Monday, February 25, 2013

Rolled Into One

My day began a few minutes ago, actually, a half an hour ago and here I am.  I am in the middle of people struggling to get their work finished, their hopes and dreams fulfilled in a way that will be useful to them.  Who am I here?  Who is this giigi person (made up word).

When I first began revising, it was about my spelling.  Teachers would revise my spelling and I was embarrassed. 

Spelling is a loud voice. 

When I think of propaganda, I think of government documents, persuading people about ideas.  O.K., to try to get them to do things or try things.  It sounds organized and to the point.  It is somehow dangerous when it is wrong.  Often, it is repeated and related in a loud voice--in a forceful way.  Sometimes, it can be used for good.  It can be used to heal or help.  Sometimes people cannot be organized quickly without this.

Sometimes I think I am a cliche.  So typical.  What I want, what I think, where I want it.  Words bind me.

Friday, February 22, 2013

About Time

What you provide is some of it
that lifts
with words
the electrifying field
beyond where
it's supposed to be

magician of black and white
scratchings they don't drift away
like everything everyone else.

Now they say bees and their flowers
flowers and their bees
knew these things already
for so long as long
what use to count
ambiguous math goes by the wayside
don'tcha think?

Stay with me here for awhile
smell it taste it be it
the poet says between thinking--
arrangements, buzzing
you stir it up like it matters
new patterns do.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

The Drop-off

I always knew where it was
mysterious under one leg
known under the other. 
One place wild.
No need to wave to you.

My fear is pushed away
like when the vampires
all stand around and scowl
their frowns of power then
they have amazing romances
that last forever asterisk.

Thursday, February 14, 2013


I followed the trail of sunflowers there.
It wasn't anywhere I had been before
tundra, plains, Front Range, Crater Lake
looking looking following following

all in a day's work.  The wind stirs
my hair or is it you
always shiny comfort air
a ravine a scar forever open
talk about beloved.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

When I Taught Jim To Swim

I would teach you
how to swim
over again your
skinny arms
would not float
so I said to

hold my shoulders
from behind
this time I wouldn't talk
so much
but maybe look
into your eyes
underwater like a cartoon

where is it most quiet
my shell lying there
on the bottom
my old self
was I that dull before
without you this
first person pronoun
before it got personal.

Friday, February 8, 2013


I thought about the boycott the teachers in Seattle are doing.  I thought about it real hard, how they all stand together as one at Garfield High.  It would be great to have things change around.  People realize the tests are games.  I wondered about calling things what they are.

The students knew they made me look good yesterday when I was observed.  They wanted to know what I had for lunch.  "We made you look good, Miss.  You owe us now.  What do you got for lunch?"  I said I had Craisins.  They didn't want any.

Craisins are dried cranberries.  They have sugar on them.  We watched a film that had bears in it.  They were climbing aspen trees to get caterpillar nests.  This held their attention more than Part I that had scenes of horseshoe crabs.  I noticed how the mountain sheep walked along sniffing their way across the Rockies.  The bluebird was like the sky, it was true.

Sunday, February 3, 2013


She could feel the waters rising
when they put in the reservoir
shiny surface
with no shade
no place to put
all the crap
shape shifters
in the night
wait for the call
the loosening
of bandages anything
to signal life
in the echo
the claw.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Scritchy Scratch

Beneath windy moon
clouds scratch
too bright
night birches that beautiful
their wilt of leaves heal
of course in the sauna
where everything is perfect
glimmer under blinking
over the poet the teacher
the shortness of everything
others think it only a matter
of grammar but interject
it is poetry and maybe only one poem
can make its difference worldly
like rich like poor.