It’s the being there that counts.
A warm hand to counteract
the cold sterile sheets.
A familiar face to drown out
the millions of television voices.
Nothing else matters
in those trillions of star spaces
between womb and grave.

(napowrimo day 29…and for https://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/04/penultimatums-voyages-end-almost.html )

There are things out there
in the dark; quiet creeping
things that sound like
the wind rustling trees,
and will grab you quickly
if you stray too far
from your patch of moonlight.
Don’t get too close to any
tree. The trees hide things
like portals to unmentionable worlds,
and creatures from those worlds
want to eat your legs and arms off.
Stay on that gravel path, and run
faster than the wind back to your
house. Once inside, stay away from
windows. (these are portals too)

(for napowrimo day 28…and for: https://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/04/boogeyman.html

Mary had it, but she didn’t care.
She could ride a century in a day
in her brown bloomers and laced black boots.
She was a scorcher on her bone-shaker
much to the chagrin of all her kin.
But Mary didn’t care.
She knew you only lived once,
and in 1893, fainting on
a couch was not at the
top of her list.

(napowrimo day 27….and for https://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/04/writing-shoes.html I was also inspired by the women who rode bicycles in the late 1800’s.
““Let me tell you what I think of bicycling. I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world. It gives women a feeling of freedom and self-reliance. I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel…the picture of free, untrammelled womanhood.” – Susan B. Anthony

Some boxes have made me quite angry-
Oh it probably wasn’t their fault,
not really.
One was quite quietly pretty-
ornate mantel and a stained
glass window, but
the box that was stacked on top
was too noisy and moved too much.
So, I couldn’t properly enjoy
my own box there.
Another one was perfectly alone
(never even got soggy after a rain)
but it was ugly inside, and had
a dullness that no box of crayons
would ever be able to fix.

But I remember pure bliss-
a few times
as a child
in a refrigerator box.
Maybe that’s all we really need.

(napowrimo day 25…and for: http://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-five-3/)

We have cut off her tongue and
stuffed trash into her mouth.
Only those that will look into
her eyes can hear her now.
We have sewn bombs into her body
and watched her bleed onto the
faces of her children.
We have forgotten that we are
all her children, and she
could have held us all if
we hadn’t cut off her arms
and replaced them with hooks.

(napowrimo day 22…it’s also Earth Day…we need to remember to love the earth and her inhabitants every day)

There is a pile of broken bones in the backyard,
and don’t let her look at you straight in the
eyes.
She’s been there forever weaving wreaths
of holly berries and snake bones
hanging them in the oak trees for
the crows out back.
Don’t look them in the eyes.
They’ve seen things.

(napowrimo day 20…and for: https://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/04/fireblossom-friday-corvid-and-sit-while.html)

“She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah” – Leonard Cohen and as heard sung in my head by Jeff Buckley

That kitchen chair over there
has known love of all sorts.

The quiet cookie finger love
of a child with glowing stomach
love that only a mother
can give.

The raw and noisy primordial love
between two lovers in heat
who know no boundaries between
chair, wall, and floor.

The brutal cat scratch love
because they love this chair
that reminds them of the good
smells in bowls and whiskers.

(napowrimo day 19…. and for: https://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/04/poems-in-april-poetry-through-eyes-of.html)