Skagit Valley Tulip Festival

(I did write both poems before midnight on April 12th, but didn't get posted until the 13th! Eeeek! The words and pictures were not cooperating tonight.) 

We took a trip up to see the beautiful Skagit Valley Tulip Festival today. It goes all the month of April and never fails to amaze me even though I’ve been many times. The second poem comes from the walkways up there and my son was fascinated with them---many of the children were. They are seemingly cracked, but spongy and bouncy. 

Transcendent Tulips

Caught in the rush

My face full flush

Turned into the sun

The tulips run

Forever into the horizon

Color completed 1 Nisan

Here painted into the earth’s fabric

An awakening white tantrism

Giving in to the unraveling

Of spring hovering, rattling

All that screams “rest me!”

Compounded with fresh air tests

The squeezing in my chest

Against the fray’s current

Obsessing on circumstances weren’t

I let go into the field

Fervid fever of fancy I yield

Yellow, pink, purple, red,

Where you have lead

I will go with the flow

I know and lo!

I’m on the mend

C

Dry Mud Pie Trails

My boy bounces on his toes

Over a mound of earth

“It’s cracked earth, like the desert scorched,”

He believes the hot sun has done this

Though we’ve hauled him out of mucky mud puddles

And avoided the squishy earth that wants to suck us down

He dances over these cracked plots

Testing the buoyancy in one spot

Kicking up clods

Like it is his job

To make a new road

That is smoother

And easier for us to walk

He is serious and ignores

The beauty all around

In favor of this one cracked space beneath his feet

“It is springy, yeah, underneath there” he states again and again

As we point out the color streaming around

In the flower’s finest hour

We take pictures of this plant that will die in minutes

As he talks about what will last

The mud, the earth, and the thing the flowers are planted in

It never goes away

He knows what is important

And that is what holds his concentration

Despite our loud shouts

Of what is beauty?

He finds distinction

In the ordinary place

A bit cracked and dry

With a bounce unusual

He imagines the possibility

Underneath the common ground

Not much going on tonight except for being itchy and tired. I did just go see Gravity for the first time too. All I can think about is space.

Scratch

Now over to the left

That’s almost there

Not quite

To scratch your spot

In space must

Be a trial beyond measure

Living up to

What others think

Can be similar

Start now

To do whatever

You want to do

To live up

To what you want

To be

Grab a telescoping

Claw to reach

The unreachable

And scratch that itch

Until you lay back

Fully satisfied

And full

Being able to touch

Right there! Ah!

Clara Bow Grounded

I have a cracked angel that looks down on my desk

From the corner of the window brace

The cracks have made her a bit of a mess

But they have missed her face

Going through her wings

And hands like lace

Her expression stings

As she looks up in exaggerated exasperation

I think that is why I’ve kept her

Her clear struggle in Heavenly realms or disdain

She hunches slightly in a blue faded gown

And a red kind of sweat-band graces her brow

Her hands rest in the prayer fold

Under her chin

She looks like she is tired of being told

And her patience is wearing thin

She is more of a faded movie star

From a silent picture

Her hopes screwed tightly in a jar

She will not give a lecture

Weeds are at her feet

Clouds are in her sky

If only she could speak

She would utter why, why, why, why

Her questions lead me to cry with her

Some days inside, I too die

Some days I hope of much better

The why does not scare or scar us

We do not fuss

We stand and fume

Breathing in the perfume

A God given scent

An angel’s natural musk

A Visit to Microsoft...

The Boy and I visited the Microsoft Visitor’s Center today and spent literally hours there. It is a neat combination of looking at where some of the new technology began as in what went before it and also looking ahead to the future. It was fun to play with the latest gizmos and hear my boy rattle on all day about the various operating systems and their history. He loves all of that so much!

Synchronizing a Diagnosis of My Operating System

Where did it all begin?

I enter in

And things start happening

My gums are flapping

Words are being expressed

Ah, but I regress

To a time I was

As bees buzz

I hummed along

Without thinking

Then there was no linking

To this that and the other

I had my mother

My brother

My father

And others

My sisters there too

There was no baby Boo

Or thoughts of being two

Let alone three

We was simply me

Myself self

I knew what I felt

And it was not great

I wanted a mate

An update

But I got a whole new operating system!

There have been bells and whistles since then

And one or two new reconfigurations of my OS

Time for a new one? Be my guest!

There is a lot of junk to get rid of

Defragmentation of love

A gluing it all back

So my hard drive won’t lack

The will to keep going

It seems to have slowed way down

A reboot of the whole thing

Could really make it sing

Sometimes baking and writing don't mix....

Not sure where this jumped out from except I was watching a romantic comedy while baking when thinking about this poem thing.

Proofing Pride

Half-baked is what I am

No one would believe me

I get up and stretch

Feeling tight on the inside

I want to slide

Down a smoother road

No potholes to dodge

Just riding in that cherry red convertible

With the top down

Tunes blaring bluegrass

Wind warm inviting warmth

Memories to marvel

Confidence brushed up

And feeling fabulous

I would smell as good as I looked

No mushy middle

No over stirred batter

Making my texture tough

I’d be true

I am level

Not askew

I am delicious

Can I be consumed now?

I’m waiting. 

Second Day of Spring Break (so sayeth the Boy)

April 7, 2014

I went with the Boy down to the Seattle Center today on the monorail. We spent a good hour or more at the fountain. I think it was more as I lost track of time just watching him circle round the very top at first and he was a constant in a universe that was swirling around him. Then the sun got super bright and there were rainbows everywhere! He got much closer in then. He was cautious at first and then getting pretty impressively wet. He was so happy today and that is what I tried to capture in this poem. I may take another run at it later, but for now.

 Big Splash Dancing

“I was chasing rainbows and got drenched!”

He yells to me gleefully as I sit on a bench

He’s chasing fractured light

Scattered, mystical, bright

He’s nearly tingling with delight

As the fountain sings

Shooting water like mattress springs

Children that bounce and ping

To the shock of freezing wet

Not the liquid sunshine they usually get

But dirigible dew drops dunking them

“The Big Splash” invites fun

From the tiniest tots to kissing couples

They move their muscles

Dancing in the determined drench

An afternoon well spent

Wondering Towards Jerusalem

Tramping toward Jerusalem

On shattered feet

I feel incomplete

And replete with

Shaky bemusement

as I tune my ear

to what is near

and I hear so little

of joy or woe

in neither sows

my seeds to grow

the food that will

sustain my mill

that grinds to flour

the bread needed

for this hour and beyond

I stop.

I wait.

I kneel at the gate before me

I heal.

In peace I bind up my feet

And move to the street

God’s unbreakable love

Late Night Childhood Parliament

Whittling past the clogged brain drain

I reach back scratching around

A train track silent

Starting to thrum

Of house or home

Back where giants

Have sat for hours

On my chest

At its best I see the whole valley

From mountain or platform

High in the jungle

Above the rest at least

Beyond swinging

Gliding above it all

The clouds officiating a moment’s

Hesitation that brings

Storm to seed

Raining down

In that one tiny spot

I sit talking to these specters

That know it all

They’ve heard

Every conversation

Slight noise of inconsistency

The weeping in night

The laugher of uncertain approaches

The crisis of conscious

The permanent pole of convictions

That I raise my flag high on

And salute

A lone soldier

Geared up for war

Grinds to a halt

In the shadows within

Sweeping it all away

Unplugging that disgusting dam

Of grime that is blacker

Than the sin that is evident

The secrets wash away

With a kettle of hot water

Down the drain

Pouring over strong vinegar

And baking soda

To bubble up and away

From these thoughts

That slips out to the street

To be walked on by strangers

And carried to foreign lands

On funny fragrant shoes

After the show....

I'm not super duper pleased with tonight's poem. It came after a muddle headed struggle and a couple false starts and fits. Here it is, no need for applause.

Appreciation

One person clapping is a sharp sound

Of mocking or the sad truth

A show that is wound

Or a bit uncouth

Two people clap and it can be warm

A welcome after a long absence

Breaking tension after the storm

Accomplices in life’s labyrinth

Three clap to a beat

Anonymous in the crowd

Cheered by the musician’s feat

With perky praise they endow

Four find a way to clap

Delighted with a surprised announcement

They stand united to map

A way to celebrate such pronouncements

Clappers five feel more alive

By giving a hearty cheer

To the colors deep in almost night sky

Below them firefly lights burning near

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten

Seems thunderous

From where this began

It builds and swells and ebbs

This is where it can swell our heads

Applause is inviting, alluring, uniting

It is a seduction like no other

Dividing brother against brother

Or bringing huge groups together

Strangers no more

Each keeping score

Opening locked doors

Zombies

I’ve been listening to my son pontificate about the game “Plants vs. Zombies” linking it to in his mind life, death, adoption, birth, safe, unsafe, real, not real, people we know, past pets, relatives, and fictional characters. That is probably where this came from. It has been the through line of his talks today. 

Mulching Everyday Zombies

Zombies are not real

At least that is what we feel

But I can tell you for one

That I have seen those

Who are not fun

They preen and pose

A fashion show of carrion

Brains exposed

Spilling out guts

Stuck in a rut

And rotten

Then there are those that wander

Bellowing deep thunder

To be heard coming a mile off

Like pigs grunting at the trough

They never shut up

And most often can be avoided

Unless cornered, that’s tough

I recommend you run

Bring love

Yes, zombies are never lovers

Or dreamers or really runners

They are slow stumblers

Grasping, stubborn lumberers

Falling to dust

They bust

From a small pea

Shot by me

My flower of sun

that is how they are stunned

They are hit through the heart

National Autism Awareness Day!

I swear folks, not all my poems are so long. Just in the mood to write these days. Also, I posted a status update that was more like a blog entry this morning about this day and it has garnered some debate over on my FB page. That has spurred these thoughts I'm sure. Here poem #2.

Take a Dive

Sand shifts underneath my foot as the tide washes gently over

And then rips from under my feet solid ground

A hole is formed

Filling with sea water

That stings the cuts raw

And disinfects too

I stand feeling the first sting

As a thousand cuts scream

“What is happening?”

I keep upright looking, searching the light

that dances on top of the water as the sun sets

I shift uncomfortable

Knowing that the salt and water

Will eventually heal those marks

Fresh cut from straining so hard

To keep uncomfortable shoes on

Keeping up appearances

Looking to the horizon

I’m blinded by the deepening colors

Contrasted shadow

And super nova sun that burns

Brighter than the midday

Fighting for that last gasp

A strong wave splashes hard

Stinging my eyes with sea

Fresh pain, I reach up

Rubbing in sand, making it worse

I curse wanting to run

A nearby stranger hands me water

Nothing is exchanged

No cries of help

They saw my discomfort

They appeared beside me

Giving me aid because I hurt

Grateful, I wash

Flush my eyes of the particulates

That grinds driving me nearly to madness

It all happened in an instant

The sand is flushed

Running in stains down my face

Eyes red on fire

The color of anger

Staring at the deep blue sea

So deep, I cannot see the bottom

The floor I can imagine, but just

From drawings, photographs, and descriptions

I have gathered in my cortex for context

I search the files there conjuring up an image

We stand side by side silent

Searching the horizon

No need for words

Autism stretches as the sea before me

Calling me to look at the vastness

To imagine the deep places

It stings as it heals yet hurts

It is a beautiful when light and sun interplay

Illuminating the mysteries and changing the colors

It makes me want to jump in

It makes me want to dive down deep and explore

It makes me cautious as I am not a strong swimmer

So, I stand on the edge

We stand with it washing over our feet

On the beach

A part and not a part of it

Studying what it is and is not

Feeling the force of a wave crash into us

And feel the tide wanting to pull me in

Tickling my feet now as the wet sand

Digs me in deeper

Cementing me firmly to this spot

On the edge forever bouncing

From horizon to light to color

to wave to pull to deep

I can no longer see my feet

But I can still stand