in this notebook

stories ensue
continue
explain
examine
express
this is *it*
life living itself
out loud
and overheard
and here, in this
notebook,
in this digital
camera,
recorded.

take care. i love you.

take care,
i love you
and the phone
clicks shut
here in
this
evidence
of now
flashing
bulb
bulbless
tulip
springing
forth
the winter
is over
we are in the
deep heart
of pollinated
spring
a ring
dadadadadadada
jen and the baby
are here.
aha.
now i know a name.
i'll call you when i get home.
okay
bye
a click of the closed
phone
my dad calls me
every day
she tells jen
the skinny friend
her own pregnancy
protruding
life has its
way with
all of us
a ring
dadadadadadada
some words of
love and explanation
the click
of a closed
connection
cut off?
released.
again. to
LIFE in the present moment.

LIFE living itself

one more
glass
of clear
water
to ascertain
teh half fullness
as i tip over
past full
i am in the
bliss
of this
easy
morning.
i am here
in the crepes a go go
sitting in my
corner perch
observing
both the
rose and
its reflection
baby girl
at home now
on the outside lap
of her already
skinny
mother
eathing
partaking of
crepe
a go go ing
nowhere
for just
a little
while
alive
in the
wide
joy
of entering
a body
exiting
a body
soul
aspiring
fulfilled
LIFE
living itself
AHHHHHHH

amputated imaginings

i stretch the tired
muscles
in my shoulders
arching the reach
of bones
forward--
as if that--
they--
were the only
arms
i have
i had--
i notice
the glory
of holding
the pen
aloft.

if i lost
these hands--
i would
carry it
in my teeth
dancing--
still and forever
across the
open book
of waiting
white
page.

A W A K E

the dangerously thin
red head
older than she
should be
greets ghimila
with familiarity
smiles a hello
in my direction
breathes a
breath of clarity
onto her lenses
and wipes the
wet fog
away
settles into
her book
comfortably
turns the
thin pages
crackling
the joy
A W A K E.

here and gone

here and gone
the long muscles
of the slender
young
terse
beauty
in and out
in a caffeinated
hurry
already
on
her
way

to where, so fast?

new life's cries

a pregnant blonde
carrying a baby girl
new to the world
her friend
brunette mother
is thin again
so fast?
the return to
before body?
how does one sweat
so much? so often?
amid the
languorous joy
of new life's
cries?

no j in arabic

ghimila offers to take my picture.
ghimila.
she takes two--
we don't have J in arabic--
and i ask her her name
we shake hands.

a.i.r. reflections

here, at crepes a go go
i lapse into poetry
mother and daughter
battle out
the inconsistencies
of service
ire
and money spent
hard times
traffic details
driving records
play their spinning way
today i am her
at this cafe
instead of my beloved
denica's
because i, too,
had to take my prius
to toyota.

again, connected.
through overheard
story, double mocha and crepe.

spinach, cheese, mushroom & turkey crepe + double mocha

i sit
enjoy
eat
take in the doisneau
reminiscences
am transported
to a crepery
there
tour de eiffel
rising from the papers they
are printed on
i am once again
in the rich memory
of prin temps
and my stroll
down the
champs elysee
sitting in outdoor cafes
lingering over $8 cokes
rejoicing in the
mishmash of
asian guitarists
bringing alive the john denver
song
take me home
to paris, love
with this crepe
i am ready
for the steps of
sacre cour
the joys of mon martre
take me home.

tuesday, may 13

here i sit
startled into joy
by the jutting poem
emerging as clear
inspiration
from the granite
sandwich.
i pause in the pausing
place
the bamboo worn
away
by impatient
footprints
wanting to get
closer
to the
miracle
of these
unexpected
words.
i read the gift of them
came from you,
dear tobi earnhart gold
age 9
from my favorite
bolinas, california
a river of words
contest
winner
how old are you
now?
and how did you
know
your
words
would give me
pause
to see this place
this glorious
walnut
creek
and cause me,
as you have
to spend some looking time
seeing, at last,
your grandmother tree.
fallen
as she may be
your words
have brought her
and indeed this
place
finally
alive
to me.

posterity

and so
the
soldiers
come and go
willing to kill
and die
4000 now
i'm sure its
more
a stunning fact
out on the
floor
her
son
is
one
has won
his way
to
long forgotten
trials
how long
goes on
this
list of
names
the young
to fight
forgotten blame
misplaced
upon
this
funeral
pyre
he reaches
for his
bride
his mother
to his side
she weeps
and drinks
and stirs the
soup of one
day unforgiven
her lover
joins not
the
family
picture.
it is understood:
she is not welcome to posterity.

moment momentus

here
sitting
in the
deep
yes
of this
collaboration
i come
to
this
shell
of
moment
momentus
here
i
be
a
poet
in
residence
residing
in
my
own
white
car.

overheard

the so and so
of soul
beauty
bearing
its
weight
in the
sunlight
of
forgiven
go in
without
me.
i've got
to change.

and so i come

and so
i come
i enter
i sit
i find
my mind
surfacing
to destroy
the act
of this
artmaking
making
itself
a
mask
promises
threatens
its
place
to hide
behind
to
enter in
to the
dance
beyond
this
body.

i
sit.

i
be.

i
write.

i
find.

i
come.

i
enter
the
offering.

i gift my gifted
self to these proceedings.

seeing

oh without
camera to
capture this
to spread across
the weight of
white--
to capture the
shadow of hand
holding pen
dancing
its up and down
undisciplined
in the rightness
of its letters
cast as they
are the medicine
of shadows
releasing
their contents
holding still
both writers
hand and
dancing pen
there is a world
a way--a
standing
in the way of
the light
that causes
them
all
to be
here
on this
page
this brush
of memory
this veil
of light
lifted
to expose
itself
in
these
red
words

a glimpse cast
and then escaped
there is no re-creation of this
moment
here.

i notice this

i notice this
the point of entrance
the space of spill
a clear point
a tip
a ball roller rolling
allowing the ebb and flow
of lifeblood
of red ink
to move past that block
that rolling ball
to pointed freedom
the promised land
of the blank
page
littered now
with the
thingness
of this
poem.

i begin

i begin
sitting
in the
art car
waiting
without waiting
to spill the shadow
breath
memory
onto this
waiting
page

the last time we talked?

we were doing the taxes
you were making it up
your mileage
but you didn't want to
just make it up
you wanted to look back
at the calendar
and calculate
just how many miles
you might have spent
traveling to the courthouse
and back
taking the back roads
like you liked to do
and we had worked
our way through April
and i couldn't stand it
anymore
the figuring
of taxes
without talking
about the refund
you were not going to be here
to receive
to put in 5% CDs
and save for the
retirement
you weren't agreeing to
me, wresting it from
your clinging hands.
and i started crying
just like a girl
and i stormed about
just like you taught me
and it shook you up
a minute
and we went to the living room
reserved for visitors
and sat down,
and you asked me
if i had any
questions...


was that the last time we talked?

i wanted something else

i wanted something
else
something different
something i couldn't explain
and didn't expect
adn wouldn't
absolutely would not
ever hear of
or even dream about
again.

i wanted something
from him.

and i didn't get it.

and still, we went
we go
on.