She moves through the fair of her life
with an awareness and introspection that belies her years

She still feels the effects of the darkness that plagued her past
but, as she goes forth, reaches with her soul towards a new and enlightened age

She will not forget her suffering, but uses it to transform her spirit
as an alchemist uses the philosopher's stone to produce precious from base

She is a rebel at heart, but hers is a cultural revolution, an awakening to the beauty of a spiritual life filled with music, art, poetry, language, philosophy, and the science of nature

Transformation isn't instantaneous and her emotions will still go medieval at times suddenly rising like a Gothic spire from the landscape

However, with each contrasting experience she is reborn and better equipped to fashion a belle époque of her own design

She may tend to shun the glamour of convention and develop a unique style
She just wants you to know who she is

Homeless old beggar                                Elderly, destitute man in serious need
disgusting and annoying                          really down and out, desperate
degrades the neighborhood                     probably feels safe around here
aggressively accosts me                            approaches me hopefully
thinks I'm an easy touch                           believes he can count on me
unappreciative...always wants more       honest and humble about his needs
likely spends it on ***** and cigarettes  maybe I'll bring him food next time
Takes advantage of my good nature       Fortunate that I'm in a position to help

personal journal musings from last week...

Reading in my local coffeehouse last week
  a very large, urban place, always crowded
Well...reading, talking, and watching the human circus in action
  I go there a lot

Taking a standing break from my comfy chair
  one of several surrounding a fireplace
I turn around to view the street activity
  through the windows behind me

A girl I noticed walking by a bit earlier is seated at the window bar
  she catches my eye and lights up like a firework
Exploding from her seat with purpose
  she moves directly toward me with a sparkling trail of excitement

I race through the flash drive of my mind
  searching for a memory to go with the vaguely familiar face
It bothers me when someone recognizes me
  and I can't reciprocate and this appears to be an extreme case

No luck...so I go into my identification crisis default mode
  basically over-animation to distract and buy time
She's quickly in front of me and very close
  greeting me with the type of enthusiasm that leaves me breathless

We hug, or maybe not, unclear right now
  as I am lost in the sparkle of her intense eye contact
She is speaking fast and familiarly, but I don't catch much of it
  until she asks if there is room for us to sit together..."ummm sure"

She flies back to her seat to collect her things
  as I stand there stunned and pleasantly confused
My whole being warmed by our interaction
  feeling so beautifully interconnected

Returning with the same effusive energy
  she engages me with a huge, expectant smile
She lifts her hand so that its contents hover next to her beaming face
  exclaiming "I even brought you a red velvet cupcake!"

Well those words are the death knell for my improbable daydream
 now obvious that this is a rendezvous, probably an internet date
I apologize (more sorry than she could know*)
  relating that there must be some mistake

She asks whether my name is ...
  I reluctantly reply that it's not
Then her face takes on several shades of embarrassment
  as she glances past me to her actual date a few chairs away and she flees

It happens so fast that I don't even have time to thank her
  not that she'd appreciate the gratitude in her present state
I turn to see them immediately leaving
  likely, and understandably, a sudden change of plans

I hope to see her again if only to elevate her recollection
  of our shared experience, laugh about it together
I know this is a big city
  but a small world...I tell myself

Whenever I replay this film short of my life
  I may just edit out the scene after the cupcake presentation

  I so cherish red velvet greetings

Beauty does not escape me
     I smell it; I breathe it in deeply
It sings to the essence of memory
     Reviving my soul

  wild summer grasses on warm, lazy air
  the trace of perfume in an empty elevator
  the earthy wood of a forest

I can only hope that beauty escapes me

Going once...going twice...
Sold!...to the lowest bidder.

(Hmmm...next time I'm trying craigslist.)

The ivory light of moon surrounds you,
emanates in tones you send to me
on my staircase perch with a bittersweet view of forever.

I hear the melodic beauty of your love,
your courageously wrapped gift in pink ribbon,
as you concentrate through your pain.

I sadly sense that I'll soon lose you to your journey,
but you know better than I how to celebrate life,
how to play the music of now.

I'll carry every note with me always,
replay them quietly on my heartstrings,
harmoniously tuned to the genuine energy of your soul.

Sifting through your words,
     anxious to find a nugget of truth.
Chipping away at your facade,
     desperately searching for a vein of hope.

I was a fool for mistaking hope as precious,
     trying not to rub you the wrong way.
You barely allowed me to scratch your surface,
     which should have told me everything I needed to know.

At what point can I call myself a poet?

If I could fully articulate what and how I felt
  at the moment when I watched my mother
  slowly slip away from me and this world

If I could completely convey the oppressive sense of loss
  the helplessness, the hopelessness, the loneliness
  the shocking realization of irreversibility, the finality

If my words could make you feel the draining of my soul
  the relinquishment of having even an instant in the future
  when it seems that all is perfect in my world

If I could construct a phrase that could relate the emptiness
  behind the grief that comes with knowing that no longer would
  birthdays and holidays be wrapped in her joy and infectious spirit

If my poem could shout out to you the overwhelming regret
  that accompanies the inability to hold her, to kiss her, to say I'm sorry
  or to tell her just how very much I love her ever again

If I were truly able to do these things
  maybe then I could call myself a poet


                                 Happy Mother's Day, Mom
                                    I miss you & I love you!
                                            ****'s & ooo's

Please don't take me for granite,
     despite my sometimes polished surface.
My strength isn't a constant.
I must bend to the pressures
     of sorrow and loss.

Please don't take me for granite,
     I am not cold to the touch.
I am not resistant to the
     stains of memory.
Granted, we both have failing points.