Posts Tagged ‘ poetry ’

Sweet Lord, it’s Been a Minute

I suppose it’s a time-honored tradition — 12360130_10153881975963028_4719306674604972142_nfeeling like you’ve gotten a lot accomplished, then sitting down and realizing the messes around you still exist. There are gifts to wrap in a messy room where the tree’s not yet up. The dog suddenly has to go out. Then the cat wants in. It’s time to switch the laundry, too — but an hour in the kitchen doing dishes and making tonight’s dinner invariably leaves me weepingly dizzy. I would be proud that the chicken soup for tonight couldn’t be more lovingly home made, but instead I look around from a wobbling visual field at everything left yet to do. This happens every morning… I’m recognizing as a pattern that my late mornings and early afternoons are currently kept as the property of Desperation.

I also know this pattern can change any time without notice, or that “spells” might last longer, or occur at other times TBD.

But let’s not focus on the maudlin after so much time apart.


Reading my 2 haiku at the premiere

I’m designing a great many book covers and picking up volunteer work where it appears (follow me on Twitter!). I’ve been writing hundreds of haiku, and had two published for Poetry on the Comet — a project headed by the city’s Poet Laureate to place poetry on city buses. It’s exciting to be writing poetry again; now I just need to pick up a pencil and make myself start drawing (not only do you lose it if you don’t use it, but I stopped doing a lot of things I loved and at which I seemed good when I lost the ability and admit to now being fearful of trying. God it feels good to say that out loud though.)

12196103_10153148064583038_400264783271040078_nI’m not only still walking without a cane, something amazing and unexpected happened! Walking had become a great deal easier, but only at a a slow-moderate pace. Notching up to a jog was the hard limit my legs would not seem to move past (so to speak). My feet would fail to understand the concept of lifting, then returning to the ground in the same direction once speed and accuracy came into play. A couple of weeks ago we were again walking the boardwalk at the Congaree National Park; my walking speed had increased, so I gave jogging another try. The jogging turned to running and I kept going until breathlessness got the better of me (about 1/8m because I am only so fit). But holy Jeepers — I don’t remember running since I was young enough not to be obese yet. So congratulations to me on this, but I know I need to keep doing it now that I know I can.

The bladder? Still a thing. Did you know that Urogynecology is an existing specialty? Did you know that when they’ve reached a crossroads in treatment, they can refer you to a pelvic floor physical therapist? Because 3j5z6that also exists. Though on medication for the frequency, I’ve still clocked 49 bathroom breaks on a 48-hour period; the physical therapist has gotten me from 25 to 15 breaks in a day. The power of Zen is strong with me — even moreso because I’m getting a bit more sleep than I have in years. I have had dreams again! Only two or three, but it’s enough to let me know that REM sleep isn’t a totally absent part of my night anymore.

And now that sitting and facing the same direction for an undetermined amount of time has let ebb the worst of the dizziness and motor skill loss, it’s time to fold the newly clean laundry. Then I’ll put it away and sit again, then I will get up and take out the trash and sit, then I’ll get up and do something else which will be unfailingly punctuated by more sitting and not turning my head.

I can run. I can dream. I got this.


Silver Linings

I love words but stopped reading
two years ago when my eyes stopped
finding joy in it. Late nights by a hallway’s glow
after family went to bed or in college or
at any time in my life at any time of day

are now memories included in The Life I Had, which truth be told
is comprised of troubled working parts I abandon with great relief.

I once had a favorite book:
while it for so long encompassed the whole of me I no longer know
that it could anymore or which new story might. To simply listen
still robs the grit of lines embossed into a page; their shape
and span and ink and even whether there was a serif made
the personality of each letter as they appeared
on a stage with curtains scalloped in the center.

I love painting but my vision burns the edges or middle off
details in the whole when I stand back to scrutinize. I cannot trust
my hands with the curves of a body or especially the fine grout in an eyelid.
I love walking but every proper or misstep fires from groin through thighs and
I love sleeping but do so now best in smaller increments during certain times and
I love swallowing and I love having an even pulse and I love
thinking outside the fog of frayed axons and I love
remembering and I love
I love I love
silver linings. I love knowing
why it is
I have become so very, very good at falling.


poetry-magnetic-piecesI haven’t written a poem in a decade, but I used to do it all the time. I didn’t stop until getting mired in the symptoms of MS without knowing I had MS and lost in a relationship that ended up more abusive than not. Life got in the way of most things for a very long while. In the last little bit, this came blarghing out. I am posting it here only after (more or less) anonymously putting it on a poetry BB for feedback; I got better feedback than anticipated, and became less embarrassed. I want to keep doing this.

MS Haiku

This body often
feels like ten thousand needles
in a slow haystack