94 days of gratitude on the wall...

grateful for
choice

faded jeans
passed on


i choose to transform them
a gift for a friend
making the choice to follow her rainbow
explore life elsewhere




i work
thinking how a decision made
can mean victory for one





yet the same choice for another
might lead to
stalemate

and so

we begin again
taking the present moment
lessons learned
tools and resources

'yesterday's news' recycled colored pencils from acorn toy shop


speaking our prayer
making a wish

sending these hopes
on the wings
of doves or angels






continue the journey
knowing there is a road


today i am

grateful for
choice

95 days of gratitude on the wall vs cornerview

cornerview: best kept secrets

we live in the 'hood'
folks are afraid to come visit

seriously

cringe when i tell them where we live
you're raising your kids there?

who can blame them
with notorious gangstas like these
taking over the streets?

frank mc court
may he rest in peace
was born here
he had it pretty rough

you gotta watch your back
these tulips popped up out of nowhere
bam bam bam

one of my
best kept secrets?
bed-stuy backyards


and for that
i sing my gratitude
shhhhh...

for more cornerviews
visit jane

96 days of gratitude on the wall

i was stretched to my limit
interviews
and more interviews

trying to convince folks
who boast the shiny veneer
of
having it all together

that i do too

trying to be heard
begging
unsolicited advice from the childless to
roll off my back

nothing was easy today

now
the children are asleep
the dishes are all done
i'm alone
the house is quiet

gratitude for having
made it through a
tough day

97 days of gratitude on the wall...

grateful when
familiar words form a new perspective
a prayer recited countless times
suddenly carried on the breath

inspired



then lights
costume, makeup
more than that

change

when energy from the crowd is focused
channeled through these two



my gratitude is in remembering
what power we hold within
and the difference made when
i lift you up

*
pressure pushing down on me
pressing down on you
no man ask for

splits a family in two
puts people on streets

it's the terror of knowing
what this world is about
watching some good friends
screaming 'let me out'

these are the days
it never rains but it pours

people on streets
turned away from it all like a blind man
sat on a fence but it don't work

keep coming up with love
but it's so slashed and torn
can't we give ourselves one more chance
why can't we give love that one more chance

'cause love's such an old fashioned word

and love dares you to care for
the people on the edge of the night
and love dares you to change our way of
caring about ourselves

this is our last dance
this is our last dance

this is ourselves
under pressure

98 days of gratitude on the wall...

a friend sent this to me
mysteries, angels
swimming the depths

how seldom we truly see
what lies beneath

gratitude for
beauty and majesty
this great blue planet

corner view wednesday vs 99 days of gratitude on the wall...

corner view: weekend evenings
make me grateful for brooklyn

river's edge birthday parties
faeries of a certain age
upcycling wings

wonder-full
singing dancing
brown ladies

a new brick oven pizza place
beautiful vintage everything
and beautiful warm-hearted
people

candle lit yards

happy vibrant children
running through unleashed sprinklers
the bainbridge between stuyvesant and malcolm x
block party is on y'all
holla!


grateful
for my corner
in brooklyn

for more cornerviews
visit jane

100 days of gratitude on the wall...

an apology

i started blogging with a bang
then lost sight of reGENERATIONs

and scrambled into my cave of depression
alienating those who have lent their support
now i crawl out

i am trying
it is work
even more than that
it is ugly work

today on a search for costume inspiration
i ran into this lady
with due respect
i bite her idea

my next 100 posts will be about
gratitude

i admit
i do this Kicking and Screaming

the beauty of the technology is
no one will have to see my flailing
or hear my keening

perhaps some will get to know the lightness
as impassioned as the dark within me

hoping
after 100 posts
i will regenerate the lost limbs

my first pearl...

i am grateful
someone who makes me smile
and loves all of me across seven mountaintops

leaves presently
to the land of her (my)
dreams



safe travels, ms moon

the tribe

i'm looking
although clearly my vision is blurred and inefficient

and listening
although clearly my ears are clogged with too many years of depression
coupled with the imaginary voices heard by the insane

i speak to god
who reminds me
in the soul's midnight hour it is you for whom i wait.

summer in the city

it's about to pop y'all

the sky is mother of pearl
like white nights in st. petersburg
though i imagine theirs'd be more of a blue-white...

it's nighttime yet the sky glows
pregnant with moisture and electric
thunderstorms forecast for three days
but nothing yet, though you can feel it coming

i saw a flash a bit off sitting in the yard
in the middle of the city
i can sit in my backyard, shoes off
step on a slug on my way back inside
a four inch slug under my bare feet in new york city

and now as i sit to type
thunder rolls
and it's about to pop

three days ago i was
out of here

my tightest ties coming undone

and now the storm of summer in new york city is about to blow

a yinka shonibare MBE exhibit opened
and yesterday a show in brooklyn
free swim (sorta) classes for the kids

friends from school and $1.50
unbelievable
tamales at a bagel shop of all places

i was oughta here
but the lid's about to blow
and i don't want to miss a thing

one step at a time

i must admit i'm feeling a bit paralyzed

i have been posting under another name for some time; it was going well. i was funny sometimes and sometimes dreamy and melancholic.

i was making friends, forming a circle.

but it became clear that i ought to lose my real skin, joining the ranks of folks who
change names to protect the innocent
all well and good, but now i wonder...

who am i, if not me?

no pictures of my kids, who are my very best thing? no stories about my sisters...my boyfriend...my mom?

she's a pistol.

when stripped of these details
integrated in some ways, though still external
i find myself quite unsure about who i might actually be

there was a woman. i'm sure if it. a really beautiful woman, before the kids
before the failed marriage
she turned heads.

quirky, crazy, wild yet wonted. unusual and creative and alive
where is she?

where is mexico and late night dancing and a novel and a half a week and
laughing laughing laughing
with the girls... where have these things gone?
are they no longer me or merely hiding under the dirty towels
or the 'baby weight' i have yet to shed...
are they in the back of the refrigerator behind the green cream cheese?

yes, there is plenty of green cream cheese

where is alberto, the 19 year old anthropology student
he played unfamiliar, incendiary chords across my abdomen
as if i were the only woman on earth and he (silly him) had left his vihuela at home?

i can't imagine what he would think if he saw me now
though if i close my eyes and listen closely
i can almost feel his rhythm on my pre-everything belly...

i can remember long limbs and cool drinks
love notes signed jamas te olvidare
vacations and sleeping in and brunch
long days lounging in the park with friends
new skirts and late nights and every once in a while
a new man

i can remember the sweetest of dreams that may well have been my life.



if i take it one step at a time
will i once again find that
head-turning woman on the other side of the looking glass?