Succulents and Bats and Books, Oh My!

not-quite Journaling, 11

 scribble your heartbreaks,
my wounded love—ragged wings
might be wholed by ink

4/13/2021: This expanded blackout was my response to Rommy’s “Bird Is the Word” prompt. She asked for poetry or prose inspired by birds, so I gave her wings.

 

 with needle and thread,
I stitched myself a wee bit
of art within art

4/15/2021: My first draft of this senryu read, “I stitched myself a surprise”. But “I stitched myself a wee bit” was too dark and humorously senryu(ish) to pass up (by the way, this is the back of my “Love understands / wild, weird, and me” blackout poem--2^nd photo).

 

if I must, I will
be like a bat—adopt wings,
fly into your dark

4/17/2021: Today is the International Haiku Poetry Day and Bat Appreciation Day. So, of course, I had to write a love haiku. Fine, a senryu (but all senryu are haiku, so that’s cool) with a bat in it.

 

succulent—
my tiny garden
and wee books

4/18/2021: Because the only thing better than a tiny garden in one’s bedroom is a tiny garden growing next to one’s tiny books. Every time I glance at these wee succulents, I grin with pure delight. I also love that they are a combination gift from my Piano Man and my Boy--one got me the plants and the other got me the shelf. I adore all of it (and them). What do you adore?

 

Some days I miss all
that springs in the countryside,
other days I see
New York City blooming wild
I would miss if gone.

4/19/2021: If I had to choose, I’d always choose country living. Still, I know the city in April--flowers adorning brick and mortar--is pure delight to see. More photos.

 

The luring scent of loved books
(like the love of human souls)
touches the eye, the heart, the skin,
and stays within forevermore.

       

4/20/2021: There’s a high possibility that I have been rearranging my books--touching them, enjoying a random page or three, sniffing them--and grinning like a lunatic.

 

Flower-lovers do it
in the garden.

4/22/2021: It’s true, especially on Earth Day. Really, I know things... 😏Also, I must put this blackout on a T-shirt.


- for Poets and Storytellers United--Writers’ Pantry# 67: Ecolinguistics.

A Circle that Feeds Itself

Body image seems to be an unescapable topic after one has sacrificed a visible chunk to cancer. After months (or years) of breast cancer treatment, some bodies go through significant changes: hair grows back different (well, hello bald spots!), eyebrows are thin or nonexistent, there is weight gain or weight loss (I’m a member of the chunkalicious group right now), muscles and bones hurt, some immune systems never fully recover, vision and teeth are affected, scars itch and hurt and seem to multiply when one isn’t looking, some stop finding physical beauty in themselves, others feel betrayed by their bodies.

The last one I can’t quite understand. Your body is fighting a formidable disease and it’s still alive and kicking! So, where’s the betrayal? On my really bad days (when I’m feeling particularly ill), I do not resent my body. Instead, I show my body the most love. Not just because it makes sense to me, but also because love and laughter and such... fill the body with happy hormones.

So, when you are feeling like your body doesn’t love you enough, give it extra love—laugh with friends, go outside, exercise, have sex, do something pleasurable; love your body by giving it what it needs, and your body will love you back in the shape of endorphins, serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, will to live… Yep, love between body and self is a circle that feeds itself.

flesh and bones
always love you,
if you do

via

- for for Poets and Storytellers United--Writers’ Pantry #66: A Bat and a Haiku Walk into a Bar…

“You Should Dance When I Die” and Other Bits…

not-quite Journaling, 10

“The Call of Cthu-aloe”

3/28/2021: Because every garden and sci-fi nerd needs a giggle.

 

 After
the last
gale, I believe
the wind’s all hungry
teeth.

3/28/2021, too: New York’s latest gale(y) mood did a number on my garden, and we’re expecting more of the same. I’ve done some damage control and some relocating. Still, I always get nervous when Nature is in a mood and my wee garden has tender shoots.

 

in balance,
old clouds and new lights
fill my sky

3/31/2021: I try to keep from looking up too often while I’m walking certain sidewalks (mostly because NYC pigeons tend to have a stinky splashy sense of humor). But I’m glad I dared a glance towards the sky during this particular walk. I really love how the clouds adorn the sky and the lights (the big one and the baby one) seem to be watching over the trees.

 

 I soar in the dark.

3/30/2021: For me, this is true in life and in writing. In life, I find that I shine brightest when living gets darkest. In writing… To continue reading, click HERE.

 

Thirty-one
plus thirteen—
just another birthday;
or, when I blossom
anew.

4/5/2021: The sun is bright and deliciously warm, in celebration (I am sure) of my 31+13 springs. To continue reading (and for more pics of me and an abandoned house), click HERE.

 

You should dance when I die,
because you knew me well
and you still loved me.

You will not kill flowers
to celebrate my life (remember
cut flowers squeezed my heart),

but bring potted daisies and sweet Williams
(gentle pinks and wild reds) to enliven the place.

9/9/2021: I’m not dying (just yet). These are 2 stanzas from a poem I’ve been rewriting for years—full poem HERE—I figured that since I might not be able to attend my own funeral *cough*, I could at least take my last breath knowing others knew my wishes. So, if any well-meaning person tries to make my funeral into something I wouldn’t care for (and my infuriated ghost couldn’t haunt them), then they’d be haunted by the accusing eyes of everyone who has read this. Yep, I’m a terrible woman! 😁

- for Poets and Storytellers United-- Writers’ Pantry #65: The Complexities of Gender Identity in Writing.