New Work - Monotypes and Painting

rose garden

Love left a potted rose plant 
at my door today

as a house warming gift

The note attached 

my first welcome home

Small delicate flowers

gossamer pink

surrounded by intense veridian 

Slowly the leaves have died

brown creeping up the stems

the blossoms have dried 

and fallen

The light from my windows is not strong enough 

my winter sun not warm enough 

The water and soil supplied

isn't nurturing enough

I sing to her

but it must not be in the language she speaks 

for she is unresponsive

I cannot 

locate 

her heartbeat

I don't know what she needs

I wish I knew what to feed her

The blossoms on my friends cheeks

were surrounded by veridian bruises 

back in highschool

Backwards backwoods teaching

about what happens when you speak your mind

or dare to be who you are

She dared to come out first

Bravely payed the price for the rest of us

but I still carry the punching bags around in my mind

Southpaws of cynicism 

stealing idealism

from the possibilities

of delicacy 

soft pink that could blossom 

within my thoughts instead

I keep trying to

bob and weave 

my way out of that jaded corner

My hands up at all times

Trying to anticipate 

the knockout clock

that keeps me in wait

I am in the midst 

of my match

I am trying so hard to 

turn over those veridian leaves

Inspect the anatomy of the tender underbelly

within those exposed veins is the new language to be learned

Soft cillia that whisper sweet nothings 

and nothing is sweeter than gentle fingertips

but pretty hard to handle such fragile foliage

with boxing mitts on

Golden gloves are revered with pride

but they are heavy

A weight that taints

the sugar bowl

which was full to begin with

but what do I do with soured sugar

I am tired of drinking lemonade

It doesn't make the roses bloom

I am tired of fighting with my mind

It doesn't make my house a home

I am tired of having blood on my knuckles

I would rather push them into the dirt

How do I switch from defense to offense 

Must I swing my way out 

Sound the bell

Round is over 

Please Let me exit the ring

This greenthumb is meant for more than just 
bringing back the dead

Sweet rose plant is still alive

and this champ 

wants to plant 

a rose garden

Sway

I can feel the sway

within the search for my center

I maintain the tenuous balance  

through my toes

Plant my feet

Flex my knees

Arch my back 

Fill my lungs with air

Lift my chin

and look upward

But it is hard to sustain

that posture
for more than a moment

Even though I want to stay
more than anything

I begin to feel the sway

Shifting my balance from one side 

to the other

Giving each leg a turn to carry 

all the weight at once

Seems unfair and unnecessary 

when there are two

made to hold the load together

In my reach for the center

The pendulum swings to one side

I feel the tempo of my mother

A frantic metronome

of anxiety
buzzing within me

Worker bee activity

filling the comb with honey

so there are no empty spaces

the sweet is quick

and the flight of bumble

catches up with me

bee wings are beautiful

but tiny

the weight of the pollen 

I have gathered

starts to burden

so flying becomes

difficult 

I see how far from the hive

I have strayed

and my leg starts to burn

So I shift my stance

I begin to feel the sway

the pendulum counters

momentum becomes speed

and before I can catch the middle

I have swung to the other side

Opposite contrapposto

My fathers slow low melody

lullabies me to a snails pace

His voice is rich and deep 

His volume is full and lovely 

The vibration resonates 

down in the souls of my feet

and drowns the seat of my soul 

with melancholy knumbness 

I could sleep there

for hours

days 

weeks

In that apathetic bed of depression

until the whole world 

just disappeared

An intoxicating hibernation

that holds the sweet kiss of death

which doesn't take very long 

Only one lifetime 

But then that leg starts to tingle

with pins and needles 

I begin to feel the sway

back the other way

This peg leg business 

does not make for a savvy sailor 

only a bitter pirate

A one eyed perspective 

with which to read the map

cheats you out of your rightful treasure 

How am I supposed to navigate

the polar codependent sea charts 

that have been unrolled

in this captains quarters

Which ropes do I pull

What knots should be undone

So I can raise sail 

Catch the wind 

Find my sea legs

the tenuous balance  

is in the curl of my toes

It uproots my feet

Flexes my knees

Arches my back 

Fills my lungs with salty air

Lifts my chin

and I look upward

For that is where I will find the center
submerged within each moment

It rests abreast the cutting edges of the wind

Nestled and protected In between the restless crests of waves

Cradled in the rolling reconstruction of the clouds
Inhaled between the exhales of serenaded notes

It is the still inside the honey spaces

It lies within the feeling of the sway

Posture

Excuse me

for a moment

My queen is screaming at me

I used to think

that I was just getting older

But then I cracked

and my back started to snap at me

My hips would give me lip service

My neck will whip lash me with sass into next week

When I was younger

Imprisoned by my disposition
lacking vertical precision

I remember my mother saying

to my sister and I

Why do you slouch so much

you should stand up taller

My sister would hunch

forward at the shoulders

and it would pull her chin down

so she stared at the ground

My hips would slump

forward and snake up my spine

and it would pull my chin down

so I stared at the ground

I didn't realize

what she was really saying

I don't know if she realized

what she was really saying

Now all the crooks in my core

that have been pinched

over the years

from improper posture

are refusing to carry that weight anymore

All the internal wounds

that my body

has been curling around

are bleeding through

refusing to hide

not even once more

The exaggerated curve

of these misaligned vertebrae

has been a map

of places to travel to

that need to be healed through

I have cradled my hips

at an inarticulate angle my whole life

My sexuality caged and protected

holding the unexpressed grief

from a history of abuse and misuse

The disc between my scapula

have consistently slipped

to make room for the heart

that would shrink back inside

to search for her courage

like a cowardly lion

If only she could see

that she is a lion

My chin pointing earthward

always kept me grounded

But it fought with my vocal chords

silently trying to escape to the sky

Their wrestling for position

distorting my crown and crane

creating the stretch and strain

from the multiplying thoughts

the yearning blossoms of my brain

Desire that kept on burning

trapped in that incinerator

as I consistently insisted

on slowly cremating my frame

I like to think I have an old soul

but my soul must have told the old

to wisely crawl into my body

to awaken me with aches and pains

now that I no longer have

the teenage angst

needed to refrain

doubtfully retreat

redundantly mistreat

the royal and regal that thankfully remains

This Thai Chi master

holding pose

fragile and unanswered

This old blues standard

rocking steady but unmastered

This ballet dancer

stretching slowly

intention overflowing

out of every undulating limb

It is time I embraced

such graceful consideration

Quiet, encompassing gentleness

selfless, shameless pride

cradled in reverence

through the loving humility

of my uniquely perfect posture

Holding the temporary presence

of my physical existence

as the sacred currency

of this appointed temple

Just as I imagine

my mother held me

gingerly and gratefully

for the first time

So I shall listen to her

I will stand taller

No more slouching

The origin of my lineage

will not have it

Excuse me

for a moment

I need to correct myself

My queen is calling for me