All Dubious Prose by Carol McLeod (pwnkle)

Future

 
There is a place I can't see
I turn away in case it shows itself
too soon

I pretend it isn't there
like a monster under my bed
careful to tuck up my hands and feet

better to tiptoe ,
better not to wake it up
I go and close the closet door

it might suck my life from me
if I look it in the eye,
if I give it substance

I want to see colors,
hear the warm green sound
the buzzing swarm of life around me

I want to be where the sun is still shining
undimmed by burgeoning possibilities

 

 

Feel
 
This world that turns under me
is full of mysteries and magic
round and green and bittersweet
full of the life I want to see

Aching for the wasted time,
jealous of every minute spent
not feeling passion in my heart
for life , I will not waste mine

barefoot I will pick my way
through the cool sweet grass
leave my shoes at the door
I want to feel my life each day

a fool I will be by choice
not worrying what others see
I see myself in focus now
and I have found my voice

 

 

   

 

The sun came up today
filling my eyes with gold
spilling over hills and fields,
nascent day becoming

Shrugging off the chill
tugging off shreds of dreams
clinging like cobwebs
to my bed

The day dons its colors,
 waking life around the earth
 and I will join the dance.

 

 


I won't succumb to night's
darkness beckoning,
a painless reflection of life
drained of feeling
 

 

 

Baggage

There is sadness for things gone by
things held in my grip
needed things for being happy
fingers loosened ,I let them slip.

Looking down at empty hands
what they held was gone
turned to dust and drifted
sifted into wind and lost.

Now my hands no longer hold
what wasn't gold but dross,
detritus from old dreams
fading and cold.

I am free to touch the world
having no things to fear.
I dropped my burdens to the ground
and found the path clear.

 

 

  

 

  

Three Haiku


it is quiet here

at the cusp of a new day
the scent of tea in my cup

sitting at my desk
the lamp light illuminates
how dark the night is

I stare at the screen
a shawl wrapped around my gown
and I touch the keys

 

 

 

 

Passions hidden,
I'm not what you see.
You see my rags,
I'm flung into a bin

or on some rag hook hung.

It must take x-ray eyes
to see through the rags.
People can't see through their own smoke,
can't see themselves
they're normal folk
not always wise.

The rags I am aren't real,
but hold me fast inside
and color my experience
because you think it's me.
Look no deeper than you do
and it's your self you'll see.

I'm not bothered by what you think.
It doesn't change anything inside the rags.
What I'm wearing now means nothing.
I'm a soul in drag

 

 

   

 

 

Daybreak

it's dark outside
I have opened my eyes to darkness
in the silence of that time
before the warmth of my house
stirs itself
I lie in bed .

hearing my eyes opening
a cat creeps close to welcome me
to the new day
this the best time
to feel soft fur
to feel comforting purr
against my neck.

pulling the blankets up
under my chin
the chill in the air
makes this bed
seem softer

my restless mind
and my restless body
won't let me stay here
they compel me
to go and look at the day

there is good in this new day and I arise
I accept that this is the way for me
and I feel joy
  

 

 

 

The Painter

I carry hints of my predilection,
spatters of color here and there
on my sleeve and hands I wear
colors I loved this day

I tried to find a new direction
the four corners I think have found me
the story wants to be told and seen
I lift the brush and find the way

into this dream I go
it takes me to that place
where time and outer world fade
and the fearful mind slows

I paint the fresh white field
dipping brush in alizaron
and sublime pthalo green
this trembling brush I wield
 

 

   

 

The Garden of Medusa

I once walked through the garden of medusa
not knowing where i was
through toxic stratus
through evil greed
I stumbled in

I stayed too long in the garden of medusa
playing in the noxious twilight
not seeing crumbled walls of stone
not seeing dying birds
the oily fen

In that place I slept
under the doomed trees
a sleep disturbed
by fitful dreaming
sibilant warnings
gone unheeded
listen


because I looked up
and beheld what I could not see
there in the toxic land,
in the heart of betrayal
in the dark of mans intention
I slowly turn
 

 

 

 

Moonrise


The moon rose quickly tonight
over the rooftops of my street
it seemed eager
to be up high and full

now I can better see the shadows
in the woods behind my house
and the long dark path
the apple tree makes across the ground

it is lovely ,
in this chiaroscuro night
a moon that shows the darkness
and hides the light

 

  

 

 

A night as cold as a ringing bell

Outside, but I'm not

In my world, small 

but not as small

As a Higgs Boson

If that were so then I would fly away

And sprout wings at will

Would be slender and lovely

Sing like a mockingbird

Smile all the time

I can't see much even though I'm in it,

This chunk of humanity that I am

Is swimming through the universe

Through the bits and pieces of stars


 

 

 

 

Time used to be linear in my world

until I slowed enough to feel it.

People streak by where I am standing,

becoming blurred.

They doppler by as if catapaulted

toward the end of the line.

I've slowed down enough to see

this isn't the place I thought it was.

I'm already there

and still beginning.

 

 

 

monkey people

You're so bright up there in the night sky

I think I would like to touch you,

but that isn't real

it only seems that way.

Maybe you're where we came from,

home of the monkey people.

I stand out here at night and look at you,

as if I'm waiting for you to speak.

 

The ground down by the woods flickers with the glow

of  slugs who think they are stars too.

They must worship the night sky.

It isn't your cold fire that I love,

its the mystery of what could occur.

 

  

 

Panic

my mind spinning off
in a rush of confusion
I chase tangled meanings
flying like leaves in the wind

reaching for fading thoughts ,
and unsure words , lost memories
escape me like a childs balloon
rising up to the sky

I am losing substance
each time I stumble
or some object falls
from futile hands

darkness grows into places
made of forgotten things
there is panic hiding
I don't want to see


I open each door to see
if there is warmth and light
outside

fear does not love the light
it hides away inside waiting
to sting the heart

 

 

 

 

Static

I awakened in fog
lost in dreaming
tangled in blanket folds

It's cold in the night
when the house is sleeping
cold winding around the corners
it follows me

sounds are different in the night
each little crack and ping
more insistent, louder now

I find solace in cathode gleaming light
companionship of tv people
their eyes as empty as mine

the hawking of the tv pimps
is my lullaby tonight

selling their brand of false salvation


 

 

Early Summer

Time of birds and mowers,
hammers beating nails
Mated pairs strutting and bobbing
Doing their dance for the chance
to fill nests waiting empty
In the backyards petals blow like dry sweet snow
From trees that will soon offer apples and cherries
My windows are fully open to noisy newness
I wish I could pry them wider yet,
and break all the walls and windows
 

 
   

For Greg

Behind me sits a man
playing 3-d-pinball space cadet  at this quiet hour,
a word, a phrase thrown over his shoulder in the darkened room.
No baying wolf this night, no dour words of doom.
Ham-handed he mumbles, saving a virtual world from certain death
At the hands of alien flunkies.

It may have been subconscious, urged on by Jungian noise
A slice of synchronicity, "The Hatfields and McCoys"
Procured some hours previous to this ramble.

As festinating from one aisle to another,
Fondling volumes and earnest about the importance of what he sought.
He explained the reason behind
That curious choice, he had a yen to find.

Yen or not it sits now at rest, reasons found
now he rids the universe of pests and militant space cadets.
Pin ball zapping sounds leak from his computer
and the odd chuckle reaches my ears.

 

 

 

Gingi

What marks the passing of an old cat

There were no speeches, no amazing grace for her

Into the rain she went that day to die a catís death

There was no comfort we could give her

 

She had been my friend for many years

Always quick to offer warm fur to touch

When she purred, I held her to my ear

She was my friend

 

She had her own peculiar style

Letting me hold her and wiggle her legs and tail

And all the while she only smiled her catís smile

A boneless bag of fur in my arms

 

She is gone and it was so fast

This friend of so many years died alone

I still look for her around the house

But she can only be found in the past

 

   

 

Things that go bump in the night

I hate clocks ticking in the night.
Tick tick tick
my eyelid keeps time
my right foot does a painful jig
under the sheet

I hear a faucet drip
Splat splot split
My foot hears it too
And changes it's beat

Pain shoots down my neck
It greets the ache in my arm
They work together in shrieking silence
Like strings connecting
a hellish marionette

This body electric sings at night
my legs twist and tap
in a Hoffmanesque ballet,
and currents make my legs jump
like a science class frog.

Trying to take off the damned red shoes
To be still, to rest, to pull the plug
And let the current flow away
Swallow more aspirin pills
The faucet drips
The clock ticks
And the music plays