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

blink

eyes closed or open

regardless, there is no choice

i am confronted by images

i may choose to observe

and i may choose to shut one out

with the opening and closing

of these eyes

exchange one vision with the other

(though i will continue to refuse 

to designate one or the other as real)

involuntary blinks go by unnoticed

but a soft closing of the eyes

(maybe only one and a half seconds!)

to visit another world 

as the outside one goes on 

without noticing me.

-irma 29may2020

hope

two poems from me today... on one topic...

For a long time,

  hope  was a four-letter word

not uttered in company

  polite or otherwise

...worry was easier

...desperation brought calm

until i realized hope was hidden

  behind the worry

  behind the storm 

afraid of me, 

  of being crushed 

beneath my unfeeling nihilism.

i made room in my chest

  (or maybe deep in my stomach, 

   where a hollow pit yearned to be filled)

let worry stand to one side and watch

as i allowed myself an attempt …. at hope

  hope took my energy

  hope took my effort

  hope took my endurance

and in exchange:

  hope gave way to peace.

-----

HOPE

the mist made the 

   sunrise more colorful

covered your skin in

  golden shades of orange

the wind made the 

  sun’s burn more tolerable

cooled your skin with 

  its impersonal touch

when

WHEN

you tell me a story
like a morning glory
(a beautiful flower
with evil power)
the power to kill
make plants grow still
i listen breathless
characters deathless
time has halted
as you recount...
then stumble
a cough
a tumble
i breathe again
and life goes on
as before you started
and yet
there are marks on my hands
from my own fingernails
and my own bite-marks on my lips

loving the bother

the poking 

the prodding 

the whining

the children 

their skin smooth and freckled 

their teeth white and crooked

their hands curious and clumsy

demand attention

those with experience attempt to soothe

demand attention

you'll miss it one day

one day you'll wish them small again

poking you

Yet we live on

gathering wrinkles

and experience

waiting for a day without poking

without prodding

without whining

love without bother

and know from experience

that those with knowledge are right

we wish we could grow older

without learning to love being bothered

yet we will learn

in the next stage of life

with a voice full of longing

we will say to those younger

you'll miss it one day

one day you'll wish them small again

poking you

-irma 14may2020

modest pride

my pride is born of modesty

I feel a little embarrassed

but allow me to be more humble than you

and look, there in the window,

I watch your eyes search for your eyes

in the tunnel you are looking for self-admiration

and me

I try to understand you

I look past my portrait

and try to recognize your mood

and feel, from two seats and an aisle away,

the tiredness and calmness

that you brought with you from the day

that may not be gone by morning

I prefer to watch you like this

until you are suddenly set in motion 

by a mumbled announcement of the next station

and as you brush by me

I don't dare to meet your gaze

Instead, look past the city into my own eyes

and feel a little embarrassed

that I'm so proud of my modesty.

-irma 6feb2020