Clearing webs from the hovel
a blistered hand on the handle of a shovel
I’ve been digging too deep, I always do.
I see my face on the surface
I look a lot like narcissus
A dark abyss of an emptiness
Standing on the edge of a drowning blue.
I look behind my ears for the green
Even my sweat smells clean
Glare off the white hurts my eyes
Gotta get out of bed get a hammer and a nail
Learn how to use my hands, not just my head
I think myself into jail
Now I know a refuge never grows
From a chin in a hand in a thoughtful pose
Gotta tend the earth if you want a rose.
I had a lot of good intentions
Sit around for fifty years and then collect a pension,
Started seeing the road to hell and just where it starts.
But my life is more than a vision
The sweetest part is acting after making a decision
I started seeing the whole as a sum of its parts.
My life is part of the global life
I’d found myself becoming more immobile
When I’d think a little girl in the world can’t do anything.
A distant nation my community
A street person my responsibility
If I have a care in the world I have a gift to bring.
We live in a political world. Love don’t have any place. We’re living in times where men commit crimes. And, crimes don’t have a face.
We live in a political world. Icicles hanging down. Wedding bells ring and angels sing. Clouds cover-up the ground.
We live in a political world. Wisdom is thrown into jail. It rots in a cell. Is misguided as, hell. Leaving no one to pick up the trail.
We live in a political world…Where mercy walks the plank. Life is in mirrors, death disappears. Up the steps into the nearest bank.
We live in a political world…Where courage is a thing of the past. Where courage is a thing of the past. Houses are haunted, children are unwanted. The next day could be your last.
“In my lifetime, I’m still not right.”
the Indigo Girls
Frail as an, azure manicure…He simply said to me,
“that is what we have left for you.
In such a youthful state…your only tranquility will be a savored, small room set in the mind.”
I could scarcely understand such a, scarred, singed, sage.
No matter the matrimony.
No matter the saint.
No longer…young at middle age.
His terse, flawed quotes…were far from quaint.
Until a debris of wants.
My hoarders bin filled the tapestry in the sacred room.
Cluttering my soul!
A bee swarm!
Being flawed and broken, I held the four walls up to my looking glass.
Plastic abrasions filled my whole.
Among the lonely space…
dreams of nylon insurrection paid for with youthful…tainted cash.
“Is the glass half-full or empty?” I ask her as I fill it.
“It doesn’t really matter…Pretty sound your bound to fill it.”
…..I had been dampened, such as, a cotton towel left in a June rain. Still, unsanctioned…and moist. Waiting among the firing flies…
I had no airs to put off…
No need for complaint.
However, in this wet climate…I am not a saint.
I have heard a hundred degrees over the limits…
I have heeded the warnings.
On the road to weather’s hell…to infinity and back…
As my cup began to teeter with drink
All she could muster, again and again…
“Be careful…You’ll be bound to spill it.”
Sticks and stones.
A single light bulb.
On a single thread for the black sirens wail.
Rose-colored glass begins to age and crack.
While the politicians shadowbox.
The power ring in an endless split decision.
Never solve anything from a neighbor’s distant land.
I heard the strain of the common man.
Well the world seems spent.
And, the president has no good idea.
Of who the masses are.
Well I’m one of them!
And, I’m among friends
We’re trying to see beyond the fences in our own backyards.
I’ve seen the kingdoms blow.
Like ashes in the winds of change.
But the power of truth?
Is the fuel for the flame!
So the darker the ages get…
There’s a stronger beacon yet.
Let it be me!
If the world is night.
Shine my life…like a light.
In the kind word you speak…
In the turn of the cheek…
When your vision stays clear…
In the face of your fear…
Then you see turning out a light switch.
Is their only power.
When we stand like spotlights.
In a mighty tower.
All for one… And, one for all.
Then we sing the common call!
This is not a fighting song.
Indigo Girls – Let It Be Me