I'm Sorry

none of us is perfect

we do our best

putting one foot in front of the other

pushing on while hoping for happiness

we make so many mistakes

big, not so big, and just plain silly

but if we're lucky

we learn some lessons along the way

lessons about the specific things

but more importantly

how to say, "I'm sorry"

those words some never learn

words I have etched in my heart

words I use often because I know

what it's like 

to never hear them

we learn lessons about forgiveness

about forgiving ourselves our own faults

and forgiving those who hurt us most

so that we can move on and heal

we learn how very fragile

we all are

and how elusive

happiness really is

and then we push on again

doing our best

to find happiness

without having to say, "I'm sorry"

knowing that we are human

and so very flawed

and that it will one day be necessary

to say those words again

I work to put as many days as possible

between those instances

working harder at getting stronger

at being the best me possible

and in the meantime, I say it yet again

for a time when I didn't make the best choices

for hurting you, and me, and others

"I'm sorry"

Ignition

brilliance flashes
souls speaking to souls
of creation
as the world begins again

each conversation
a moment of suspension
where time
is only a concept
and art the ideal

the words transform
as the sparks ignite
the conflagration consumes
all within the sphere
of community

collective imagination
burning brighter
than the individual flames
as the spark jumps
from one to the next

words and music
line and design
I see you all in colors
bright flames leaping higher

Making Memories

Is it reminiscing if you are alone?

Or, do you need an audience

to tell those stories to?

And does it count 

when the memories

are not so very old?

I look back on the reminders,

of you and us;

words written in joy and tears,

written every time 

I think of you

and all you mean to me.

There are no bad memories

unless you count the sorrow

of separation.

I read the words you've written to me

and the ones I've written to you 

and I smile.

I am filled with hope

for all that is in my future.

The memories don't make me look back in longing;

they teach me to look forward 

to finding love some day.

You have taught me this.

We will continue to make memories together,

encouraging each other to be our best.

You are my rock, my best friend.

So as I fondly look back on these memories

I also look forward 

to the ones we have yet to make.

Futility

To attempt to convey
Feelings and emotions
In ways that make sense
Is the goal of the poet
And writer
These poor deluded folks
Who think such an impossible feat
Is even remotely possible
And then turn themselves
Inside out with
Contemplation
Examination
And attempt after attempt
Are to be pitied
For the hopeless romantics they are
And if by some miracle
They manage to get it right
And find the elusive words
And string them together
In such a way as to
Allow someone to finally
Have a clearer understanding
Of the workings of human emotions
Of love and lust
Hatred, desire, despair
Sadness, depression
Jubilation, triumph
Or even simple happiness
How will they know
From six feet under?

Betrayal

at one time or another
another heartache suffered

pain unintentionally inflicted

is the most gut-wrenching pain of all

no frontal assault, no violence

quick pain shocks emotions

his noncommittal indifference

soul shattering knife attack

words in the wind no love lost here

cold winter wind cunt lying in wait

sirens song twines round his soul

lover lost teased from my embrace

hidden deception hidden motive

even the truth from future actions

as they become past proofs

eludes intellectual pursuits

the ease between lovers and friends

is not so easy now

when my love is not mine

rather friends at arms length

the distance between sharp

and flat is the universe

the unseeing of his eyes

the ignorance of a lifetime

calling attention to opportunistic deception

deemed unworthy, unseemly, Sssshhh.

tolerating evil's betrayal painlessly

so much easier than fighting for truth

defeated I hang my head

wondering why he can't see

 the blood trail that winds

from my heart to the knife in her hand.

Excitement

I can feel the excitement building

it's a palpable thing

slowly, steadily

each day taking a deep breath

gets just a little bit harder

I can't wait to see them all

to see you

friends who know me

and understand me

and love me anyway

friends who celebrate quirkiness

and creativity

who know that an unfinished project

is not a sign of laziness

but that a louder muse called

to be hugged and held

and yes, even kissed

to let out that breath

that I've been holding

for almost a year now

but with all the excitement

there is also fear

old issues I get closer to being past each year

new issues that come with all of the changes

of this new life

they sneak up on me

in that instant just after

they are cold hands

sliding over my skin

trying to pull me down

your warmth and love

chase them away

the same way you've helped me

chase all the other fears away

these past few years

so when the fear sneaks in

I will think of you

and be excited for the joy

of being able to spend a few days

basking in all that is you

I will give myself permission

to relax and be me

knowing it's okay 

and I'll enjoy this excitement

that builds on my way to you

Perspective

I live inside myself
My view of the world
Is comprised mainly of what I see
My experiences
And what I know
I am small
And insignificant
And sometimes my view
Is equally small
There is a much larger world out there
One I may not have experienced
But one I am aware of
Where my biggest fear
Would be a blessing
To someone else
Those things I struggle with
Would be good fortune
I need to remember
That we all have problems
Fears and situations that we must overcome
And rise above
And that in the big picture
I am so very fortunate
I have been blessed
In so many, many ways
So each day I remind myself
To keep things in perspective
To say thank you to the universe
And thank you to you

Squirrel!

If you have kids you know that they love to hear stories of things they did that they were too young to remember. Those stories that you pull out and retell every so often (maybe with more embellishment as the years pass, maybe not).

Jake and I had one of those moments tonight. No, it wasn't the story about how he squirted a stream of poo 3 feet like a mini fire hose gone awry; so you'll be spared that one (unlike me who had to live through it in the first place and is still haunted by it in nightmares). No, tonight was the Squirrel story.

When Jake was 3 we got Jaspurr. Jaspurr's original name was Earl Grey and his nickname had been Earl the Squirrel. After a week or so we renamed him Jaspurr because he purrs like a truck and that was the one name he answered to.

So, Jaspurr was sitting on the window sill minding his own business when Jake points at him and shouts, "Squirrel". I calmly explained that no, he is a kitty cat. Jake seemed to think this was funny and again pointed at the cat and proclaimed him to be a Squirrel. I laughed and explained that his old name was Earl the Squirrel but to us he's Jaspurr and Jaspurr is in fact a kitty cat.

I don't know how long we went around on this issue. But Jake was adamant that the creature sitting on the windowsill was a Squirrel and nothing was gonna persuade him otherwise.

Finally, I looked out the window and saw one of the 15 million squirrels that lived in our back yard and in triumph pointed out the window and said, "Look, Jake! THERE's a Squirrel" thinking for sure I was going to make my point.

Jake looked at me and in a quiet voice just on the edge of laughter and with a gleem in his eye, looked at me and quietly said, "Kitty". Then burst out into laughter.

My shoulders slumped and I hung my head. I had been had. By a smart-ass 3 year old. Then we both laughed until it hurt.

I had no idea a 3 yo could have such impeccable comedic timing. Damn kids..

So, we told that story at bed time again tonight and laughed again at the little imp who pulled one over on his Mom. The retelling sounds a lot like an odd version of the game Duck-Duck-Goose.
Squirel-Squirel-Squirel-Squirel-KITTY!

Memories

One of the things I realized today
Is that it's possible
To miss the idea of a person
More than the person themself

Memory is a selective
And fickle thing
Some people are blessed
With only remembering the good times

Some are cursed
With just the bad
And some of us
Have a little of each

There are things I miss
That I missed
Even when we were still together
So that's a different kind of pain

Those are things
That went to the top of the list
Of things I want and need
In my life again

My memory is faulty
That is a big part of
Why I hold on to things
Seemingly useless things

And now, as I get rid of
More and more of those things
It feels like I'm also
Getting rid of the memories

And I wonder
If that's a good thing
Or a bad thing
Or just the way it goes

I Have

I didn't know what kind of
insane amount of stress
I was carrying around with me,
letting myself be subjected to,
each and every moment
of every day,
until the day I realized
that I wasn't any more.
It felt (cliche as it is)
like a weight had been lifted.
And when I felt the stress returning,
being pushed in my direction,
I took a deep breath.
This breath that was so much bigger
than any other from the recent past
that I could feel the air flowing down,
all the way down to my toes,
swirling through my whole body.
And I laughed.
I laughed at the cause of my stress,
and its impotence.
I laughed at the joy of knowing
it doesn't own me any more.
So many lessons in life are hard.
This one was easy.
I have the strength
and the power
to chose my stress level,
to chose to be happy,
to chose to be me.
And I have.

Balticon is Coming

Balticon is still around a couple of corners. But now is when time seems to finally start to speed up after dragging on for an entire year.  Poetry hasn't been at the forefront of my brain lately.  I have this other thing I do...dyeing yarn...and Balticon is a really special time for me in that regard.  

Two years ago when I went to my first Balticon and started meeting so many amazing people face-to-face for the first time I wanted a way to bridge my two passions, yarn and writing. So, the first Balticon yarns started off  as my way of interpreting entire genres (erotica, fantasy, science fiction, horror) and the idea gradually morphed into what it is today...I get my inspiration for the Limited Edition colorways from specific artists and pieces of work, usually podcasts or books, sometimes websites or blogs.

Limited Edition means that except for the one small batch (6 skeins) these colorways will not be repeated.  So, they are unique in that they are my way of representing another artist's work in a completely different medium and that they are only available for a very short time (the 10 days to 2 weeks leading up to Balticon (Memorial Day weekend), and in a very limited quantity.

They are a way for yarnaholics who are fans of these other artists and their work to express it with their own creation of something uniquely them.  I view my place in the creative process as being an intermediary between the art that inspired me and then someone else using my creation to create something of their own.

A lot of work goes into dyeing as many skeins as are necessary in a very short time.  Right now, I have 5 of this year's 7 colorways dyed.  The first two are dry and reskeined.  Two still haven't been dyed yet, and the other 3 are still drying from their time in the bath.  Besides the actual dyeing process, there are swatches to knit, lots of pictures to take, blog posts to do, labels to print, skeins to be reskeined, and this year there's also an audio promo to put together.

Yep, an audio promo.  To get the word out about these yarns that were inspired by podcasts to the very podcast audiences who might just want to buy them.  Hey, I'm finally learning a thing or two about promotion from social media.  So, I've added a little more work to my already very full plate.  Oh, well, what's a few more tasks?

Tonight I found my mic and I wrote the copy.  I'm not sure it will fit in the time available yet, but some time in the next night or two I'll find out when I go to record it.  A good friend who is a genius when it comes to all things audio is going to give me a hand and do the editing end of it for me.  Yeah, yeah, I know I need to learn that stuff at some point.  Now just isn't that particular time.  One of these days.  Meanwhile, I've already talked to a number of podcasting friends who will run it for me as soon as we get it done.

I'm so excited!  This is my favorite time of the year.  It's better than Christmas, my birthday, and/or any and all other special days all rolled together.  I'll be putting up posts on each of the colorways starting in the next few days over at Dyed Bright Here.  In the meantime, I need to get back to work.  See ya soon.

Dreaming In Color

Dreaming in color
Living in a black and white
World of irony

Time to Get Out of Bed

Laying in bed on a quiet Sunday morning
Completely at peace
Trying to puzzle out
How to write what I need to say
To expose myself
And my actions
That were so wrong
And yet, so right

Tears streaming down my face
That I brush aside
Only when they impede
My ability to write
Tears of frustration
Not grief
Because to write about
My moment of impasse
And the men who helped me
Gain the strength to deal with it
By loving me, supporting me,
Telling me I could do anything
Anything
If I only believe, trust myself
Have faith in myself and my abilities
Oh, and work my ass off
Would only cause those I love
The same pain I've just come through

So, instead of staying here
Frustrated with my inability
To convey in words
The truth I and they already know
I guess I'll just get on
With the working my ass off part
And enjoy the fact
That my moment of impasse
Is no longer in front of me
But is now in the rearview mirror
And getting smaller by the day

Summer

The summer wind blows in
Gently pushing the clouds
Heavy with the summer rains
Into our awareness

Forward guards
of the advancing army
Mercilessly marching towards us
Threatening the peaceful Spring

They will take us prisoner, hold us hostage
In their humidity, caged in cumulus
Until a truce is called
In October.

Death

Death, it's narrow gaze
Does confer such loss
As heaven and hell
Proclaim in unison
The least of all
Shall abide such sorrow
In waves of tears
Poured out to wash
The miracle of life
Gently down the gutter

To the Writer:

To the writer:

You spend long hours

alone

with your words.

The odds of you

ever making a living

doing what you love

are longer than

your next novel.

But you need to know

that you have touched me

with your words.

And that even if

you never make

the NYT best seller list

you have made a difference.

Your words 

and your characters

are a part of me now;

a part of others too.

So, if you ever get discouraged

please remember this

and

Just.

Keep.

Writing.

The Pendulum

The pendulum swings
Similarly to karma
You time is coming