Running in Place . . .

camellia . . . Spring 2012

Experiencing a Broken Eardrum . . .
Voices waver around me so distant and watery . . .
and not being able to discern from where noise emanates,
my head swivels like a nervous mantis . . .
wary of sound .. .. startled by movement . . .
I find myself being gentler . . . kinder, to compensate
for something lacking in me .  . . the children hug me more . . .
as if they sense that brokenness in me . . .
Experiencing deafness . . .  my left ear
reverberates with its own voice . . aching with want . . .
broken . . . it fails me profoundly,
giving me vertigo . ..  a sensation of
continual inebriation  . .  and the sad inability
to hear surround sound music . . .
I listen to my favorite tunes . . .
but they bounce around, lonely, and hollow,
in my right ear . . . an entity of sound, desperate sound . .
making an inroad into my soul . . . my brain. . .
cracking the stone . . . disturbing the stillness . . .
The boy at the early morning bus stop
exclaims at the beautiful song of the birds . . .
and though I know the robin's voice . .
as if it were my own child's . ..  the "cheer-uppp"
is flat and unmoving to my ear . ..
but I smile at this enthusiasm
of my sensitive, young friend . . .
and his wish for a "good" microphone
to catch this magical sound . . .
I too wish for something to hold life's music . . .
for me . . . the song of the bird
is more precious as it grows distant . . . in my memories . . .
my own voice, sounds numb . . . and strained . . 
to my lonely ear . . .
and friends speaking into the dead orifice 
wait for me to respond . . . and
I must remind them  . ..
I am deaf there . . .. 
temporarily . . .
I hope . .

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Spring Flowers 2012

A mountain reigns where
blue poppies
in the shadows of the bosom,
like a river, flashes and
ripples in the breezes,

dances in sunny meadow . . ..
golden bees,
green fern encasing,
and a pungent scent
of emerald exhales
from the melting dampness,
while tiny daisies
with beckoning white arms
daintily embrace the miniscule,
like suns capturing planets in
a dance of awareness
through the dewy dawns of time
. . . a dreamy light strokes the shoulder
of the feeding doe
meandering through the flow
of soft blue poppy petals . . .

reflected as glowing purple globes

in the large shiny orbs,

the bottomless depths of the

brown eyes of the deer . . .

Crocuses . . . Spring 2012

Jorisma . . .  ElectroPop

Always a good listen . . .

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