Without My Glasses

I walk unsteadily down the path
that was once surrounded by greenery.
Guards stand like trees,
forbidding me to loiter.
Little moons hang in the sky like lanterns,
and if I jump I can touch them.
Obstacles litter my path like rocks,
struggling to trip me.
I raise my eyes and see my destination;
my heaven.
A doorway looms like a hedge,
entrancing me.
I break into a run and reach out...!

It was only ever a hedge.

Freedom to Smell

Whiff
the aroma.

What aroma?
The smell of cars and petrol?

No,
smell beyond that.

Smell the sea,
from away in Hawaii.

Smell the mountain air,
on Mount Everest.

Smell the flowers,
blooming on the country-side.

Smell the wind,
brushing against Bambi's side.

Smell the sweat,
of free hands,
working in liberty,
to do their will.

Just Another Day...

(BEFORE DANCE)
Smooth skin
Like in Nivea commercials.
Perfect hair,
A picture to drool over.
(DURING DANCE)
All gone.
Make-up a disaster.
Flustered, sweaty,
Zits, acne, pimples.
(AFTER DANCE)
Tired.
Mourning over lost boyfriend.
Drop into bed
And snooze.

SS # 52: In the Kitchen

As a child,
rushing from the TV,
running, running,
to find that meal,
set on the wooden table.

Now,
when I find time to come home,
I see,
maybe cookies,
maybe cakes,
desserts to delight in,
memories to roll in.

Where did it all go?
The aroma,
waffles,
sizzling eggs,
where did it all go?

Bright and Bonny Eyes

A kiss,
A smile,
A laugh.
Waves of curls,
pushed aside,
to find...
Little blue buttons,
Bright and bonny.
Laughing now,
chewing then.
Beginnings of teeth
like little daggers.

Who knows what the future holds
for those bright and bonny eyes?

SS # 51: Inspiration

The fairy's wings flutter and,
a little wind crosses my path.
Some dew an maybe even grass
stuck in it.
I catch it in one hand
and like a bird,
carefully carry it home in two hands.
It's trying to escape.
It knows it can.
But my grip is iron,
and there's no escaping.
I carry it along the path,
a struggling, pecking bird.
A few bruises here and there,
not enough to scare.
Putting it on my desk,
a messy tangle of nature's trash.
Pick out all of the garbage,
only aiming for the gold.
And ah! there it is!
Glittery, golden ideas.
Shining like light on a mirror.
Rippling like a fish's scales.
But oh no! my hand loosened
and there it flutters away,
out the window and away, away, away.
Me clawing at useless air,
my pen untouched and paper not crumpled.
Fool's gold.

???

Curly hair,
Round face,
Fir trees whistling,
Town wondering,
Uncle Alp,
Up in mount,
Invalid friend,
Homesick then,
Learn to read,
Learn to write,
Can you guess
My name right?

Whenever I See You

Whenever I see you
I feel like jumping,
yelling,
screaming.
Just wanna get you attention.
But you always ignore my efforts,
wave them aside,
like they're an annoying fly.
Maybe you enjoy watching me suffer?
Maybe you enjoy feeling admired?
But what about me?
Making a fool out of myself
when you pass my locker.
Watching you flex your muscles,
drooling.
Watching your hair bounce
with every step.
Like a dog,
I follow you.
And heartlessly, you allow it.
Why do I love

a man with no heart?

Hide

breathing
loudly.
never
has heart
pounded
against chest
with such
noise.
"they are coming"
I whisper,
but it seems
like a scream.
"hide! run!"
I order
with as much
urgency
as one can
say while
whispering.
hide-
all that I want
to do.
let mommy &
daddy & the
other adults
take care of it
while I hide
under the

covers,
fearful of

monsters.

monsters,

I think.

scaring my

children.

so much

they have to

understand.

and as I grip

the table,

someone,

or something-

knocks on

the door.

when I get that idea,
it hits me like a bolt
of lightning, it slaps me,
trying to get my attention.

it bangs against my door.
full force! it cries.
it swears & pounds & stamps,
an idea to its core.

never mind creeping! it
shouts. subtlety is for the
tactful! it declares,
and I can't agree more.

Fried Egg

'Mommy,
if you break that egg,
will a chick come out?'

No dear.
There's no chicken inside.

'Then why do
they always show that
on National Geographic?'

Because, dear,
those are special eggs.

'Am I a special egg,
Mommy?
And what's a special egg?'

It's an egg
that was treated well
when it was young.
You are my very special egg.

'How do you know
that there is no chick inside,
really?'

They know because
they have machines to check.

'What if the machine
is wrong and a chick
is boiled to death?'

If a chick comes out,
I'll turn of the stove
and you can keep it.

'I don't want to eat
breakfast anymore.
And you don't eat it either!
Bye, Mommy!'

Bye dear. Drink some milk first.

trickling down my neck
a sweet river.
following its own path,
or is it?

trudging down the road,
a muddy mess.
bag in my hand,
feeling sleepy.

bumping on the adam's apple
should it turn left or right?
which shoulder was
more sympathizing?

a rock on the ground;
a minor setback.
a bend in the road,
another obstacle.

not knowing what
would come next,
it heads for the left
and falls.

unaware of the sign,
i turn for the left,
and, still a sleepy song,
fall off the cliff.

Tiny, Miny Me

Big, Tall Me
Sitting In My Tree.
Chewing A Twig,
Feeling So Big.
Then The Branch Snaps,
And I Collapse.
Down I Fall,
And Manage To Crawl.
A Man Comes Running,
Calls The Police, Hurrying.
Tiny, Miny Me,
In The Hospital, See?
Don't Feel So Big Anymore--
What If That Man Hadn't Picked Me Off The Floor?

after the fire

they say it will go away.
they say all i have to do is blow
and the ashes will sail away
like the have fluttering wings.
but i tell them that hurt
is not light; it is heavy,
and i carry a heavy heart.
but they reply that if i try,
the hurt will become a feather,
only a reminder
of the bird that once flew.
i am ready to blow.

Dawn in the City

Dawn in the city,
and what can I see?
Buildings,
huge buildings,
blocking the hidden,
consuming sky.
Dawn in the city
and great people say
that the more buildings we have,
the more advanced we are.
Dawn in the city,
but what about me?
Who can only imagine
the extuinguishing sky.

Wilting

Its pink
is dropping
and dripping.
(Drip, drop.)
It falls onto the ground,
a splash of colour.
But above
there is now
black and white
like a film,
or the negatives of
the pictures I took
on our trip to India.
Colours,
sucked to the mud;
you are wilting.