Sequoia

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I dreamed of shadows and sheltered things

beneath the tree with golden leaves.

Today the mighty trunk sliced bare as bone,

the rings rough and splintered,

you take my hand as we count the lives together.

A thousand deaths, a thousand loves,

a thousand circles bound us with frayed fibers,

spinning its thread, the splinters cut deep.

Now and then at the wound’s core,

the sapling sprouts from a single seed,

always yearning and always bending toward love’s light,

free of pain again,

under the sequoia tree.

 

 

 

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When I lie down to die
I hope you make a feathered nest
of downy white flicked with silvery gold,
and its velvet strands will be enough
to cradle my fading heart.

When I lie down to die
and the last tear slips across my cheek,
I hope the doves will gather to coo
a melody strung with faded memories
into my soundless ears.

Then I will know the path out of the woods
is to follow the pulse carried aloft on the wind
as it dances and twirls beyond the moon.

And I will smile as the dove’s wings open
for the song humming among the stars
has echoed in my soul for centuries.

And I pray you will hear this too,
when I lie down to die.

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This poem is dedicated to my father on the anniversary of his death.

 

Quick, what rhymes with Franco?

The following vlog was inspired by James Franco’s poetry reading he recently did for Obama’s inauguration. (Franco was very good in Freaks and Geeks, love him.)

It’s a poem about being a mom.

A mom desperate to get through yet another hectic morning without having a nervous breakdown.

Watch my video to see if I can make it through another day.

Mourning My Morning

In the earliest unborn hours of the morning, my heart beats, frantic with a
rushing of blood, pounding incessantly…

Rush…rush….rush…

Overshadowed only by the digusting guttural groans emanating
from my husband’s gaping maw
as he snores and slumbers beside me…

I want to reach out, slam his windpipe with my pillow–
–but I resist–
always resisting….

resist

Morning breaks, my mind cracks like an egg
dripping over the edge of a moldy crust,
undercooked and runny

Needs more salt.

But sandwiches are to be peanut buttered!
juice boxes to be tossed around!
hair  to be untangled!

Untangle the mess….

a frantic dance of

rush…rush…rush….

Have you seen my socks?

Where are the keys?

Will you help me construct a diorama of a rainforest using only toothpicks and glitter?
….Mrs. Hardison says it’s due today

Rush…rush…rush…..

Disaster strikes.

“Someone spilled my Cheerios!” I cry.
“Look! All over the floor!”

“Did you spill them?” I ask my son.

His attention elsewhere…always elsewhere….

“Someone spilled my CHEERIOS!”
I wail, my plantive cry falling on deaf tween ears, ears that only respond to digital beeps.

My son–hazel eyes forever glued to the tiny magic box, glowing ghastly white.

“Someone spilled my cheerios….”…I sputter to no one, hopeless,
the taste of sweet oats and honey forever lost to my lips.

He finally turns his head, raises his brow,

and the insidious words roll off his tongue
like water off a paritally submerged iPhone in a dirty toilet:

“Whatevs, Mom” he says.

“Whatevs.”

Whatevs.

Indeed.

Beautiful Child

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Gasping your first breath on a cold fall day,
your hazel eyes greeted my blue.
A strand of my hair locked tight in your grasp,
I let my heart bleed into yours.

We ran together through the scarlet leaves,
our dance tinged with memories of gold.

You showed me the starry night,
the seashell warmed by the sun,
the bumpy edge of a lizard’s back.

I showed you the edge of time.

Still we giggled and breathed in the wide open sky,
as it dripped into our lungs
we drowned,
wrapped in sparkling silver threads,
laden with love’s pure promise.

I dream to be rescued
but only as a brown speck
floating in the soft moss-green of your eyes,
so I may see what I’ve always known to be,
I am you and you are me.

A beautiful child.

Life is Better with a Pint of Vermont’s Finest

You came to me much like a dream,
bold yet sweet, you reigned supreme.

One tiny taste and I was sunk,
this crazy lust, I willingly drunk.

With promises of sugar and spice,
I gobbled you up, my wicked vice.

Thoughts of you would enter my day,
I had to be with you, there was no other way.

My lips–they’d tremble, my heart would swoon,
Quick! Off to the kitchen to grab a spoon!

I’d rip you open and plunge so deep,
your velvet cream, it made me weep.

Guilt be damned! Your love was mine!
We melted together–it was divine.

My life was over; this burden I’d carry
for I was in love with Ben and Jerry.

Oh, how I love a man wearing glasses. And holding a triple-scoop cone. You guys rock my world.

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About 14 years ago, before we were married and had kids, my husband and I traveled as much as possible. Did we go see the Grand Canyon? Mount Rushmore? Niagara Falls? The World’s Largest Ball of Twine?

Please! Why bother with those tired old tourist traps when you can visit the
Ben and Jerry’s factory in Vermont?

We took the factory tour and I think I might have asked the question, “Soooo annnyway… do we get free samples or what?” about a thousand times. Maybe I managed to tick off the tour guide a little. Especially when I kept interrupting her, insisting she interview me on the spot for the full time Taste Tester position. And asking if the salary was paid in giant vats of Chubby Hubby. Or if the employee gym featured showers that spouted nothing but caramel and chocolate syrup.

We did get our free samples at the end–after she escorted me outside–and we had a chance to taste a brand new flavor they were in the process of developing back in 1998:

Peanut Butter and Jelly!

And it was disgusting.

Sorry, but major flavor fail on your part, Ben and Jerry. (I forgive you.) Certain combinations probably should never be mixed with ice cream. Say, cottage cheese and pimentos. Or asparagus and Tabasco sauce. I would have rather tested those flavors. Wisely, the good people at Ben and Jerry’s retired the PB&J flavor after limited release and buried it where it belonged, six feet under in their ‘Where Bad Flavors Go to Die’ cemetery.

Here I am, desperately trying to resurrect the flavor “Nighty-Night”– vanilla ice cream with swirls of strawberry-flavored Benadryl and chunks of tangy Nyquil nuggets. (I may or may not be discreetly dumping my tiny sample cup of PB&J behind the tombstone…)
Ah, memories! The day we toured the Ben and Jerry’s factory in Vermont was the single best day of my life. Well…right behind the birth of my kids. And my wedding day…I guess….but really, who can compete with FREE SAMPLES!!

So tell me…what flavors would you crawl over hot coals for?

Mine are Phish Food and Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. I think I ate an entire pint of Coffee Heath Bar Crunch every single day back in college. (…and they say the ‘Freshman 15’ is a myth.)

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Drooling over this post? Feel free to visit the following bloggers today for more calorie-free sweetness as we celebrate all things ice cream.

Oma and his Blurt Blog
Lenore’s Thoughts Exactly
Georgette Sullins’s Blog
Pegoleg and her Ramblings
Blogdramedy
Katy over at k8edid
Jacquelin Cangro’s blog
Lisa from publikworks
Kim of The G is Silent
Julie True Kingsley’s Blog