Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Under My Bed, Winter Shades

I am too wordy. I know it. Back in the day, I was given the best task. I was working as a young designer in a paper mill. There was a need for a recording secretary at two regular meetings having to do with the contract construction work and the union's vested interest in the work that should belong to them. I was appointed this duty and it meant I had to write clearly and succinctly in a specialized language. I had to take a half hour or more of several people and end up not with the actual verbatim words but with the sense of them adjusted for the company spin except when the union had an adamant interest. In that case I had to downplay but not spin at all. I had to sense when which was which as well. These meetings were basically weekly. I succeeded. This is why I can write with two word sentences happily.

Also, to keep a spare word count is why I chose haiku line structure as my current form, and often find sentences that are smaller than seventeen syllables. Then I write these intros so I can gabble. :)

Under My Bed

My wild heart knows things
I don't know until they creep
Out from under me,
Under the bed I've made.

I keep the mattress cover
Hanging down, a wall
To keep intruders
Out of my space, of my mind,
But my wild heart knows
How to get past me,
Spill blood all over my life,
Teach me to listen.

January 10, 2009 3:23 PM


I thought that poem needed no intro. In the comments just tonight, replying to Ghost Dancing, I talked about my dreams, and then I opened this poem as it was next in line. Hmmm. This is indeed why I am happier with my day dreams :)


For example, here is a true day dream

Winter Shades

You know I return
Because I must bathe in white
And soft shades of gray,
Look at ladies float
To the ceiling, whitely dream
Of far off autumn
Colors fading to
Winter shades, snow falling down.

All this I must do.

January 10, 2009 8:22 PM


  1. I came here from 'The Waxing Moon' after being encouraged to do so. I am glad I did, as I am liking your words written; you.Great images to remain in my mind.

  2. Welcome Sarah. Any friend of Rachel's is a friend of mine.

  3. I loved your poem for David, it made me cry!
    And I really love your wild heart poem. Isn't it funny, we do know before our thoughts let us know we know. (yeah, that wasn't poetic at all now was it ;-) but we do. To listen to the quiet wind, before we bumble forward with our clumsy steps, to listen to the quiet wind, that is my goal.

  4. The wild heart, and her sister, the imagination, sure do know how to find their way around those barriers. It's like trying to keep raspberries from extending out beyond the garden, sending their shoots up in the lawn. It's an exercise in futility.

    Raspberry surprise

    I thought I could tame you,
    confine you to the shrubbery
    bordered by dim pansies
    and prim red petunias.

    I dug a perfect hole
    in the centre
    of the border garden,
    tucked your roots in, watered
    and tamped you down
    firmly with my slick-black boot.

    I turned my back for just
    a moment, distracted
    by a passing mosquito swarm;
    then when I looked again,
    there you were, sprawled
    naked and raw, green anarchy
    all over the lawn.

    I caught my breath
    at the sordid sight,
    unexpectedly trapped
    in that itchy place between
    and outrage.

    What frightened me most of all
    is that I liked you
    this way

  5. That damn quiet wind...sometimes it's a "quiet" hurricane. This wakes a person right up. Thanks Catvibe.

    Rachel, people are going to talk if we keep meeting like this. I hope you're up for that...

    In Oregon it's the Blackberries that act like that and worse. Blackberries make the best pies on the planet. At the local community college there is a running track, 2.7 miles around the campus. On an extensive part of that track, there are wild blackberry brambles. When they come ripe, people quit running so fast.

  6. Who would have thunk it, that I was feel wanton of winter in June? Really. Who would have thunk it?

    Those wild hearts can find their ways past the tallest of barricades.

    (And let them talk.)

  7. Erin, indeed. That is the one trouble with posting as I do...the seasons get reversed.

    I have actually lived through the "let em talk" thing. It's not a lot of fun, especially when you know it isn't true the way they talk. The trouble with some really complicated human entanglements, even if you navigate with stellar delicacy, from the outside you will still look like any other bozo on the judgmental bus.

  8. Hahaha! But what will they say? That is the question.

  9. Judgement bites. Who is anyone to judge and what does it matter?

    What will they say? I will say I see two souls in conversation and I kinda enjoy eavesdropping. Although there are many conversations going on here.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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