writing

{dancing with the devil}

dirt

Dancing with the devil, Everyday our feet tap out patterns as we glide, He boasts of his hand fitting so nicely, ’round my waist as we sway from side to side.

With him, my dance card is always full, Never to my likings though, I stomp. I pout. I don’t wanna. But our audience demands that we put on quite the show.

So we prance & we swirl. We dip & we swoosh. His rhythmical antics… Well, add them to the pile of reasons I need a masseuse.

Dancing with the devil, He’ll hold you close; his whispers are never nothings of sweet, He’ll just tickle your ear with his steel wool mustache, And rattle off, “It won’t be long until together again TODAY we will meet!”

And he’s right. Much to my chagrin, I accept his offer unwillingly, I grumble internally when the music begins.

And the music you ask? Whatcha dancin’ to? Well, just leave it to the devil… He picks the SAME stinkin’ song; never a ditty of new.

The record is scratchy; always on the player, At any given moment in the day, the needle finds its groove, Here we go again… “Geez, devil! I’m all tapped out of dancin’ moves!"

Who is the devil? Why, I am sure, he dances with you, too. Perhaps just as often, Or maybe your music is not ALWAYS on the player ready for a dance of new. Do you know him? Have you guessed my lucifer of dance? Then I’ll just put the needle on the record…

a mother's riddle title

Sliding across the dance floor; I repeat my motherly trance.  

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{take root}

take root Rudiments
Of me.
Bulky & thick beginning
Jumble clustered
Smash pressed in between the necessity of now and the unknown.
Sideways, I stammer.
A battle of worlds rage.
Contentment.  Appeal.  Productivity.
Self. Self. Self.
I am knobby weak.
Undercut with doubt, I muster focus on my beginnings.
Rudiments
Of me.
 

moss limb

Soft places growing.
Thriving, I touch past.
Tiny places of good.
Provided
Yet these unfurled dreams, they wake me.
Rumpled covers are decisions heavy and real.
I run my fingers through life once more.
For second thoughts.
For my Maker's lead.
Self. Self. Self.
Take root grace.
 
grace take root

{again}

Again.

Beauty is profound even in the end.
Whispers of mistakes settle seamlessly in the sinking.
Gossiping back-n-forth with the sun.

She didn't keep her cool.
Her list of to-dos were barely checked off.
She reached out to no one today.

And the settling stings.
Heat radiates and burns my soul.
I waller in the act of letting go and letting down too.
Exacerbated by the day's finality, I coddle my imperfections.

Again.

The saturated farewell serenades.
Never mind the whispers.
Trust in the beauty of goodbye.

For the end is only the beginning.
A second chance of sorts.

Again.

Tomorrow waits anew.

                                    .mac 

{sunset compliments of my brother and sister-in-law's beautiful South Carolina home}

{authentic}

pungently the astringent tingles
a surge of crisp particles
chalky & fine
i scrub onward and around
{again}
swirled bristles of a wire ball
and i think
of littles 
and bigs
and in betweens
onward & around
a ball of bristles
movement requires action
pressure breathes life to penetration
scum
germs
mildew
overgrowths and yes, even underneaths
i rinse
metallic shocks sent out
{new}
a thorough cascade of water clear entices even more glimmer

purpose
movement
onward & around
a ball of bristles
astringent
washed 
{clean}

AUTHENTIC

God, thank you for the bristles of a wire ball that you are.

.mac 

Just right.


Steadily, you guide me.
With openings and clasps, 
Like a masked bandit, you turn & twist counterclockwise. 
Loops, you create.
Loads you transport.

In soft light and dark hours, you heal away tears trickling.
Your own and others.
You hold close hurt hearts and broken things.

You high five.
You spank.
You weave in and amongst tiny fingers ten.
all.out.of.love.

Through mountains of fabric, you create.
1 dimensional turned 3.
Sheers slicing.
Placed pins pulled & put back.
Griplock to the iron's hand.

You are my right.

And, so often, I neglect you.

I see your tale tell signs of the times.
The signs of her in me are becoming so clear.
The light lines traced like cracks are her steps before me.
The twisted knuckles remind me so.

One solid band adorns you.
Almost 10 years it has.
Dinged and scratched, it still finds its way.
A  R  O  U  N  D
And complete.

My right.
It is only fair that I give you more.
Of me.
Of who I am on the inside.
Of what I hope to be to others on the out.

My right.
Just right.
Just write.

Just right.
Just write.
My left hand.


.mac :)

Transitional

Quiet amblings amid rumpled covers.
In & out of now.
Mind jargoning with plans both premature & present.
I wake & slumber simultaneously.

Like dew in the new morning, the doubt shimmers iridescently on my skin.
Twisted in and amongst the what-ifs, the shimmer is more honestly known as sweat.
stenchy & real.

I do this more times than I can count.

Stifle success.
Shut progress up.
Second guess His plan & provisions.

I eradicate hope.
The one thing that is and will always be free.

It is here where the phrase "getting on your own nerves" is so aptly appropriate to my state.

.mac

{enhance}


Underneath.
Thin.
Precise.
An array

of     c    o   l   o    r    s.

peacock
persimmon
electric avenue blue
cobalt

Above.
Broad.
Smooth.
Supple & robust.

liquid or pencil

I delight in your embellishment.

.mac :)

Droplets



Tender.

Swift.
Yet unapproachable you are,
For vulnerability proclaims your presence.

I am enveloped by you.
And with no scheduled appointment, we meet.

In times of happy joy, you trickle full.
In times of sorrow & doubt, you rage.

Your performance always commanding.

Your release...right on time.


Sequestering me from my pride;  you revel in your now.


I am yours.

And, I am always better after your stay.

{TEARS}


.mac

wrinkles

Clouded eyes readjust the rearview,
A little more to the left...
No, don't look.
Just go on ahead.
You'll be just fine.

But my hand keeps fumbling with the tilt.
I do so as if I am being summoned.

LOOK.

And with knees fraile, I sit awhile.
And gaze back.
Second and third glances at my yesterdays become full-on stares.

Obnoxious & rude even for my gaping is a bit obtrusive.

But the photographs and memories don't mind.

I seek and I find old faces who knew me.
And, I them.

And these faces bring floodfuls of memories back to my very now.
Nostalgia is unforgiving when it beseiges your heart.

You relive.
You pause present and fervantly rewind.
Only to press stop and rewind again in hopes to hear the past more precisely this time.

Yes, perhaps this time through, memory won't leave out every last detail possible.

And there I go again.
Fidgeting more agressively now with the mirror.
Leaning forward, I stretch my eyeballs wide and closer in, in hopes for a better view.

Pissed I forgot my glasses now.
Where are those dang things?

Phsst, no time for that nonsense.
The look-see is about to leave me.

My heart races in remembrance of the past that held me.

Pictures pungent with messages sent and recieved.
sent and received
PAST.

Fingers aching to find a way to feel.
Knuckles buckling at the chance.

Lips on the ready to say it all once more, only this time a little louder.
Yes, with more gusto.
That'll do it.

An immediate urgency to put an end to this nostalgic-ness.
NO MORE.

For be it the best or the absolute worst, I don't like looking back.

It's in the fierce & frantic moments of fleeting memories-in-focus that I find nostalgia looking back at me.

Eyeballs wide and closer in for hopes of a better view.
I peer desperately at my many yesterdays.
And, sweetly my yesterdays surround me:  the good and the bad.

And alas, I feel a sincere peace envelope me.
Discreetly, with a brilliance unknown to man, nostalgia whispers goodbye.
Foggy and diluted with emotions, I remain transfixed.

And suddenly, with eyeballs wide, there I am.
Staring at two green irises and overly dialated pupils.

Wrinkles are but her footprints left.


.mac :)



Jagged

absence |ˈabsəns|nounthe state of being away from a place or personan occasion or period of being away from a place or person
Impromptu feels so nice.It's that place where freedom and frenzy duke it out.It's merriment to my very core.Quick shuttered thoughts followed furiously by whispers of doubt.Skipped rhythms.Hustled hurries.{eeks}set.in.motion.Reality rotates just a bit.As routines grumble & cuss under their breath, exploration exudes from your body.Exfoliation of same ole-same ole commences.Scattered meets settled as if for the very first time.And I get goosebumps as they shake hands.
Away.Procured my spirit.Enticed my senses.Hushed and happied my heart.Undefined a teacher's circumspection.Illuminated the tan line on my left ring finger.
Jagged seashells are the perfect writing utensil too.
.mac :)

Saturday Speaks

2 games of soccer for 2 boys, Their first.Mama and Daddy on the sidelines, just.for.them.
A lunch at one of our favorite places.Peanuts and bagged fries.
A daddy home for a day.A mama tidying up the house.Chores.Bills.
An inspiration.Sneakers laced.6 miles run.
Alas, feet up.Wine poured.Husband by my side.
relax |riˈlaks|verbmake or become less tense or anxious : [ intrans. ] he relaxed and smiled confidently | [as adj. ] ( relaxing) a relaxing vacation.[ intrans. ] rest or engage in an enjoyable activity so as to become less tired or anxious : the team relaxes with a lot of skiing.
Jack, the cat, knows best.
.mac :)