Happiness, Human, Life, Peace, Poetry from The Well, Time

Happiness Forecasted

Diets, mantras, bedtimes,

doses, meditations —

happiness has been forecasted.

A million rules later

one unruly mind, one quarrelsome heart

refuse to be coaxed from orbit.

After all,

what can overpower their chemical dance?

Well, a sunny day, a groaning violin,

or a tender smile.A million rules laterand I’m still on trackto surrender to the twisting winds.Happiness Forecasted

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Photographs, Poetry from The Well

Winter Mornings

wintry

Have you one person

knocking at your heart?

She has grown too big

for the space you cleared out

years ago.

You feel her nudge

on winter mornings;

across the mountains

her body rests

warm and safe in bed.

But her dreaming eyes

soak up secrets leaking

through her dreams –

she is being chased –

she is trapped at the very top –

she is lost – she is slipping –

Is that you chasing her?

You just wish her thoughts

spun soft,

light as the tapering snow.

Beneath the blanket

she grips hot sheets

with sweating hands.

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Life, Poetry from The Well

Everything’s a Gift

Between the racks move muttering moms

and pleading kids.

Crouching low the helpers pull out shirts and hangers

stuffed in the wrong rack, wrong department,

forgotten in the face of a better price

or wave of guilt.

On her tip toes a helper wrangles and lifts down

a milkwhite mannequin man, one hand under his

crotch and the other squeezing his smooth ankle.

A stoic fleshy man needs those pants in that size, please.

Across the store two teens have slipped into a fitting room

trying each other on for size.

A boy sits on the edge of a table, his arm draped across

a stack of cashmere sweaters, crying patiently.

His mother is lost in the Levi’s, comforting someone on the phone.

The new girl carefully steers her feet down the aisles,

blisters growing bigger by the hour.

It’s the first day of the Christmas soundtrack.

Everything, everything’s a gift.

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Life, love, Poetry from The Well, relationships

Shadow of the North Star

penns cave

In his eyes

there is no horizon in sight.

Two lush pools watch you

from the height of the moon’s

mother. Dirt from underneath

his feet clumps and crumbles

the same as the mascara clinging

to your lashes. Raindrops mix

easy with tears. The clocks spin

round as loyal blood passes

through cave after cave

of your insides –

in his eyes

sits a shadow of the North Star.

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Daisy, Life, Moving, Photographs, Poetry from The Well

Allergic to the New Apartment

We sniffle

I press my face into

milky white tissues

 

The sterile ceremony

a fluttering pile

towers toward the ceiling

 

Meanwhile she rubs her face

across every patch

of carpet

 

Dirt and fuzz

cling to her sticky nose

for a free ride

 

We sneeze

I sigh in misery

feet dragging

 

She licks my face

sharing dusty kisses

just glad to be home

girly

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Mind, Photographs, Poetry from The Well

Swing the Sun

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You can’t fool me,

icy eyes (heart of glass),

I see your dry hair beneath the mist

I swim inside the hot blood funneling to your

brain and if I must

I will drag through clumps of snow

cased in ice —

I will swing the sun around

so you can crawl over baby

blades

of

grass —

 

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