybe on Friday the thirteenth the button
for the 13th floor will manifest.

I would push it.
I would get off on the 13th floor and
Open the door to 1313 (I’m sure it won’t be locked)
And discover what all the fuss is about.
 
Maybe that’s where persecuted pagans hide out
from sanctimony and censure.
Where magic is as natural as breathing and
Nature is as magical as breathing and
Breathing is the only thing that’s mandatory.
 
Is that where all the missing people live?
Did they get off the elevator on the 13th floor
and forget to get back on again because they
were having too much fun?
 
I’m riding the elevator today.
But I’m taking you with me
just in case.

 

#20

Salted

lindastudley1 Comment

Our lot in life
unlike Lot’s wife,
is to never look behind us
at what chases
as we hasten
to whatever fate resigns us.
 
The salt that makes
our pillar shapes
itself from tiny grains
of truths that lie
safe in our mind
protected from the rains.
 
The seasoning
of reason brings
knowledge of salt’s true measure
for wounds it stung
but on the tongue
salt gives to all things pleasure.

 

#19

Rest in Pieces

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She was sad and they said
‘quit while you’re ahead’
‘you’re a long time in the ground’
‘when life gives you lemons, make lemonade’
‘take that frown and turn it upside down’
 
She was tired and they told her
‘fortune favours the bold’
‘a change is as good as a rest’
‘early to bed, early to rise…’
‘make your good better and your better best’
 
She was depressed and they declared
‘there’s magic in the air’
‘every cloud has a silver lining’
‘there’s always someone who’s got it worse’
‘want some bread with that wine?’
  
She was afraid and they answered
‘nothing’s ever left to chance’
nothing ventured, nothing gained’
‘into every life a little rain must fall’
‘it’s always darkest before the dawn’
 
A patient ear was all she really needed.  
She got platitudes and attitudes, and nothing that made sense.
Carved in stone, the last words that we read say…
‘Clubbed to death with clichés, she died in self defense.’

 

#18

A Poem is a Ponder

lindastudley2 Comments

A poem is a ponder
An inner thought with wings
The lens through which the poet
Sees her life and other things.
 
They drift about her conscience
Where ifs and maybes play,
Ethereal dust bunnies
Waiting to be swept away.
 
And I tease them from my conscience
And I tickle them from dreams
I sweep them onto paper
Or onto my netbook screen.
 
And I show them to the world
And I give them each a name
And I ask if anyone can
Recognise what they became.

 

#17

It’s Not a Secret Anymore

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For all the problems in our lives
that crop up day to day
someone wrote a book about
the myriad of ways
to deal with, cope with, solve, or end,
exploit or just ignore them,
based on their experience of
what others wrote before them.
 
As if the simple answer simply
wasn’t good enough
we dress it up and make it dance
and add a lot of stuff
to make it sexy, make it cool
to make you think you need it
and charge you nineteen ninety five
to take it home and read it.

I’ll give you freely the advice
given free to me
because a world of happy souls
is where I want to be.
Ask for what you want in life
then dare to believe it.
Paint the picture in your mind
then smile as you receive it.

 

#16

A Middle Road

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Clutter upsets me.
I internalize trip-overs and misplaced mathom
Into anthropomorphic indigestion.
 
Empty sterility irritates me.
My fingers itch to paint Georgia O’Keefe flowers
On hard white walls.
 
Possessions bother me.
I close my eyes and see them lined up
Whining for attention.
 
Poverty frightens me.
I see it lurking behind each uncertain decision
My hand to its mouth.

May I find a middle road with no shadows,
With just enough clutter to make it interesting,
With flowers on either side.

 

#15

One Day

lindastudley5 Comments

One day I will be able to remember you
without crying.

One day I will be able to sing
the song I wrote for you
without my voice quavering,
and leaf through photo albums
without my hand shaking.
 
One day I will be able to speak your name
without that sharp pain in my heart,
and wear your locket
without feeling its weight.
 
One day your memory will find its fulcrum in my heart.
One day only love will remain.
Not today, but soon.

 

#14

Very Young

lindastudley2 Comments

Oh, very young,
with a dictum for every deliberation,
a solution for every situation,
an opinion for every conversation.
Oh, very young, true wisdom has a doubt.

Oh, very young,
With a plan for every exigency
A protocol for every emergency
A path for every divergency.
Oh, very young, true growth is playful. 

Oh, very young,
So set in your phase,
I would stay a while but you were already
very young when I got here.

 

#13