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Archive for November, 2010

These Days Grow Long

“Oh, these days grow long – but I’m on my way back home.  And it’s been hard to be away.
How I miss you, and I just want to kiss you.  And I am gonna love you to my dying day.
How these days grow long.”   Brandi Carlile – Dying Day

Over and over again

As the days fall away

These words pound insistently

An anthem

A promise

Ringing in my ears

Over and over again

Every day is longer

But at least I know when they’re ending

This lonely feeling

This need to be near

For arms

For closeness

Teaches me

In a way I never knew

How hard it must have been

All the years

She lived without him

All the days

She couldn’t count down

All the times

She must have closed her eyes

And remembered

And waited for the crush of loneliness to pass

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Lunch in the Fall

“This is the room of the wolfmother wallpaper.  The toadstool motel you once thought a mere folk tale, a corny, obsolete, rural invention.  This is the room where your wisest ancestor was born, be you Christian, Arab, or Jew.  The linoleum underfoot is sacred linoleum.  Please remove your shoes…This is the room…in which Salome dropped the seventh veil while dancing the dance of ultimate cognition, skinny legs and all.”  Tom Robbins – Skinny Legs and All

Eating outside

On a perfect afternoon

Reconnecting with an old friend

Recalling the girl I was

When I first found this favorite

Reveling in how far I’ve come since then

Breezy wind

Crisp greens

Unnecessary luxuries like

50 year old sherry vinegar

And three kinds of salt

Contrast with the clearance sticker

Announcing this treasure

Cost only a dollar

How Tom Robbins would laugh

At this setting

For re-encountering these irreverent words

This most loved story

Fancy flat bread on a white table cloth

Missing old friends

And afternoons free for reading

Stretched out beneath rustling trees

Not surrounded by skyscrapers

 

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One on books

In books we find

Words on paper

Dancing across time

Ideas preserved

For contemplation

Over centuries

Immortality

Never frozen

Constantly evolving meaning

The same words

Finding new lives

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11×3

Thirty three years ago

I was born

On the third day

Of the eleventh month

Of the seventy-seventh year

Of the twentieth century

Tonight, I sleep

In a fancy hotel

Far away from everything that matters

Mostly from family

The one that formed me

And the one yet to be built

And it is lonely

This in-between life

This hotel room

This constant far away

From things that matter

Especially on birthdays

This day and Saturday

And so I breathed in deep

And blew out my candle

In the raspberry

Here at the Ritz

And wished…

But when I opened my eyes

It was still today

And not eight days from now

And we were still apart

On birthdays

But maybe

For the last time

And every birthday after this

Will reflect the best parts of the past

Instead of the separateness

Of the present

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NaBloPoMo?

In November

Some people write words every single day

And put them on the internet

So I contemplate joining them

Wondering what words might come

What ideas might proliferate

Who might respond

This is not commitment

It is merely contemplation

Flirting even

With the idea

Of one month

One month of writing every day

Perhaps

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