gazing through bubbles refracted light I search the curves for the parts of me stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
unrecognizable, untouched I smile despite treading choppy waters of the darkest sea gazing through bubbles refracted light
probing tired feelings I write and rewrite hurts with bleeding fingers, piled debris stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
colorful galaxies explode with meteorite quickness, explosions blasting truths proxy gazing through bubbles refracted light
exhaustion whispers hurt meant to incite rioting wildness, love’s saddest symphonies stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
finger poised to break rainbows requite I pause, struck by life’s familiar frailty gazing through bubbles refracted light stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
This was my attempt at exploring my reoccurring seasons of depression and loneliness through the format of the villanelle. There’s something appealing to me about writing poetry with strict formats—perhaps it’s a false sense of control when I’m feeling so helpless and vulnerable. Let me know what you think of my first attempt at this type of poem and if you are in the dark right now please know you aren’t alone.
I’ve not felt patriotic in years. After seeing a terrible car accident this morning and reading of yet another mass shooting, my mood is far from celebratory. I decided to photograph my day in an attempt to combat the anger, disappointment, and sadness at fully realizing freedom in America has always been selective. It’s getting harder and harder to cling to the hope things will get better.
Here’s a look at what brings me joy and gives me the energy to keep fighting—my sister’s new puppy, playing with my sweet nephew, dominoes, fresh tomatoes, swimming with my mom and aunt, and sparklers.
Thank you so much for your support.
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clinging to rocks with five arms the starfish thrives under the sea bounded by thick seaweed forests and surrounded by free creatures living complex underwater dramas and grasping tightly for survival
diving under I hold my own survival like a bawling baby tight within strong arms made tough by fighting external dramas created through daring the churning sea of man to see me worthy among creatures; equal to those hiding within its dark forests
with wide womanly hips, I dance in forests singing of my own truth, my own survival while being told I’m weak among creatures, unworthy of spinning with wide open arms spread like wings deep into the sea of truth you’ve churned into polity dramas
you try and create new elaborate dramas within the shadowy, political forests telling me my body floating in the sea isn’t worthy of fighting for its own survival; instead, you must tie my wide-spread arms behind me like all wild and crazy creatures
for you know better, you zealot savage creatures bent on pushing single-minded dramas held in your pure, pious, and holy arms; while I must run into the dangerous forests without protection, fighting for survival in your newly created shark-infested sea
with wide breaststrokes, I swim out to sea feeling one with the wild salty creatures who know the sacred truths of survival; watching breezy seaweed dramas dance before me in underwater forests, hugging myself tightly with loving arms
the tempestuous sea hosts maddened dramas of all God’s creatures within wavy seaweed forests filled with starfish arms reaching toward survival
untie my sweet womanly arms as I float in the sea or dance in forests with its many feral creatures; let me control the myriad dramas of my own survival
After spending a few days at the ocean I wrote this sestina to process what’s happening to woman’s rights in this country and ready myself to fight back. I’m not interested in debating the issue and any comments attempting to do so will be removed.
I’ve spent the last few days with my writing partner Anna, her daughter Bella, and my daughter Lola at Dillon Beach. While it’s over 100 degrees back home it’s been cool and overcast here. We’ve had several days filled with talking, relaxing, and writing. Considering the state of affairs in the world right now it felt extra special to be together as women near the healing energy of the ocean.
I struggled to photograph the beach in ways I haven’t before and I’m not sure I was very successful. I included a photograph of a fire truck as yesterday we came across a woman who broke her ankle on the hiking trail down to the beach. Anna held her leg and comforted her while the rest of us flagged down the first responders when they arrived. Watching how everyone came together to help this woman was a wonderful example of kindness in a world that feels a bit scary at the moment.
Thank you, as always, for your support of my blog. I hope you have a wonderful day.
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Here’s a bonus photo my lovely and talented friend Anna took of me. You can find her incredible artwork and writings at loscotoff.com.
weary smiles, turn away deep water, baggy clothes dream free, life restored
II.
touched without my permission in hot places where thumping music makes thighs jump and sway, alcohol-filled stomach churns truth until it tumbles, rolls
shadowed memories turn into wispy sweaty kisses pressed against tightly layered armor shattering fragile identity, fat words sweetly whispered with fragrant wolfy breath—eaten
tumbling out dirty doors, stars protect while Mother Moon watches with hard kind eyes, stealthily struggling to hide tears under swelling flesh made soft
fistfuls of candy devoured in weary attempt to lock in realistic smiles while broken-hearted I pirouette turn carefully from danger; take me away
keep marching through tunnels down deep sacred places boogeymen can’t go; water too filled with sugary goodies baggy after baggy blooming like puffy clothes
shaking nightmare voices off, golden dreams swirl unfocused almost saying I’m free; running even-breathed penning new life while courageous sun promises hope restored
This poem is for others like me still processing old trauma and heartbreak anyway we can. May you find your way toward the healing sun. I hope to meet you there someday.
The format of this poem is one I did before, where each word in the first poem becomes the last line of each stanza in the second. Thank you for reading and supporting my poetry adventures.
My photos this week were all taken around the pond at William Land Park in the early evening. It was warm outside and I learned the lotus flowers I wanted to capture only open early in the morning and are closed by mid-afternoon.
I had the intention of returning later in the week to try again, but my son started summer school and life got busy. Perhaps in a few weeks, when school finishes, I’ll have time to return to this beautiful spot.
Although I didn’t get the blooms, I am happy with the photos I was able to capture of the animals living around the pond, especially the dragonflies. Let me know what you think in the comments below and I hope you have a wonderful week.
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would you have trusted me more if I’d known about fingertip sparks and fluttering hearts?
or if I’d really looked at tiny pencil drawings on matchboxes and folded paper napkins?
you’d pass notes I didn’t understand— messages scrawled on scraps of paper palm to palm
rainbows hung around your pretty neck; delicate lovely things refracting light into everything you did
you left without goodbyes—fleeing rejections spurred by fevered religious hate disguised as family love
you drew naked ladies in Paris seeing worldly wonders dreaming nightly with fingertips stained black
floating down stone steps in tailored suits you charmed everyone with your soft blue eyes
returning home sick, thick sketchbook under heavy arms we talked about everything but the truth
you left without me seeing you kiss your lovers, pink-skinned blushing on ornate bridges
or watching you dance under moonlit skies with flowers tucked into your fluffy blonde hair
Present
driving nowhere we sing with windows down, wind blowing tangles into your fluffy red hair
I sense something brewing behind quiet lips, fingers fidget with your many bright silver rings
with a trembling voice, you say you like girls—scared of rejection bare legs shake
you’ve known since kindergarten, but it wasn’t something you wanted to explore or talk about
honored, I listen to your deeply held sacred truths; as you discover who you are
my old friend breathes words of comfort through me helping me ease your coming out
grabbing soft hands tightly, I squeeze three times letting you know my love remains unchanged
balancing stone words we build together walls to fight against those who would seek destruction
inked drawings, musical explorations, the Heartstopper you share everything with me, showing me the way
crying at pride, past present swirl promising to do better armed with free mom hugs
Street Art in Sacramento, CA
In honor of Pride Month, I dedicate this poem to a dear high school friend who died of AIDS and my beautiful daughter who trusts me with her truth. I reference the show “Heartstopper” on Netflix and can’t recommend it enough for its sweet portrayal of love. Happy Pride Month!
I’ve been looking at a lot of photographs and find I’m really drawn to photojournalism. I love when a photographer tells a story through their images, capturing a moment in time or the essence of a person or place. I’d like to work on developing my own style of images.
On the road to improvement, I’ll be dedicating the next few weeks to photographing on a theme. This week, my offering is from a recent visit to the Sacramento Zoo. I had a small child with me, so I didn’t have as much time as I’d have liked to stay in one place and capture multiple images. However, it’s all part of the process and I rather enjoyed myself.
Thank you for your support and have a wonderful week.
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unable to move I gasp, turning tumbling down rabbit holes meant to not be remembered at dawn
Pulling up behind my darkened house in their shiny black El Camino, bass booming—a thunderous storm descends upon my unconscious fragile form. I don’t hear their footsteps as they scribble scramble through the muddy murky darkness toward sleeping me.
wondrous whispering willows lean in to reveal secret truths, sacred words hidden behind the cloudy half-lit moon
Steadfast friends, The Sand Man and The Grater share midnight missions of messy madness. Sneaking in at night’s exact middle, they come silently ruffling my soft, warm blankets. Unknowing, I am fully helpless to the whims of these nighttime lurkers.
when did missing sunshine turn my insides colors, making a mockery melody moment within my comfy covers
They simply divide and conquer, each moving around my room to deliver their own precise brands of nightly justice. The Sand Man sprinkling dream dust into closed eyes, invoking silky soft dreams of rest, while his counterpart sharpens his claws.
don’t be afraid little ones they say as monsters lurk under billowing bed sheets with cutting wits
I’ve never seen The Grater’s form, but I’ve felt his silver touch as he comes to dance with my worries. It seems rather unfair he’s allowed access when the doors and windows are so carefully locked with shiny brass deadbolts.
nothing blends into something, twist the knob, turn the handle, flip switch after switch without the keys
He presses his shiny sharp grates into whatever skin he can reach, slipping under the quilted comforter held tight by my sweaty fists. The words come with him—frightening little whispery repetitions singing songs of my insecurities/fears with feverish unrelenting cruelty.
he’s never coming back to you you’ll be left alone with dark silent shadows under creaking floorboards
The Tooth Fairy has seen his lumbering shape peeking out from the sheets—flashing silver eyes and sharpened talons. She folds her transparent wings tightly together, snatching at long ago lost baby teeth—forever forgetting her pouch of golden coins.
shivering, shaking, my body fights back but movements do nothing to protect openings—internal portals of pain
Heaviness, his tell-tale calling card, will linger around me when I finally fully wake from the night. Throwing off blankets, I yawn as the echoes of his work stick tight on red, raw skin. Failure feels immediate and imminent.
tomorrow always comes without command or permission, blasting hazy new thoughts refracted backward, inward, outward toward light
Breath deeply. Stretch. I mustn’t stay still for the poison will set and I’ll stay in bed. Fight to the shower to scrub the sticky words off with fragrant suds, washing his work down silver drains back to the darkness.
shake awake fingers, dance to life toes, and say farewell to nightmares until fractured, the moonlight returns
This week was another busy one. It seems I’m running from one place to the next with barely enough time to write or photograph. It was my nephew’s graduation and we have family visiting from out of town. I’ve gone to bed late and woken up early each day and I still feel behind in everything.
I’m disappointed in all my photos this week. I’m not sure if I’m simply exhausted or I’m at the tipping point where I can see the faults in my work but do not have the skills yet to fix them. I’ve included two photos from the graduation and a few from a visit to the California State Railroad Museum.
Thank you for stopping by and I hope you have a great week.
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