Morgue

Morgue*

lightening up my

morgue, pounds of associations, cut

mined, succinct

* In reference to a collection of images, magazines, papergoods, etc used in collage art, just saying

Mystic Alarm Clock

Mystic Alarm Clock

Wake up at five a.m, notice

The neighbors bathroom lights

Through the bedroom window

Covers thrown back

Another sweaty night

Reflected in the bathroom mirror

The other neighbors’ backyard 

Colored fairy lights twinkle

Maybe there's a party

What if I walked over

 In my frumpy pajamas

They'd say

Hey hot stuff!

Going down the stairs

Street lights through stain glass

Cast ghostly rainbows

Shadows of crystals

Glow in the dark stars

Lead the way

Onto the cool porch

Only to be bathed by the

Fluorescent motion detector

Run into the kitchen, flip

The switch

Step into the yard

Sweat finally cooling on skin

Damp grass beneath feet

Sound of surf

Blissful love light

Full moon in Leo

Winter curtains open

To catch the first drop of sunlight

Curl up with green tea

A cat on either side

Watch the dawn

Listen for hummingbirds

The honking of geese

Right at eight a.m sharp 

Sunbeam pierces

My eyeball

Move the clothes pin 

Back into place

Time to start the day

Woman on the Edge

I'm a woman on the edge

I'm not mainstream

Sometimes all the politicizing

Just makes me want to scream

They're trying to control our bodies

Trying to control our minds

With social media and TV shows

 And laws that are just unkind

I'm on the edge of screaming

On the edge of rage

Need a little nonviolent communication

Some way to turn the page

I'm on the edge of the circle

Reaching out my hands

Connecting with other women

All across the lands

Connecting with the people of color

Connecting with the men's too

Connecting with all the fabulous queers

Connecting with the Jews.

They can say we're all radicals

They can say we're all unhinged

But we're weaving a stronger tapestry

And they're only see the fringe

Treading Lightly

 

I'm careful not to step on

The periwinkles by the front

Of the trailer while on my retreat

They seem so brave, so vulnerable

Little heads nodding in the wind

So easily crushed.

Yet they survive last night's hail storm

The fallen branch

Somehow better than I

Maybe it's their

“Tendrils of belief”*

Keeping them anchored

How do I unfurl

Trust the sun will shine again

And turn my face towards hope

*Quote from Adrienne Rich

Vibrissae

 

Vibrissae
A Collection of Cats, Facts and Whiskers

Inspired by the Santa Cruz Museum of Art And History's exhibit on local collectors, this book was a collaboration between a mother and daughter. Kayla Rose, a crazy cat lady at heart, has collected over a hundred cat whiskers that she found around the house over two decades from a medley of family pets. She wrote the poem to honor all the past, present, and future cats who bring joy into their lives. 

Clearing

Right now I am looking at the cutest baby.
Right now I am safe.
Right now I am the Queen,
Observing from her protected box.

Today I removed the dusty veils, old plastic ivy.
Changed the curtains,
Created more light, more space, more 

Breathing room.

I inspired another healer.
I mentored.
I created beauty. 

I will create peace.

Clearing, clear, clearing, clear
In this moment, there is no fear
I trust my heart, I trust my gut,
I know just how to get out of this rut.

False evidence appearing real
I know just what I feel
I doubt the doubts, I know my truth
I am present, sky to root

I am heart, I am compassion,
I know just what I am tested in,
Feels like patience, always waiting,
Wondering when is it my turn, anticipating.

Experiencing stillness, keeping the quiet,
Trying not to be silenced, not to buy it.
Staying balanced, in my form,
Not buying into the norm.

Vivid Verbs

Welcome mat, searing her feet. 

Grease trap, broiling over. 

Old faded couch, peeling like a bad tan. 

Mincing down the street, the cat looked smashing. 

Peeling off her mask was the first step.

Eclipse

Breathing your essence, 

Missing your presence, 

Longing for our reunion soon. 

You are quintessence, 

Deeply luminescent, 

Both my shining sun and deepest moon.

The Picnic

 The Picnic

Let's go on a picnic,

We'll bring our favorite foods,

Everyone is welcome,

No need for attitudes.

We’ll spread a festive blanket,

A checked quilt to make it bright,

Unpack everything mindfully,

Discover just what is right.

Sarah enjoys her Bosco, 

Quite the saucy treat,

Malty good and oh so,

Chocolatey sweet.

What makes a woman’s,

Belly go aflutter?

For Debra, it's easy -

A spoon of peanut butter.

One might wonder, 

Is it crunchy, or is it smooth?

Nanette likes to dip her

Pickles in this ooze.

Kayla only wants plain, white,

Bread and a slice of baloney,

A few salty potato chips, smashed

In order to make it homey.

Now, Rhianna prefers,

Her baloney to be fried,

With a slice of cheddar cheese,

Hidden deep inside.

A plateful of blintzes, 

With bananas is Lisa’s dream,

Of course topped off,

With dollops of fresh sour cream.

For Kristin, there is,

Simply no other,

More sublime than, 

A stick of golden butter.

Carol will char yellow corn

Tortillas without fail,

Smothered in fresh red salsa

And the darkest green kale.

Kimberly, hair swept up,

In a fancy chignon,

Pours luscious caramel,

On her tender filet mignon.

Let's go on a picnic,

We'll bring our favorite foods,

Sharing all our stories,

With Grace and gratitude!

 

Is This Me?

A compact mirror 

Graced by a swan 

Reflecting nothing 

Closed in a monastery 

Ode to Lists

Ode to Lists

In my computer, I have this particular file,

It’s my List of Lists that I do compile - 

Daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly, and annual,

This is my “How to Channel Anxiety” manual.

On top of endless errands, laundry, dishes, repetitive chores, 

Reminders to take out the trash, change the litter, mop bathroom floors,

Emergencies, wildfires, vacation - what to pack?

Supplies that I think I need, actually, those which I lack.

I’ve written my short, mid, and long term goals too,

There’s always an agenda telling me what I’m supposed to do,

Sounds controlling, but I find it kinda fun,

Because if it’s on a list, it's somehow halfway done.

Pay the property, sales and self-employment taxes, 

Since goodness knows, no one at the IRS ever relaxes,

Make a spreadsheet for handling student loans,

Health Insurance, Retirement, and other financial moans.

Put some stuff on Etsy, Ebay, NextDoor and Craiglist,

Now check the pantry for what my recipe missed,

Ingredients for quiche, powdered sugar for cake,

If I don't jot it down now, it will be a mistake.

Questions for the doctor, the dentist, the new mobile vet,

Symptoms that may need x-rays, vaccinations, better yet,

Is it time for a mammogram, endoscopy or pap smear?

Believe you me, I'd rather reschedule for next year.

The precisely quartered scraps of recycled paper by the phone, 

Strengthen my inner resolve, support my backbone,

Although sometimes when I’m feeling lazy and soft, 

• I note down something I've done - just so I can cross it off.

There’s always updates: master, clients, wedding, mailing,

Plans for the kids, the time share, skiing or sailing,

Then there’s books, projects, all the crafty diys

Bookmarked, tagged, for when “I have the time”

While all this gives me some sort of ease

Sometimes I write, “Remember to breathe.”

Imagine what I compose when it comes to Christmas…

But really there’s nothing worse than being listless! 

Empty Place

Right now besides for a few tatters of gray mist,
The sky is empty, gently sun-kissed,
A streak of salmon in the west,
Peaceful blues paint in the rest.

Even red-tailed hawks and gulls are gone,
Not a spout or a sail out on the horizon,
The ocean seems empty, flat, glassine,
Teeming with life only in the depths unseen.

The field below is quiet and clear,
Except for the scuttling of rabbits, quail, and deer,
Buzzing bees, ravens, the squawking of jays,
Hummingbirds coming to visit the velvety sage.

There's just a circle of chairs in the chapter room,
Filled with a scent of Easter lilies in bloom,
Deep red roses, white daisies and baby's breath,
In the center is the altar honoring life and death.

My cup is dried, bowl washed and put away,
Floor is swept, the bed has been made,
Nothing to do, but enjoy this sacred space,
Think I'll call it, "My empty place."

A Writer's Talisman

 

A Writer's Talisman

House Rules Haikus

You get a free pass

If the cat is on your lap

Pour me some coffee?

No cats on kitchen

Counter or under covers

Look how cute you are

Roof is torn right off

Feeling exposed, rain is coming

Worried about cats

Banging, pounding, stomps,

Gutters, vents, skylights, wood rot,

New roof overhead

Replace the t.p

Rub bellies after toothbrush

Be kind every single day

Life After the Pandemic

The scunge

More sponge

More dishes

Less leftovers

No lunches

Or brunches

More dust

Less fuss

Less impulse buys

When going out for supplies

Less sweeping

Housekeeping

Everything else is the same

Corruption, riots.

Protests, my resist

Plant the Seeds of Peace

My sunglasses are

All the polarization

 I needed today

Check Lists

Check emails 

Check  Instagram 

Check Facebook 

Check it off the list

 

Strike it off 

Cross it out 

Delete it 

Highlight it 

Remove it

Put it on the calendar instead 

Purge it 

Delete history 

Clear phone history 

Clear texts 

Update mailing lists 

Bounces

White listed

 

Reorder 

Reorganized 

Make files 

Folders 

Folders in folders

 

Photos 

Docs 

Spreadsheets 

Print  the

List of lists

   

Doubt Your Doubts

When I was young, I would cry all the time,

I used to be different, I used to be shy,

I'd stay in my room, my nose in my books, 

I never felt comfortable with any of my looks.

I felt lost behind my glasses, hiding in my hair,

 Over sized sweaters and jeans is all that'd I would wear,

Hiding my body, not comfortable in my skin,

Underweight, even my emotions were thin.

I still cry, but not for no reason,

I become more outgoing every single season,

I feel at home wherever I am,

I'm a tattooed love babe, but I don't have a tan.

I love my glasses, I have excellent hair,

Little black dresses and scarves are what I wear,

Showing my body, feeling comfortable in my skin,

Overweight now, though I somehow still feel thin.

I used to not love myself, but now I do,

Love my cats, my kid, and my husband too.

Love living my life, and feeling loved,

Grounded on the earth, blessed from above.

Blessed be

Diamond Quality

Diamond Quality

Earn my living honestly

Show gratitude in every way

Honor students, teachers, elders

Calm and patient as the garden

Compassionate as the gardener

This is my vision

My diamond

And there is nothing harder or clearer

Than my resolve

Momentary Sensations

Something Visible in the Distance

Up close is the cat, who meowed until I scooped her onto my lap. Of course, there's my journal, my blues ceramic mug with a white moon. I feel myopic at the moment. I'm very contained in the study, lace curtains offer privacy without sacrificing the light, a poster of a redwood tree gives me more inspiration to create a more far-reaching vision. Maybe in the distance I see myself doing Reiki again, here at the house or renting a space at the acupuncture clinic up the street at the Palm center. Maybe I see myself driving to Eugene to visit Amber, passing Mount Shasta which rises from the mist. Sometimes I see my parents' death, or Chips', or mine, but I don't like to look for too long. I take off my glasses. I have been nearsighted most of my life, and enjoy the fuzzy, more gentle view of my particular bubble of the moment.

Quest for vision

Noises

Poppy's purr is an everyday noise. She purrs at the drop of a hat, constantly, it doesn't matter if it's 3:00 in the morning, she hums to herself, soothing and comforting.

I hear the trash trucks, which in my mind I refer to as the wheezing of the dinosaurs, groans of metal and sighs of the compactors, a brief acceleration between houses.

Now there's the turning of the page, the particular click of this particular pen, different from my usual sharpie which glides silently across the page. 

I hear Chips' tap tap tapping on the computer keyboard. There's no letters on it, which simply amazes me that he can touch type that well. A familiar staccato as he does whatever it is that he does on the computer, trading investments, making copious notes. In the distance, I hear a bird singing, probably in the Chinese Elm outside my window, as well as the neighbor's voice hoarse from calling his cat who, most likely, is hiding underneath my lilac bush.

Smell

We had another skunk last night do their due diligence outside on the deck. Not as bad as when the first time June got sprayed. Poor thing, she jumped in the bedroom window and instantly I knew. I put her in the hall and shut the door, it was probably 4:30 in the morning, thinking I'd deal with it later. After a few minutes I got up, took her downstairs, peruse the internet for solutions. 

I was out of hydrogen peroxide which had worked well the last time combined with baking soda. Both the little corner store and Safeway would not open till 8:00 a.m. I made a concoction of white vinegar and baking soda, locked her in the bathroom and proceeded to start wiping her with a washcloth dipped into the red foot bath bucket again and again. I was amazed at how patient she was, I hope it felt like a big tongue licking her clean. She must be so affronted, with her kitty sensibilities. 

At 8:00 in the morning, Chip went to the little store and scored a bottle of H2O2. Safeway has been out for weeks, because of the pandemic and people making their own hand sanitizer. It took almost a month for the lingering scent to finally disperse from her black and orange and white thick fur. Now she smells like my sweet cat again.

Hot

Back when I was living in Luxembourg, we got our first electric stove. "Is this hot?" I asked and put my full palm down on the burner. I must have been around 10 years old, I remember my mom just grabbing my arm and putting my hand under the cool kitchen tap water. The cold was as bad as the heat. There is a reason why now I prefer having a gas stove.

Now I struggle with hot flashes,four years to menopause. Not as bad as before, but still I turn the fan on 3, 4, 5 times a night, let the cool breeze evaporate the sweat from between my breasts, radiating off my thighs, caught in my armpits. Chip will come to bed later, put his freezing cold hands on the back of my neck, my shoulders and I get some relief. Both he and the cats want to snuggle, but I'm overwhelmed, I feel trapped like being in a too tight sleeping bag. I tried to fake myself to go back to sleep, but more often than not I just get up with the sound of the trash trucks, rationalizing I can always take a nap later, even though I rarely do.