Tag Archives: Literature

Strings (lyrics)

Strings

You hang dangling in a cloud

Trying to live your life out loud.

You don’t think

That you can stand

Without your strings

In the hand of someone

With a little money

***

(chorus)

Dangling

Wrapped up and strangling

A life you’re mangling

Thinking you’re real

(…and free free free).

***

You’ve got two feet all your own

Yet you’re afraid to stand alone

Surrounded by a wall of fear

It’s hard to stare

Into a mirror

And see that

You are someone.

***

(chorus)

Dangling

Wrapped up and strangling

A life you’re mangling

Thinking you’re real

(…and free free free).

***

You use strings and they use you

They strangle everything you do

I wish that you with all your grace

Would stand and meet me

Face to face

Without a single string attached.

***

(chorus)

Dangling

Wrapped up and strangling

A life you’re mangling

Thinking you’re real

(…and free free free).

***


The West (Frontiers)



The West (Frontiers)

You know her...
A matter of extremes
Is what she's about:
Fiercely delicate.

You saw her as wilderness
Waiting for your hand
To rein her in,
All feminine and fertile.

You can't conceive of ages.
You won't believe she lived
Before you defined her
With scars and bruises.

Birth and death flowed
Silently around her
With a quiet grace
Invisible to you.

Your control is her best asset,
You think - but you don't know
What she does best
Is imperceptible:

She simply waits - and you
Will be long dead
Never having learned the steps
To her long slow dance of healing.

***

Ghosts of Bridges



Ghosts of Bridges       

Could it be the ghost
Of a bridge I'd burned,
Has come back to to show me
A lesson I'd learned
Without knowing for sure,
(You know nothing's certain),
Could it be you, or just
Wind through the curtain
That's shaded my room,
Life, and heart that I'd
Broken myself, thinking
Sadness an art to be nurtured;
So foolish,
The marking of time,
Love's not to be wasted,
The soul's not a mime;
But my energy's gone,
I'm tired and jaded,
My time's all tied up,
The colors have faded
To gray...but no...
It is time to begin,
To start living and breathing
And shedding the skin
Of my ghost, my bridge,
(Educational Past),
Holding on to within,
I will move on at last
To a new place, the place
Of the Eye Meeting Eye,
Where with gathering hope
I'll be willing to try and
Work from the failures,
The fallings and learn
To build this time,
A new bridge I won't burn.

***

Survival


Survival

Spring is not an easy passage to enter,
But what choice is there?
The deep sleep of winter's icy bed
Is much easier to endure,
That pure and consuming survival
Where being warm - even if alone - is enough.
Spring stirs things that can't be managed,
The wanting of a lover's neck to nuzzle
And the wanting, and the wanting...
And where are honest arms to wrap up in
When  morning swarms with birds,
Or when the coming scented night time
Looms over me and my hands hold only
My dear sweet splitting maul?

*****

Bering Strait

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Bering Strait

Ice has formed on
These timid stepping stones,
Unimak, Atka, Agattu.
The Bering Strait between us
A tempest of boredom
And expectation.

We each nestle
In our reclining continents,
Worn, green, velvet, and
Yours a distant, nubby brown,
Blurred by television
Storms from the North.

This strait cannot be
Bridged at any time of year.
Desire has migrated
To places we refuse to navigate
Now that love is little more
Than cold geography.***

Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room

The Age of Hiding – pt 1

26/10/2010

When hiding behind a door one’s view of the world is a narrow vertical slice.  Sometimes that slice is just enough.  The best part is that, though no one can see you, you can hear a lot.  It’s a powerful feeling to be five years old and hear Mother calling and to just stand in the little space between the door and wall and not answer the call, knowing she will never actually try to find you.

This is how I looked in The Age of Hiding. The dress was mostly my favorite color: black.

I am not a nun.