experience

when the experiences that make us who we are
are painful and sad
and 
when the situations that shape us into what we are
are hurtful and dark
and 
when the times that push us and pull us against our will
are trying and bleak
that's when we live. 
when we suffer we feel.
when we feel we are alive.
as much as suffering can make us grow
we wish it away
we want it to slow
we want
to go.

worms worms worms

we're told as children

"there will be two, if you cut them  in half"

those wriggly worms 

in the rich earth

to keep them from dying out

just chop them with scissors

we believe what we're told

accidently exterminating

instead of providing regeneration

send them to kingdom come

youth's will be done

how wonderful it would be

if our dreams regenerated 

like the storied worms in loam

when the spade thrusts through from above

ripping through our ideals

they would arise again, twice as strong

and yet 

if friendships functioned

like worm mythology

we could sever two people apart

they would wriggle away independently

and each would go on alone

so perhaps it is better if friendship is real life

worms in truth.

needing to stay nearly intact to survive

a small piece from head or tail will not kill it

but too great a wound

and even worms can bleed and die

blooming

 started the morning with the poem.

brian suggested one about "BLOOMING"

  

  in the early days of winter,

one more bud pushes forth

  the lone "lo how a rose e're blooming"

upright on a thorny stalk

days go by,

holidays

snow days

school days

more holidays

the bud stands, unchanging.

  in the early days of spring

the petals, dried and crisp

 still stands

upright on a thorny stalk 

  now a memory of hope

making way for new growth.

half-penny moon

my attention turns from puddle to the sky-blue sky

(the color a joke,

of children’s paint sets,

of tired poetry)

i look in silence and make no remark

inwardly, I howl at the daytime moon

pasted awkwardly above the skyline

rising half-full above the city

observed by nearly none of the over-dense population

walking past, looking down

far away and belonging to no-one

I harbor my howl deep in my abdomen

primal appreciation for this ignored 

collaboration of sun and moon

“If you haven’t got a penny, ha’penny will do”

There hangs the ha’penny moon above a billion dollar city

the howl passes and i turn my attention earth-ward

as golden leaves drop in the old puddle

obscuring the moon in the mud.

 -irma 20aug2020

time pushes nothing aside

nothing ended 

nothing started

nothing has ended

we turn over new leaves

so they say

and yet

are they new?

have they not newly fallen

old dead leaves

kicked aside

turned over 

to make room for new growth

and how new is it

when it has not yet started

mere disconnected strands of mycelium

or a seed in a decomposing fruit

(perhaps one will sprout from the 10 shriveled clones)

or a sprout from a near dead root stock

pushing the decay aside

we turn over a new leaf

and want to start fresh

yet time pushes nothing aside for us

nothing has ended

nothing ended

nothing started.

-irma 15sep2018

insecurity

insecurity is part of me

and makes me who i am

...

you should love me in my insecurity

and you do love me in my insecurity

…

i love my figure in the shadow

long and slim,

before it disappears

the halfway point between to streetlights

the pavement patched

like clown pants

the thud thud of my non-athletic gait

as I jog alongside you

under the nearly full moon

cool stillness

the soft even light

on an overcast day

casts no shadows

long or short

and radiates no warmth

to soften the dusty wind

soon the pressure will rise

and rain will fall

but until then

we wait together, leaning

our backs on the cornerstone of the church

stealing our warmth

as we wait 

in what would be the shadow of a steeple

were it not for the protective 

layer of clouds

-irma