Dark and Stormies

Frost

Pour a drink of dark and stormy
Climb over the rim
Slide your back down the cool glass
And slip into the bottom to rest with ice

You position your lips over his
And you suck the black flurries
Out from the cavity

You hold your breath
And make his dark
Part of your constitution
You plant kisses
Like fingers tapping rhythm
Supple spines curled around the other
Helix of bare thin thread
String snapping,
He blows away in the wind

You spit the hurt back at him,
No longer wanting to swallow and hold,
A wall of cold, dark flurries
To run him, scared,
Back into the night where he came from.

Chasing Happiness

It tries to bubble up, break the surface, boiling

Bursting with enthusiasm

Pinching the heavy veil

Plucking moments caught in suspended viscous weight

A girl, fearful of her shadow

Reaching for the chord

To pull the light on

And cast away the dark lurking behind her shoulder

Wondering if she is chasing happiness

Or running from shadows.

February Sunday

Eyes still closed, heavy with my lead slumber,

Suspended in twilight sleep,

Unsure if the tiger perched on the end of my bed

Is real or a part of my dreamland jungle.

I refuse to peel my eyes open and welcome the light in.

I lay in quiet.

My ears tune to the sizzle of the bacon as it hits the pan

And your cursing as you burn your hand on the coffee

That is percolating on the stove.

I don’t want to break the magic of quiet observation,

Hesitant to stir,

Lest you discover my semi-consciousness.

Let me be my quiet star body,

Laying here,

With no words to paint me,

And no roles to cloak me.

Let me have this last moment of peace,

For leaving this bed would mean rising up into our tears and tension,

Inviting our fucked up world in.

It would mean pulling my armor over my body,

In preparation for your assault.

It would mean me having to flex my resolve,

Set my jaw,

Pretend forced complacency.

I just want to be weak,

To lay here melted, soft, innocent

In myself, warm body and sacred thoughts.

Six years of Sundays.

Three hundred and twelve mornings of

Bacon, pancakes, cigarettes, records, oil paints, pajamas.

Most spent in paused anticipation,

Remembering the steps for this complicated dance

Around your fury.

This is our last Sunday.

My heart is hot, melted flesh,

Oozing out of my pores.

My eyes burning,

Breathing becomes heavy,

Lifting the bricks laid on my chest.

The first time we shared a kiss and a shy smile,

We begged the sky,

Asked if it was possible,

To suspend our breath in a snow globe,

To revisit our wonderland of love,

Over and over again.

Now I ask the sky to suspend this moment -

Not to revisit with pleasure,

Not to chew over,

Suck out the beauty,

Feel those flurries in my belly -

But to suspend this moment, to contain the burning,

The hot crackling, searing, burning,

That stretches over my skin,

That makes me writhe and sweat in the night,

The fire of anger and hurt and wretched pain,

That consumes me,

Leaving me blackened and charred.

I want to walk away from this moment

And leave it walled-off,

And me, reborn, cleaned and new.

Maybe if I stay here in this suspension,

Eyes closed,

Immune to the world’s eyes and expectations,

We won’t say our goodbyes.

Starbucks

I want to kill the barrista

Fire engine red string hair

Brown doe eyes

Sticky laugh

Mouth spewing charisma vomit

As she flirts with the delivery guy.

An old man stares at me skeptically

Mind your own business gramps.

Have you never seen a poet at work before?

A girl strung out on caffeine,

Whose brain is wading through haze from last night?

A girl who fears her own shadow?

Black hair hunched over pen and paper in the corner?

Two old ladies bicker over the bathroom.

“I’d rather see you go here because you know where it is.”

I have coffee with my lover’s grandfather,

His crooked, mysterious smile stares at me from way up there on the wall.





Mixed

Soft pink palms hold pebbles that fall though fingers
Girls with black-rimmed glasses sashay down wet sidewalks
Boys turn their heads, look with sly abandon
Wanting to taste the peach but not slip the pit in their pockets

You call me a saint
Straddling, one leg on either side of the void
Wondering where I fit, and how I fit, and whom I fit
Warm December days grow havoc in my head
I burn in my skin, reaching for water to wash the grime away
Grasping and pulling in
Hanging uncomfortable
Begging not to be seen
By eyes that strip me down bare

Goodbyes and Hellos: Weaving My Tapestry

This collection of poems details the movement of people in and out of my life, the "Hellos," and the, "Goodbyes," and the "See you laters."

Tapestry

The strings of her loom are pulled tight,

Stretched in perfect balance like the lines of a musical staff,

The chords of telephone wires.

First woven, over and under, was deep mauve.

Mauve helped formed the pattern that other colors would follow

Valleys, mountains, ups and downs,

In and out.

Then came the piercing, manic orange,

Fueled by cocaine and liquor,

Bloody, reckless, exhilarating.

She wove in the orange with shaky hands,

Secretly at midnight.

Bumpy, chaotic, messy.

For something so hidden, it screams the loudest on the loom.

Red holds dominance in her tapestry,

Stretched out for miles.

Blood red, the color of hearts ablaze.

She spent years and years and years of weaving red,

Over and under,

Over and under,

Through autumns and winters and springs and summers,

Decay, death, rebirth, warmth,

Hands moving in familiar repetition,

The yarn becoming more frayed as time passed

Eventually breaking, worn thin and tenuous.

After red is a bare break in the tapestry,

A paused moment,

A time of collecting,

Of stretching out sore fingers.

Then, bright, canary yellow makes an appearance.

It flickers in and out in short bursts,

Like shooting stars over the landscape.

She laughs as she weaves him in.

He keeps her light,

Fingers buoyantly bouncing.

The tapestry has been suspended in deep blue.

The most elusive of the colors.

When woven in,

He frequently slips out through her fingers,

Afraid of capture, of being tangled up,

Of being part of her fabric.

She tries to wind, to grasp.

Then she lets go.

The string hangs teasingly off the side of the loom, 

Unsure of ending or beginning again.

She leans back,

Gazes on the complex beauty of her tapestry,

Woven by her hands

And the hands of those who have traced her body

And held her breasts

And stroked her cheeks with love.

She surveys all of the empty space that is yet to be filled,

In wonder of what colors will dance across her empty strings,

Early in the morning over a cup of coffee,

Late at night under blankets,

Deep, deep, deep in the cavern of her heart.

Haymarket 

Hiss of hot water as it filters through grains

Chatter of books and weather and college classes

Cigarette smoke wafting in

Here we sat,

Our backs butted against her walls,

Pretending not to cry,

As we placed our love, our marriage, on her table

And crumbled it in our hands,

Like clumps of brown sugar.

Your coffee was dark and pungent,

Matching your acidity.

Your angles were softened by the round rim of your cup.

I sucked my strength up from my toes,

New baby strength,

Weak and wobbling,

Unsure of its new legs.

And we walked away,

Two roads diverging.

Now my voice fills her hallow underbelly,

As I sing songs on her stage.

I meet my lovers here,

To exchange first words, first coffees, first kisses.

My words flow from head to heart to paper,

Spurned on by the frantic push of caffeine.

In her, I am whole.

With death of heart comes triumphant rebirth,

This café incubating me,

And delivering me from her warm womb

Out into the world,

With high hopes

That I will walk, strong and steady,

Over the changing landscape of my life.

L-Bomb

It dropped out of the sky,
Whistling through the air as it fell,
Out of my control,
And it landed with a heavy thud between us.
We stared in shock, in awe,
Our faces frozen,
Mouths locked open,
Breath suspended.
We both jumped back to avoid the splatter.
I hang my eyes, exposed and embarrassed.
You brush the blood off your legs and arms.
I apologize for getting my heart, heavy with love, all over you.



Ballet

I crouch in the corner, anticipating
Watching and waiting
For a smile or a kiss or a smoke signal from your cigarette
To let me know that I can step into your space
And briefly entwine our pulses, our legs
Letting our blood flow together
In syncopated breathing.

At the first sign of your hesitancy,
Your retreat,
I leap out and crouch back in my corner
To play the waiting game again,
Always guessing at whether you will dodge
Or slow dance with me in my kitchen.

I dance around landmines that other lovers have laid,
That you have so carefully placed
Sprawled out on the floor of your apartment.
You keep me guessing.
How much can I say?
How much can I touch?

I’m one pirouette short of blowing this whole ballet to the sky.



Samson

Blonde curls fall to the floor.
Samson sits naked on his throne in my kitchen.
My last act as Delilah
Is to cut his hair,
And cut me out of his life.

Skinny Love

Hello world.  I'm writing this post at Cushman's Market, next to a father who is reading a story to his young daughter.  My, what a beautiful world we live in.  It warms my heart to hear their tender interaction.  I am reminded of when I was with my mother in the hospital in September.  Every time a baby was born, they would ring a lullaby charm throughout the hospital.  It reminds me of the cycle of life, death, birth, love, hurt, passion, introspection, light, darkness, sun, and moon.

So I know I've been posting lots of darker, "emo" (cringe- I hate that word) posts lately.  As my friends and family know so well, I'm a woman of ever-changing moon phases.  When I'm in my full moon phase, I burn bright and shine my sun.  When I'm in my new moon phase, I turn introspective and examine those black, cavernous parts of myself.  I've been in an introspective, new moon phase over the past several months.  And I appreciate all of your love and support as I continue to navigate the changing landscape of my life.  I continue to amaze myself with my resilience.  My therapist will often have me identify my strengths during session, and I tend to place singing, playing music, writing, or art at the top of my list.  But, in thinking through the past 27 (almost 28!) years of my life, my resilience has to be listed at the very top of my list.  Through death, cancer, sexual assault, illness, broken hearts, broken bones, divorce, poverty, grad school... I continue to take the blows of life.  And, somehow, at the end of the day, I manage to stand up, dust myself off, and prepare for the next chapter.

In the time between my road trip and the present moment, I've been blessed to have a plethora of interesting, terrifying, beautiful, and new experiences.  I've continued strengthen my sense-of-self.  For me, part of building my core is turning dark and introspective from time to time.  These past 4 months have found my heart shaken, but my core stable and strong.  I push on in my quest to live wide open.

And, as always, I leave you with one of my favorite songs by Bon Iver (and some poems by me):

"And I told you to be patient 

And I told you to be kind

And I told you to be balanced

And I told you to be kind

And in the morning I'll be with you

But it will be a different kind

Cause I'll be holding all the tickets

And you'll be owing all the fines

And now all your love is wasted

Then who the hell was I?

Cause now I'm breaking at the britches

At the end of all your lines

Who will love you?

Who will fight?

Who will fall far behind?

Come on skinny love, just last the year."

-Bon Iver

  

-Dried Up-

All of the men in my life rip in like tornados,
   Strong, whipping, intense, and gone.
You,
   Were a gentle rainstorm.
You rained your softness on me
   And on the fertile chambers of my heart.

One day, you dried up.
No words, no lingering trickle.
You had blown clear out of my sky.
I searched for you under pillows,
   Between the sentences that you read to me late at night,
      In the river where we played,
         In your written words,
            In your mother’s eyes,
But there was no trace of your soft, gentle rain.

And so I carry on, wondering about your curious ways.
My heart is left a little parched,
   Cracked and dry like the caked dirt of the prairie without its summer rain.
I look over my shoulder,
   Feeling your presence,
      Feeling some hint of a heavy, dark rain cloud behind me,
But all I see is my sun.
And she’s beautiful.
But sometimes she burns too bright for my eyes.
You, of all people, understood that.

So let’s meet each other, love,
   On some soft, rainy day.
We can kiss and you can water my heart again.
I promise my sun won’t burn you down,
   If you promise not to flood me again.


-Cars-

I woke up this morning and tried to shake my head clear.
I heard the sounds of the cars as they splashed through the rainy day outside my window.
And I confused them for the stable sound of your breathing,
Which has serenaded me through the past six years.

There is this little place on your chest where I would lay the palm of my hand,
Butted up against the groove of your sternum.
It is my favorite place, and sometimes I find myself reaching for it in the night,
Only to have my hand fall limp on the pillow next to me,
Or on the chest of the one who has taken your place.

There are days where I forget how to put one foot in front of the other.
And there are days when I run.
There are days when I'm struck by the cold emptiness in our marriage bed.
And there are days when I sprawl out, completely content.

We hurtle across the Earth's crust in these metal objects, these cars.
Sometimes we crash into one another,
Our metal melted, twisted, and tangled up,
Flames smoking,
Spectators crying.
They call the ambulance to come rescue our Selves,
To pull us apart,
And make us whole again.

A Pleasantly Hopeless Righteous Mamma (PG-13)

Some old stuff mixed in with some new stuff. Lots of raw stuff.  The first couple are a bit more edgier than my normal stuff. 

- Ode to the Boy on Fire -
(imagine reading this out loud in a choppy/rhythmic/rappy way)

Sulfur match stick rip
Fire flares from my hip
Burning falls to the floor
Feet pedal to the door
Echoes of screams and shouts
Lungs turned inside out
Sizzle pop flicker on
Crawling low upon the lawn
Red lights blind my eyes
Closing up smoke-filled skies
Mamma dear what have I done
Made you die inside the sun
Haunted by ghostly faces
Trailing hope in scattered traces
Heart beats panicked fear
Warm arms in the clear
Living lonely loathing touch
Giving grace would be too much
Here I sit inside my wall
Picking up that matchstick fall

-Hand Me the Sun-

Deep blue pool wells
Dive into black hurt
Shrouded in cigarette smoke and booze
Souls live lifetimes
And big hearts scar
Don’t look away, don’t look away
Lock in on me
Stay here
Stay present
Loving you is parting the red sea
Pushing through your defenses
Shove aside bullshit excuses
I see you
I see you
I see all of you
Don’t look away, don’t look away
Stay with me
Stay present
Hand me the sun
I’ll burn my hands
But I’ll wield fire into your dark
Till a million brilliant rays explode from your chest
And you cry out and you melt and you heal
Don’t look away, don’t look away
Stay here
Stay here
Stay present
My love for you has no time or conditions
If you’ll let me
You have before
Love is cataclysmically beautiful
It demands pain
Nothing else has the power to heal and destroy
Shiva love
Don’t you dare fucking run away
Don’t you fucking run away
Stay here
Stay present
Stay in me

- Righteous Mamma -

I stand in tornadoes.
I welcome with open arms
  The wind that whips my hair
     And stings my cheeks.
My feet sink roots into the earth.
I grow twelve feet tall.
My bones harden.
In all that churns around me,
I stand strong and still.
I draw my power from our mother,
From the woman who brings me beauty and sorrow.
I gaze on the human condition with my deep empathy and understanding.
The lightning crackles out the top of my head.
I am a force of nature.
I am a righteous daughter of the moon, sun, stars.
Millions of lifetimes have filtered my soul.
My lungs breathe in air that once filled me a millennium ago.
My feet walk barefooted over earth that is familiar.
Thousands of my love stories dance in the chambers of my heart.
I fall in love with everything.
I hold the weight of crying children's heavy feelings on my shoulders,
And still I call for more.
My strength is bendable, tangible, unbreakable.

- Pleasantly Hopeless -

For two wordsmiths,
   We are fumbling,
      And stumbling,
         And tripping.

I'm letting my body,
   My kisses,
      My touch,
         My heart,
Do the speaking.

- Atlas -

Even on my lightest days
My shadow follows me.
I lay in my attic
   Spread on the floor
And the only arms that wrap around me are my own
I don’t trust anyone to hold my hurt
Because if it overwhelms me,
How will it not drown anyone else?
My back is twisted from carrying a lifetime of heavy.

- Top of the World -

I prefer dark, cold, rainy fall days.
Everyone hides away
And there's no expectation for productivity
Or pretentious cheerful attitudes.
I can let down the corners of my mouth,
Give my sunshine momentary pause,
And breathe.

- Gut Pit -

I lay curled up in your cold bed.  You rest so innocently next to me.  I forgot about the raw gut pit wound, that feels like my insides are being clawed open.  Thanks for reminding me.

The gut pit wound is different than my throbbing heart wound that is centered between my breasts- That wound will always exist and ache.  It is the wound where light and love enter and leave.  It is the portal to my heart.

The gut pit raw wound churns.  It is my intuition telling me to run.  It is pure black hurt that rips my constitution apart, and is the only thing that feels like death.

I had forgotten that feeling until last night.  I had forgotten what hot tears feel like as they make little searing paths down my cold cheeks.  I had forgotten how hard it is to breathe.  I had forgotten how my stomach threatens to turn inside out.

Thanks for reminding me.

- Zeus and Hera -

I'll know him when I find him.
He's the one who has traversed this immortal world
Next to my side
For thousands of years

We, two forces of nature,
Aligned in our strength and softness and power.

He is the only one with arms strong enough to hold me,
For I hold the world.

He does not blink at the intense love and wrath and joy
That shoots forward from my chest.

He catches it in his arms,
Revels in the beauty,
And smiles.

The Anthropology of Love (PG-13 again)

Old stuff and new stuff and medium stuff.


-2 Ay Em-

Sleepy eye slants
Arms criss cross bodies
Chests against backs
Kisses plant freckles
Shy gazes into blue pools
Lips graze cheek bones
Fingers dance in hollow shoulder pockets
I am drunk in your 2am beauty


-Number Two-

You don't deserve my words or thoughts or a poem about you.


-Anthropology of Love-

I open the chest and pull out my artifacts.
Dried flowers, love letters, polaroids.
My only hope for keeping my heart in and my head out
   Is to pretend that I'm merely a casual observer of this game.
You told me that my milk and honey are locked deep away,
And that no one has dared taste it.
No- that I haven't dared to open door and let it overflow,
  Out into the streets,
     Out where children play
        Out where sun rays dance
           Out where he waits for me.
You say I live with wild abandon
   That I traipse in and out
     That I sing my siren song.
How can I give my most beautiful parts to careless lovers
   Who fumble and drop and trip and stab?
Heart in head out.
Or, better yet,
   Heart out, head out.
I'll seal away the mementos
And I'll keep my milk and honey for myself.


-Rumi-

I will hold you softly in my arms.

I will kiss the places where the sun has kissed you.

I will wrap my fingers in yours and entwine our pulses together.

I will fall in love with you.

Sometimes I’ll doubt if you’ll leave me or love me.

It’s not you, love.

It’s those who have walked and walked away before you.

Your heart wound is centered in mirror to mine.

We carry the raw between our breasts.

Maybe we can open up our heart wounds and let love heal and make anew.

Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.”

You hold the sky in your eyes- infinite galaxies and eternal star shine live there.

Sometimes I can’t bring myself to look.

I’m afraid I’ll see love.

And what would I do with that?



-Moonlight Sonata-

We shed our clothes
The crisp air tickled our bare skin
Pale moonlight lazily trickled down through dark trees
My eyes graze your glowing body
Night is electrified by our sparks
We silently slip into the cool, still water
You pull me in to your warmth
Your tender kisses send molten pulses to my toes
Your eyelashes are dusted with moon beams
We hold each other in our own moonlight sonata.


-Journey to 7 Cumberland Ave-

I followed the orange cat
     lying seductively on the bottom steps of my porch
         his eyes flashing in the moonlight

He led me places
     punctuating the ribbon of time
         where steps are counted in twos
             and firecrackers burst above heads.

I tried to seek shadows
     and tread in the shrouds of ebony
                      away from pale, haunting faces.


-Pageant-

The dirt under my nails is from working with the earth.
Your hands are soiled from judging my worth.


-Easter Worms-

Sidewalk wet with new rain
The sodden earth smell rising from the ground
Her little white Easter shoes dodge the worms seeking refuge from the flood.

Mint Leaves and Rattlesnake Poison (Rated PG-13)

I've had a very frustrating, soul-crushing writer's block that has barred me from connecting my head and my heart and paper in an authentic way over the past 6-7 years or so.  In June, something shifted (thanks to the wayward sands of the Arizona desert) and all the walls came tumbling down.  So I've started writing again.  And I'm looking into the next steps to take in order to get my stuff out in the world.  For now, I've put some of my favorite musings below:

--------Summer 2012 Stuff-------

Glow (aka Hadley Commons Haiku)

(8/17/12)

Reach up and touch night
The orange moon slips its glowing
Ring on my finger.

Number Four

(9/6/12)

Being with you is breathing.
No thought or consciousness.
Easy silence and soft kisses.
Heavy sinks into my tide pools.
Standing in myself.
See you stand in yourself.
We smile.

Steel

(8/21/12)

i try to stand strong in myself, remember my love and my joy and my passion.
i cover myself in shell.
and i can’t keep it from cracking as i lay next to you.
i trace your collarbone with my finger and we discuss your scars.

you say you are leaving.
you say you already have a love.
i say you are dangerous.

i stop myself from spilling out through my cracks.
i make steel from my melted parts.
i pull away.

i run run run.
i run along the river.
the wind catches my hair and my breath stops in my chest.
if i keep going, faster and faster, will i not have to think?

and this deep heart wound, that is centered between my breasts, starts to ache again.

and, as i seal it off, i steal away from the world.

Rattlesnake Poison

(6/19/12)

I ended up in jail for trespassing on the gallows.
Give me ghosts and monsters.
All my nightmares are of you.

Hurricane

(8/23/12)

You dropped from the sky.
You splashed all around me with your fury.
You sucked me up and eroded my sharp parts.
You showered me in kisses.
You swayed me back and forth in your deep waves.

I’m blinded and turned upside down.
My gut is clenched and my skin is electric.

The past six years are threatening to burst forward from my chest.

And as I lay gulping for air, trying to remember how to fill my lungs,
You roar away, leaving little traces of your destruction.

And I am left standing here, drenched, scared, and in pieces.

-------Old Stuff-------

(circa 2005-2006)

Mint Leaves

I want to take those few words that you say to me

  And put them in my mouth,

    chew the flavor,

      exhaust the taste.

You barely give me enough sustenance to survive.

But I'll take what I can get.

Laura's Heavy Metal Song

It's a fucking SUNday,

I was walking down the road and the Jesus-Family,

the All-American Dream Fuckers,

pulled up in their family car.

2 kids strapped in the back,

asking how to get to the Bingo Hall.

But I'm too strung out to understand. 

I'm too strung out about this life.

I keep walking slowly and the people rush by.

I step into your place and further into chaos.

You beckon me over and casually rest your arm on the counter.

You explain that She's here.

She's sitting right over there.

And She's a powder keg, waiting to explode.

And Him- he's the spark.

And He's yet to come.

And Me and You, waiting for the show.

Come and see the show!

And then

the explosion.

Not as intense as the spectators had hoped.

But I turn my ear to listen to the false faces and mild words.

I leave your work and start out again.

A man stares at me with hollowed eyes.

His dog is yanked down the sidewalk by his chain.

I arrive at Kim's house to drop off the false personality that I used last night.

And I turn around.

The cold snow is making burn marks on my cheeks,

Like the scornful kisses from past loves.

Fucking past loves.

Scale

My mood bracelet says that I'm "normal to passionate."

Thank Heavens!  Who would want obscurity and detachment?

Triangle Stoic

(12/17/06)

Waxing and waning

The ebb and flow

The push and pull 

Of our bodies now.

Heavy

The weight settles my center,

calms my churning,

  and brings a still clarity

    and new eyes

      and new perspectives.

Under this weight,

I find new freedom, happiness, stillness.

I hope this weight stays.

Skin

(12/30/06)

I only write songs when it rains 

because I'm too distracted by the sun

And the way it shines off your honey skin.

The Apocalypse

The green blue cataclysms

burst of earth crust

spatter of the oceans

the 

  circle 

    seizing

      in 

        a

          giant

            sneeze.

"God Bless You!"

You fools.

Where is your God now?

Insomnia

Your shadow follows your pen as you write,

A chasing game with the light from your lamp.

You are but a honey breeze minced with the heaviness of summer night.

I know that your words are a sweet breath of fresh air,

And your spirit is a hilarious breath of spontaneity.

Queen of Carrot Flowers

“Carrots”

I think this summer is a good time to look into our blood and see where our hearts are flowing, as these flowers and vegetables will look into their hearts every day and see the sun reflecting like a great mirror their desire to live and be beautiful.

-Richard Brautigan

I’ve recently revisited my Bucket List.  Out of the 40 things listed on it, I’ve completed 17.  Not too shabby.  I’ve never actively pursued crossing items off the list.  My method has always been to nonchalantly look at the list once or twice a year and randomly cross off the items that I have completed without giving too much thought or effort to the matter.  However, I have decided that I’m going to crack-down on the list this fall and winter as a way of keeping my life as full of adventure and love as it has been this spring and summer.  Some of the items that I am focusing on include:

1. Getting my Ph.D.
Okay.  This is a super ambitious goal.  I’m looking into the Smith Social Work program… yikes! I’m also checking out what I would need to get certified in music therapy and am exploring Lesley College.  And I'm maybe looking into BC and BU programs.  Though, I wrote a snotty letter to BC after they accepted me into the MSW program and I visited their campus and was unimpressed by the White, upper-class, culturally imperialist snobbery of the program.  Whoops.  Might have shot myself in the foot on that one.

2. Write a book
Another super ambitious thing.  I’m going to focus on writing something every day for now, whether it be a blog post, a poem, general commentary on the ridiculous messiness of life, or a song lyric.

3. Raise Sea Monkeys
Seriously.  What are these little dudes made of?  Where do they come from?  What mysteries does their magical sea monkey world hold?  All of these questions have been plaguing me since I was a young child.

4. Have an old-fashioned picnic in a meadow under a large tree
Okay.  Why haven't I done this yet?  It should be super simple to pull off.  I always pictured it being under a tree like the scene in the Shawshank Redemption where Andy goes to find the tin that Red had buried for him (spoiler alert!  whoops!)

5. Take an art class
This past winter found me painting with oil pastels for the first time.  And I loved it.  And I think I might be slightly, mildly talented at it.  So I definitely want to pursue this further.

6. Read every Dr. Seuss book
The man is a genius.  His social commentary is spot-on.  Enough said.

Anyone care to help me with these?  Friends?  Lovers?  Family?



And these are some of the things on my Bucket List that I have completed:

1. Travel out west

The view from the hot air balloon.  Devil's Garden in Moab, Utah.

2. Visit the 4 Corners

This picture is self-explanatory.

3. Busk

The Shiprock and Anchordog Project

4. Fly a kite

Okay.  So you're probably wondering, "Why is she throwing a frisbee and not flying a kite?"  Well, this photo was taken at the first annual Plattsburgh Kite Flying Society... where, in fact, I did fly a kite.  But then it got too humid and rainy, so we decided to throw frisbees instead.  And I didn't get a picture of the kite flying.  But trust me, it happened.

5. Learn how to play the guitar

Check.

Also, I’m actively trying to seek out a balance between social work, music, and my artistic pursuits.  I’m thinking that, once I obtain my LICSW, I will work on opening my own private practice, where I’ll spend 3-4 days a week.  Ideally, I would love to dedicate the majority of my time to playing music, knitting, painting, and writing. However, being a full-time artist does not pay the bills… and I like being a helping professional too much to quit.

And, as always, I will leave you with one of my favorite songs by Neutral Milk Hotel.  This song has found a home in my heart and has followed me around for the past 5 years… It has transformed in meaning and often carries a hint of nostalgia laced into the words and melody.

When you were young

You were the king of carrot flowers

And how you built a tower tumbling through the trees

In holy rattlesnakes that fell all around your feet

And your mom would stick a fork right into daddy's shoulder

And dad would throw the garbage all across the floor

As we would lay and learn what each other's bodies were for

And this is the room

One afternoon I knew I could love you

And from above you how I sank into your soul

Into that secret place where no one dares to go

And your mom would drink until she was no longer speaking

And dad would dream of all the different ways to die

Each one a little more than he could dare to try

As Many Blueberries As Stars in the Skies...

Wow!  It's been a long time since I updated this bloggy thingy.  I've decided to continue this blog through the use of pictures with short captions to tell about my adventures.  It worked so well when I was out west that I figured I should keep on going!

I've been involved with my friend Evan in the Shiprock and Anchordog project for several months now.  Between singing harmonies, rocking out the mandolin, making music videos, playing gigs, directing/writing a children's rock opera... I've been pretty freaking busy.  But no complaints over here! I'm making up for all the time I missed out on in my early 20s!

Today was the day of the music video shoot for the song "Blueberries."  You can listen to the whole album here and Blueberries is track #16:  http://shiprockandanchordog.com/?page_id=136
You can also find the album on Spotify and iTunes (so freaking cool!).

Here are some of the highlights of the video shoot.  The kids were amazing and so adorable.  I can't wait to see the finished product!

This was the first scene shot this morning.  The kids were there bright and early with their game faces on.  There was a green screen which will eventually simulate stars in the sky.  Lights, camera, action!

This is the blue barn where some of the shots were filmed.  If you haven't checked out the Kitchen Garden in Hadley, you should come on down!  They helped us out by letting hold camp there in June and the video this month.  They also have a CSA that is based out of this location.

The crew blowing up what will soon be giant blueberry balloons!  

Almost there!  It took so long!  

Evan had to help out!  He has the lung capacity of a Greek God.

Another shot of the blue barn.  I love this color!

Kids and blueberry balloons!  What could be cuter?!?!

Some of the balloons ran away on us!

Couldn't ask for a more beautiful place to film this video!  It was so awesome to be behind the scenes and to step back and let the film/art crew handle everything.  They were so amazing and professional!

Lindsay, the director.  How many blueberries do you have in your basket?

Lunch break!  It was kinda like a real movie set where there were pizza and snacks and drinks brought in.  The kids loved the pizza (and so did the free range chickens who live on the farm).

Solo blueberry balloon.

Fun on the tire swing!

It was so neat to see the set-up.  This was one of the mobile cameras that glided along a track.

So those were my adventures for today!  Evan and I will be playing around the valley lots this summer. Look for us at our regular Haymarket Cafe gig in Northampton on Fridays or Saturdays and at the Northampton Farmer's Market this Tuesday.

I also took some other pictures while playing a gig in Easthampton yesterday.

Anyone who knows me also knows that birds are my kindred spirits.  I love them.  I think it comes with being an air sign.  27 Snow Birds on a Wire.

Day 13 &14- Goodbye, Babylon

"Well I came to see, and what I found was not alright with me

Their desperation, some vocation, and it'd been the same thing all along

Goodbye Babylon, goodbye Babylon, goodbye Babylon

Now I know times are changin, and the people need rearrangin

So now, it's written here in song

Goodbye Babylon, goodbye Babylon, goodbye Babylon, goodbye

Now our boys, the fallin, all need us, or are all upon it

And you can bet by God, good will is gone

Goodbye Babylon, goodbye Babylon, oh goodbye Babylon, goodbye Babylon."

-Black Keys

So, these were the last two days of my trip.  As I was packing today, I realized how sad I was to say goodbye to the west.  These past 2 weeks have felt like I was living in a dream.  They seem transitory and intangible.  I have seen so many beautiful deserts and rocks and mountains and cities and people.  I have made new friends and have discovered new parts of myself.

These are some pictures from my last 2 days:

So on day #13, I met up with my friends from Plattsburgh, Kim and Derek.  Another crazy small world story- we grew up only a couple of miles from one another... however, we never met until we went to college at SUNY Plattsburgh.  We cheers-ed my arrival in Denver.  I was so excited to see them- it has been at least a couple of years!  I'm so happy that they moved out here and I hope that Denver will treat them well!

This was one of the coolest spots ever!  I think it was called the "Bike Bar."  As you can see from the menu, you can order a beer, a coffee, some food, and a bike tune-up... all in one place.  Hipster heaven.  The bartender was super friendly and let us stay past last call.  I highly recommend this bar!  

Coffee, bikes, and beers! 

A fuzzy picture of a great night!  This was taken at the Vine Street Pub.  We all match in our black t-shirts.  

I also got a chance to meet up with a friend from Tully, Jess.  We actually share cousins on the Lajoie-side of the family.  I haven't seen her in ages either!  It's funny that I have to drive across the country to see friends and family :)

This is the Butte River in downtown Denver.  The channeled part of it into a mini-rapids tubing area.  It was kinda smelly.  Not sure I would swim in it.  But these folks were all for it!

One of the most liberating aspects of this trip has been having the ability to drop all of my "roles."  I wasn't a daughter or a social worker or a friend or a wife or a lover or a roommate... I had no ties and no responsibilities.  Every day, I decided my own fate.  I woke up every morning, pulled out my map, and decided where I would go to next.  There is something to be said about solely relying on yourself for your own safety, sanity, and adventures.  At the end of the day, I had only myself... and I realized that, no matter what relationships are present in my life, at the end of the day, I still just have myself to answer to.  So I had better be happy and in-love with myself!  And hopefully I will find someone who loves me for all that I am.  But, if not, I know that I will continue to be happy and continue to burn a bright trail through this weary world.  I've made so much peace with my life over these past 6 months and I am so content right now.

Some folks think that just because you're alone, you're lonely.  I have always been able to do "alone" really well.  There were points on this trip where I was lonely- I wished that I had a friend with me.  When you're traveling alone, you are in your own head all the time.  I have chewed over my past, my present, and my hopes for the future.

Mostly, I hope to carry my sense-of-self, my strength, my heart, my unwavering capacity to give love, my passion, and my humor into the next chapter of my life.  This trip has helped to solidify who I know myself to be and I'm ready to return to the world as a woman who runs with the wolves.

Thank you to all of my new and old friends who have supported me on this journey.  I'm blessed to have so many people who send me lots of love every day.  I can't wait to see you all again!

Day 12- Only From the Heart

"Only from the heart can you touch the sky."  -Rumi

Today was tattoo day!  I got this one for several reasons:  

(1) To mark my flight in the sky in a hot air balloon

(2) To remind me to never let anyone clip my wings

(3) A snowbird always sings the song that is in her heart

(4) I must never stop singing or flying

I had this one placed over my heart to remind me of all the healing of heart wounds that have happened on this trip.  Rumi also said, "The wound is the place where the Light enters you."  I think about the direction that my life has taken over the past six months and I continue to find myself grateful for the pain and for the change because, with them, I have been given the gift of light and love and self-discovery.  I have reignited the spark that I had lost.  I have learned how to laugh and love again.  I know how strong I am.  I know how weak I am.  I sing every day.

So enough of the deep stuff :)  I also went to downtown Boulder and walked around and then headed up to Fort Collins to visit my friend Meg.

Found this card in a "European" shop in Boulder.  Hilarious!  

Bikes bikes everywhere!

Children playing in a sprinkler art thing on Pearl Street in Boulder.  It was 92 degrees today.

Pearl Street in Boulder reminded me so much of Church Street in Burlington, VT.  Turns out that the same guy designed both!

I treated myself to a haircut today.  Wanted to look snazzy when I returned home.  Plus the dry desert had done a number on my hair and skin!  Lotion and chapstick are your best friends out here.

A piano busker!  That's dedication!  I would not be down for moving an upright piano around all day long!

One of my favorite shows when I was little!  Tin Tin!  His dog's name was "Snowy".... hmmm... 

So after bumming around Boulder, I took a trip up to Fort Collins to visit my friend Meg (whom I haven't seen in 4 years!).  We went to SUNY Plattsburgh together.  

Sunset through the smoke from the High Park wildfire outside of Fort Collins.

Okay!  Crazy story!  My friend Tom from high school (Tully, NY) lived in this house... with Meg from Plattsburgh, NY... what?!?!?  It's such a small world!  How two of my friends could meet up in a big place like Colorado... 

Meg's girlfriend, Jo.  One mojito is like 3 mojitos up here!  So fun!  We had matching t-shirts too!  

Playing pool... I promise that I was aiming at a ball... this picture was taken post-shot... and I only hit one ball in the whole game.  Conclusion= I suck at pool.  This is not a new revelation.  Now, if you give me a dart and a board, I could kick some serious butt.

 

Meg introduced me to some local beer.  I loved this one!

There are pianos everywhere in Old Town Fort Collins!  I played this one (poorly) and then Meg snapped a picture.  I'm in love.  Cool art too!

I had one of the best days/nights of the trip!  So much fun!  It was great to see old friends and to make new ones too.  A very big thanks to Meg and Jo and the folks in Fort Collins.  I beautiful city with beautiful people!  I will be back some day!