Bereft

My Heart is broken

Seeming so perfect when it was born

But the beauty hid the truth

The brightness camouflaged the defect

For twenty years my heart lived wrapped

Deep within the safety of my love

And time told the story

My Heart beats to a drummer with no rhythm

No Reason

No reality

I held my heart close to keep it safe

But the ragged edges cut through my flesh

like shattered glass

A reflection in pieces so fragmented

they can never be repaired

The truth

My Heart is broken

And broken is my heart

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Definition of bereft (adj)

 

be·reft

 [ bi réft ]   

1. deprived: deprived of somebody or something loved or valued
2. lacking: lacking in something desirable or necessary
3. feeling sense of loss: filled with a sense of loss

Synonyms: deprived, bereaved, mourning, in mourning, grieving, orphaned, widowed

© 2013 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

In The Moment

I feel like I haven't written anything of substance in a long time. And I have no idea where my sense of humor went. I'm working on projects at work and traveling a lot and there's so much at home. I think it's because there is so much going on that I'm living very much, "in the moment", without time to think through a thought, much less flesh it out into a post. When I do have a spare moment, I very much need for my mind to be quiet right now, not trying to produce. There will always be tidbits and nonsense on my blog but I don't want that to be all there is. So I'm taking a couple weeks off. I doubt I'll be gone long. I'll be back as soon as I think of something...or something important happens...or I get bored...you know how I am.

For the moment, I wrote this a very long time ago. I posted it here a few years back, too.
I thought it would be appropriate because... well...it's happened again.

See You Soon : )

In To July

June has slipped
 through my fingers

A suntan oiled palm

Slipping out of my grasp

 to bask in sweat soaked July.

In haste to higher altitude

 this past, a time to remember

Held vaulted in film canisters

Waiting on my kitchen counter

 for lackluster rebirth

The summer child

notched in a doorframe

Two more to be etched

as milestones passed

After the Star Spangled evening.

I have yet to taste the salt

To gather the sun glittered

abandoned homes of sea life

To slowly drip a medieval castle

But I will do these things

Finish this heat induced scavenger hunt

The summer a shimmering runway I traverse

I fly at the end to Fall

Merely a mirage

As I crash land in the heat

Of my home town.
 

© 1998-2013 All Rights Reserved
This work had been edited and changed from it's original version



© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

I Built This Castle

TO: You Know Which Daughter You Are.


I've been shoring up your walls so long
You hammer a beat to your own song.

I labored for this strong and tall
To make certain that you'd never fall.
When you stray I call you back
I fill another gaping crack.
Find tumbled stones, how did I miss?
And wonder how it came to this.

As soon as my back is turned
You forget all you've learned.

Marauders come to pillage and break
Then toss away the treasures they take.
I grab a shovel and dig a moat.
Somehow they will find a boat.
My arrows ready, I will shoot
Pull weeds out at the root

Behind a wall of gracious deeds
Smiling, you plant more seeds.

I lug some wood to prop things straight
Rebuild what I might create
Whitewash splashed on the wall
Excuses made to explain a fall
All this to postpone the fear
Of losing what I hold so dear.

With no regard to what I say
You gladly let it crumble away.

I ponder and wonder day and night
How I didn't get it right
I laid the plans and followed through
Knew exactly what to do
To accomplish this great endeavor
A master work to last forever

Deep inside the truth is known
You chip away at your own stone.



© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

When i wasn't stopping

I wrote some poetry

about time and change
on a yellow legal pad
because it was close at hand

but I can't remember the words. or rather.

I can't read my handwriting.

and then i forgot what it says

I think it was about making time.

Stopping.

watching.

Paying close attention.

So you don't forget.

This was about memories.

I was watching.

But i wasn't stopping.

I had to move on.

 So it's lost.
 

Except for this.

 

We worry the journey

like a stone in hand

and disregard the ones dropped

through a hole in our pocket

Meant for safekeeping

No time to look behind

we run the risk

that we cannot see the moments

For the life.

 

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Wildflower Wednesday

She is wild. Strong and firm in her growth. And her convictions. She spreads out and owns the space about her. Rising high and golden as the sun lording over all at her feet. Earthy.Warm.Vibrant.

She is free. She cannot be contained. She will spread with the wind in all directions.  An arresting spark of vivid beauty standing out on her own. Flourishing wherever she lands. And in whatever she chooses. Wistful. Dreamy. Bright.

She is enduring. Resistant to interference she will grow her own way. And go her own way. Petite but vigorous. She lies unassuming and catches by surprise. A tiny burst of jewel like splendor. Steadfast. Rich. Deep.



I may nurture. I may cherish. But in the end wildflowers cannot be contained.
They will conquer the world with stubbornness.
No grand roses, shrinking violets or delicate orchids here.
No wallflowers either ; ) That's the kind of garden I grow .    .



© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Everything comes back around. Or Round.

Or, I have been shopping.


The silhouette that suited me when I was seventeen.
Long and fuller on the top, then narrows straight and lean.
It's back! Oh Joy! We once we made quite a team.
Until I look, Oh Lord, what's that? A cone of frozen cream?
Or maybe it's a light bulb, walking round alive.
What lit the room a seventeen, is not as bright at Forty Five.



Work calls me away for a few days. As always I will not have access to my blog or email while I am gone. Catch you when I get back!



© 2011 All Rights Reserved

In To July

June has slipped through my fingers

A suntan oiled palm

Slipping out of my grasp

 to bask in sweat soaked July.

In haste to higher altitude

 this past, a time to remember

Held vaulted in film canisters

Waiting on my kitchen counter

 for lackluster rebirth

The summer child

notched in a doorframe

Two more to be etched

as milestones passed

After the Star Spangled evening.

I have yet to taste the salt

To gather the sun glittered

abandomed homes of sea life

To slowly drip a medieval castle

But I will do these things

Finish this heat induced scavenger hunt

The summer a shimmering runway I traverse

I fly at the end to Fall

Merely a mirage

As I crash land in the heat

Of my home town.

I wrote this many, many years ago. The circumstances are not the same every year but the feeling, it is.

© 1998-2010 All Rights Reserved
This work had been edited and changed from it's original version

Is this how it will be someday....

Almost Too Quiet


this morning with them away. The house not echoing with the static of words flung careless or pointless or to the point in a room away. No airwaves disturbing the serenity of electrical impulses uninterrupted. A pond surface unbroken until like single raindrops ripples flow out from my footsteps as I cross the room. And like a sudden summer shower stop abruptly when I halt. I wait for all vibration to subside and listen. And once again the pulse upon my eardrum slows like a heart fading in to rest and sleep in utter silence.


© 2010 All Rights Reserved

Time

I Am Thinking About Time Today

Time flows on. no matter how still we keep. Or grasp with nails embedded till torn or flail against the current. Desperate push and shove, it flows beneath, above, around us. Ceaseless it has no matter but is an  unstoppable force. And though we wish to stop, it will not. And we will ride without our will
 and when it frees us ask.
 What have we done with it?

This is what I am listening to today.

If you want to join me, go to this link and listen to The Mirror and Goals. (and more if you like)

                              John Frusciante Music Player


Pardon me for being "emo mom" today but if you have been reading you are accustomed to
my multiple personalities   the multiple facets of my personality. And I just spent 15 minutes desperately searching for a well worn tennis ball that was "right there" last night, so I could drop it in a hole, with a 12 year old dog.

I have been thinking about time a lot anyway over the past month but this just brought it home even further. He was the quintessential "Good Dog".  And for our family he was even more.  One of that last pieces we have left  from an un-scarred time in our lives. When our family was in a period of ease and simplicity. We  had  suffered very little loss in that time. We were whole and safe in our cocoon of family stability. Our blessings were multitude and we had joy in them. Pieces fall away as we move forward through time and though we pick up and add new ones as we go, it is hard not to glance back and say, wait...no...I don't want to lose that time, give me something to hold on to.  But it moves so fast, sometimes you only catch it in the mirror. And sometimes it slows enough, you can see it all before you. It shows in everything, it molds and forms us, teaches, gives us room to grow, but does it ever complete us? Or merely set us free. Today our families collective tears are part of that current of time. For our shared friend and part of our shared lives, which we always find mirrored in our memories of each other.




© 2010 All Rights Reserved

Wish ?

I wish I had time
To write all day
Without all the life
That gets in the way
So full of thoughts
I can't contain
Within this limited
Human brain
Collected and stored
For decades withheld
The stories and feelings
Beginning to meld
Into a tiny atom called me
They explode like a universe
As my history
And without all the life
That gets in the way
The page remains blank
What would I say
No thoughts to share
No creative sparks
Just an essay composed
In question marks





© 2010 All Rights Reserved

A Cup of Tea and a Book

I set myself aside
Except in these small things
Pin part of me down
So I don't float away
Lonesome for myself
I would call, but
I don't want to answer the phone


© 2009 All Rights Reserved