Fade until you are gone

I have decided;

tomorrow you will not exist

so bring tomorrow now

fade until you are gone

for you are not welcome

It’s easy to inherit words of hate

deride someone, tear them into tender shreds

morsels of taint blown out

It’s easy to throw bitterness and shade

until the lake consumes us both

I choose to stand between extremes

I neither hate you nor fear you

you repulse me

as I have been repulsed many times

by a look my gut says is false

and I say nothing, though I should

too late, not too late, I move on

thinking not of your attempted control

but of what stands after

when you are gone and nothing of my world

smells of your arrogance any more

when your belief that you know what I am thinking

has washed away with time

reducing you to a memory I

try to lose and find that I can

and the power you thought you had

has also receded, a dread vanquished

showing there was never anything

but an empty shoreline

and sea, going out, out, out

with you

running ever after it

tomorrow you will not exist

so bring tomorrow now

fade until you are gone

for you are not welcome

Weather vane

Before they laid bricks on her and called her a place

not a thing of flesh and light

before she lost her ability to mimic cat

and jump unheard

out of open windows

before her arms lost their ache to

live unbridled unburdened in

the clear surround

of joy

she was a light footed creature

listening to no scold

obedient to no rule

her father called her willful

her mother, spirited

her grandmother covered her face with faux shame

though she hid a smile

cousins were told to mind themselves

around her urging sprint

lest she rub off

some of her mercury

some of her wild saffron

the thing compelling her shine

when all seemed still and lifeless

a hurtling progress to wholeness

they forecast her early demise

said nothing, nobody could subsist

as fevered as her run

Zola Bud without shoes

temerity pulling her strings

as if puppetmasters were sea sprites

fashioning their dreams on tierra

with undomesticated weather vane

bound tight to wildest storm

trethevy quoit

Stand here

moss washing over rock

hands in time

I think of all who have passed through

their atoms blessing sky

if you were here with me

your Irish bones and Welsh soul

how many years will I wish

you were with me

this girl of shifting blood

drawn to the pasture lands of Cornwall

more than any purposing Chaîne des Puys can evoke

the Sioule wrapping herself between empty valleys

or the sorrow of les Pyrénées, a gentle horror

languishing in Cathar country

their ghosts stumbling between worlds

I never belonged in those spaces

memory an acerbic ¿Cómo se dice

*as flies to wanton boys are we to the gods

just as I do not now, own a home

in the barren tumbleweed of Texas

unattached, they call it ‘winged pigweed’

even as we sneeze it away to carry on

lonely pilgrimage amongst spoiled tarmac

perhaps it wasn’t even trethevy quoit

but you, and your pure love

filling me with a peace

I have not possessed since

(*line taken from King Lear, Shakespeare).

Weigh Scale

Do you hear it?

Relief sounds like

a girl’s slip

a bird’s wing

your eye lashes fluttering

against your blushing cheek

Do you hear it?

Suffering sounds like

cloth pulled by stick across dirt floor

chalk pressed violent into board

fingers opening blouses raggedly

your chest bone protrudes

more than the year before

Do you hear it?

Thoughts in light

She has written herself off

or so she says

watching youth inherit the mantle

she stares at her own flaccid chest

in unforgiving morning sun

and tries to convince herself to gently let go

light pouring in through the bay window

creating a halo effect in surround

she is bathed in unexpected warmth

her pores absorbing hungrily

that urging intensity, a happy blindness

as if the world paused in its toil

to tap her on the shoulder and whisper

it’s not near over yet girl

go out, gather your arms full

live

live

live!

WordPress #2

I feel discouraged by WordPress (WP) banning my personal site (this) for life from following other WordPress sites. I have written letters of explanation to WP, explaining if I ‘followed’ 30 people’s sites in one day, it may be because I’m not on WP often (I pre-schedule posts) and follow handfuls of people at a time for the purpose of garnering talented writers. WP banned me FOR LIFE from following any further WP sites, and has refused my numerous appeals. It behooves them for people like myself to promote WP authors through publications, I did no harm but am treated like I’m Trump and it’s Twitter. After 7 years on WP it’s disheartening. I cannot leave WP because I’ve built my site and contacts there. The bigger picture discourages me. To work so hard and get slapped down. I feel social media can do this with us writers/editors/publishers when it ignores the hard work we do. I hear this from FB folk all the time whose personal pages are ignored. I wish there were some way to push back. When all we are doing is creative work. How is that in the same ballpark as spamming? Would any of those who I followed really have objected my following? When it gave them a chance to find out about publishing opportunities.

I join you, though I am not you

Your smell stayed like a red hand print

Trying to grow in spaces that do not fit

I join you, though I am not you

Lingering in the periphery

Feeling a hard pain in the bones of my chest

Knocking like persistent woodpecker

a wick of red against gray

Truth or dare

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

about the real me

she’s not happy with her subtefuge

it cost her heavily

the weight of deception has always

sat like curdled cream in a bowl

waiting to be thrown away

or consumed and in so doing

poison truth from her hiding place

she’d be forthright if

it didn’t cost more

than she had in her purse

purchased inexpensively

in a local artisan’s market

that closed years ago

when creativity waned

and people hoped their kids

would go to Business School.

Notes of a common waiting room

The woman with one breast is friendly
She jokes about feeling lighter
We nod grimly

Gallows humor
Palpable energy shift from 20 year old gamer wearing graffiti hi-tops, and 60 year old with deflation in her eyes
The ravage of time and effect, painted on women of different shapes, scars like badges of honor except when they’re not


The old lady is marked by a blue gown to our uniform pink
She exudes weariment without lifting her head from its downcast slump
Her limbs look like they have been pickled and left in hot Texan sun
She has an old ring on her wedding finger
I want to say something
But the lump in my throat and her shuttered aspect stay my hand

Instead I nod to the New Yorker and tell her there’s a free seat
Nobody really wants to sit

They want to run
Be anywhere else
Anyone else
I miss the days they just told you that you could go
Says the tall woman with a burgundy hair band
The woman cooked in black garb might belong to a cult
She had an accent and glowers

She says she drove from Eagle Pass because they don’t have good medicine there

Simmering rage in her balled lacquered fists
The hiss of some impossibly expensive machine out of sight

everyone meets eyes over masks, the unsaid being
Is this good medicine?

We play occidental musical chairs

The magazines are gone because of the virus, we hide our faces behind our fabric hoping for modesty that has long fled

Nurses walk their daily steps in the shiny lino corridor, their hair gleams like peacock feathers, they are harried but kind eyed

I get a young woman tech who has quiet jazz
She talks of wanting children. Her brother is sterile. She’s afraid to get tested.

I urge her to try. Thinking of how not long ago I stood in her slightly less comfortable shoes
Imaging a future

How they unfurl and then dry up and close, ready for the rush hour drive back
Mascara lines running like train tracks on masks of horror

A scrawny woman with platinum hair asked me how to do something on her phone
etiquette is said to save us
Not in the time of Covid, I think

A high school had blossomed in the pit of the waiting room
Some have been here two hours
They divide solemnly into temporary allegiances
Some like the loud mouth
Others roll at the waiting and click their dry tongues
It reminds me of paper flowers put in water

Her grandchildren are visiting. The mute girl in the corner looks young enough to be one

I ache for her fledgling fear
Knowing

None of us are safe
From the words
Come and discuss your findings with the specialist

WordPress

I have been given a life time ban of ever following any site on WP. This because once I was temporarily stopped from following other authors because I followed 25 WP sites in a day. Then they banned me.

I did that because I schedule posts and am not on WP every day. When I come and see comments from new authors and go to their sites and like their work, I want to follow them.

WP told me I couldn’t possibly read the number of sites I follow (700). But that’s not for them to decide given I read periodically great numbers and SIXTY percent of some books I’ve been part of publishing/editing are people we have met and read on WP!! Maybe higher.

I regularly promote OTHERS. How is this spam behavior? How does my behavior justify a life time ban of following people? It cripples me. I cannot change to another site because I built here and have many friends and colleagues here.

So it is not justifiable. Nor was it respectful. My job here is finding talent for our work. How is that spamming or undermining WP?

In fact, WP should be glad we highlight WP authors. Isn’t that the point of platforms like WP?

I’m not Trump. I shouldn’t be banned for life. I asked them what is a number I can follow without being barred from following? Instead of giving me that option they just banned me for life.

People may follow me and wonder why I don’t, when I want to. I won’t see their posts because I’m not able to follow them. I understand rules. But this isn’t right because it was wrong of them to assume I followed a writer for likes. I’ve never cared about likes that much, as anyone who knows me can attest. This is about doing my job. And highlighting work including a book of my own, I have coming out. How can I promote anything if I cannot freely follow anyone ever again?

I’m dealing with a very serious issue right now so I haven’t been able to act on this yet but I do intend to protest this legally when I can. Rules are great but they must also make sense and be intelligent.

Am sorry if you follow me as I cannot anymore follow you. I will fight to be treated fairly.