Three ...

Three words
tiny
delicate
whispered.
There is magic in three ...
beginning with an "I"
ending with a "you"
mystery in between
it is that very mystery
that joins
the Beginning with the End.
Three words
tiny
delicate
whispered.
The wonder
is the question, the miracle, the magic
that quietly settles
nudging softly
the place in between "You" and "I".

What If?

What if ...
the clock's not there.
It always was -- she knew it.
A clock hidden behind the Norman Rockwell --
the safety of it, the senselessness.
An unworking clock is stuck.
Stuck.
She is not stuck, but believes in the clock that hasn't worked for years.
Believes in the truth of it.
And when she looks --
it's gone.
Norman Rockwell has his secrets,
but this is big.
Without the clock, there is no history, and without
the history --
is there value?
Yes.
She believes.
She believes in all of it.
A nod means hello
A yes means yes
a spider leads to soup
a look leads to trust
And what of the clock?
It exists even though it cannot be seen
It is a wonder
and quite possibly, a portend.
Why check the time if the door is open?
Enter, and then see ...
just how much time has passed.

The Art of Wasting Time

One must begin with a dream. For example, last night I dreamt that I was in my dream, but to get the dream to move on to the next sequence, I had to "climb" out of it, settle in front of my laptop, and press "Next" to move on. I was able to then rejoin my dream and continue for some time before having to climb out again.
I remember no details of the dream, other than having to climb out, hit "next," and climb back in again.
Frankly, it was exhausting, all that climbing and nexting, and consumed much of my morning as I tried to recall the actual content within the dream. By late morning, I had accomplished nothing other than tiring myself over the whole business, so that it was time to take a small nap.
Being gifted in the art of napping is also a wonderful tool. My Nap Dream was that I was napping. Particularly pressing was the fact that the dream seemed to be urging me to wake up. So, I suppose after dreaming about waking up, that it was best that I did, in fact, wake up.
Upon waking I found it so intriguing that I had dreamed of waking that it was well after three in the afternoon before I could get myself to think on anything else.
I decided to sit down and do some writing, but the moment that I came face to face with my laptop, I recalled the nasty dream of the night and was overcome with searching for its content again.
It's late evening, now -- and as I consider the luxury of dragging my exhausted body to bed -- I cannot help but wonder if there wasn't something to the Nap Dream as well.
I plan to think on it some more. I'd hate to have wasted an entire day.

Hooray for the Wonder of me! Or, Ode to a New Coffee Maker

Hooray for the Wonder of Me!!!
I waited on that frozen shelf. watching people pass. They do not appreciate me for my beauty, my art, or my commitment.
But the one; he wanders, takes a look. Yes, he has heard about me and my many talents.
He picks up the poor schmuck serving as the floor model, that one won't get far -- banged and dented and popped around before so much as one ground alters him.
You may call me a coffee maker.
But I am a maker of Magic.
I can change a dull morning to one of delight.
I create conversation, and even courage.
I have been known to inspire poetry.
Trust me with your mornings, and I will serve you faithfully.
Oh! What joy! To be stripped and freed from the confinement of packaging.
To be handled, oh so gently -- and look!
SHE likes me too! She believes in me even more than he does,
and at the mere mention of her words,
"the holidays,"
I am spilling over with plans.
Atmosphere is my gift, my genius. Aroma, merely a part of me.
I will wake you with a gentle call, no beeps or buzzing from me --
and you will slip easily into your morning as if I were your favorite lounging clothes.
(Speaking of, I do love a good pair of pajamas, and am quite discriminating. If approached by filthy bed clothes, or worse, nothing -- I'll still offer you my blessing, but my eyes will be shut as you take my glory from me.)
Yes, you, young man who brought me home -- the cozy shelf will do. And I will entertain, warm, and delight your loved ones --
And daily -- if you will only let me -- I will fill you full of the nectar of the gods.
Send you out of the door singing.
At last, I am home.
And now situated, have but one desire:
to brew contentment for all who will have me.

Words

If words were what mattered most
your touch would not move me,
shatter me,
send me chasing the moon to join you.
If words were what mattered most
your look would not catch me,
startle me,
send me squirming through the dark to find you.
If words were what mattered most
your lack of them would wound me,
break me,
send me out the door to face the void beyond.
But in your silence I am safe
and in our "quiet" I hear things...
Soft, and warm, and wild, and wonderful...
If, one day, you speak --
I wonder ...
If words were what mattered most
I would have missed the point,
lost me,
walking in my daze, alone, without you...
...And yet ... "what so wild as Words are?"

Making Change

Are you sure you want to do this?
This will change all that you've done.
But if you make this change right now
it saves time in the long run.
Saving's of the essence
Editing your new life
Creating space to play around
Deleting Past and Wrong
If you just tap one small arrow
that direction's where you'll run.
Safer.
Stronger.
Increasing Options.
Helping if you fall,
So in the end you wonder if
the work is yours
at all.

New Bursts Through

And I cannot breathe for any of it as
the New bursts through my door
I quiet with the shock of light and change ...
My heart will eat through my skin, tearing as it is
to have eyes of it's own to believe
just believe
for one moment that anything is true.
My ears have eyes now, as do the tips of my trembling fingers
and even my feet look for more
For I have been starving eating Old
Where was New before?

Beginning

A scratch a stretch, a frumpled shirt and all the grass whines "please" --
and leaves a'ticklin' her so shy toes-- all time, all time ...
Squinch eyes and blink and try to flirt with dancin', laughin' leaves.
Buried things and livin' things
chat o'er their cup o' tea.
She broke her back just bein' nice
cracked her skull while learnin'
twisted the ankle while dancin' on egg shells
but whispers with the trees
tells secrets to the trees.