In the moment

 8 Threads with suckers– 1. While visiting an aquarium in Seaside, Oregon, I watched the giant Pacific octopus. It appeared to be sleeping. Each exhaled breath from its jet rippled the water.  The sign above the shallow cave read “Please Do Not Touch”. The other habitats encouraged sensory interaction. Children stood on risers near the touch pools, squealing as they poked precious hard-shelled starfish and spinney anemones. No one else was interested in the alien-like cephalopod lurking in the dark. I slowly dipped my hand into the cool, salty water to stroke one of the eight entangled arms. As my fingers touched a slippery tentacle, its suckers latched on. Its body changed color from red to white as it tasted me. I am curious to know how I tasted. 2. It is a misconception that more than one octopus is octopi. Both forms are acceptable and since most people believe the latter is incorrect, telling them the former is false is futile. Since the word was adopted from Greek, ...

 B–  Miss Understood      The Bluetooth Sony speaker, with the rave lights flashing red and amber to the guitar-pumping beat of Joan Jett growling “Bad Reputation” on a Saturday, bounced off the walls well past the time I typically fall asleep binge watching reruns of a sitcom from the 1990s. Inspiration came from short videos of women adding whimsy and color to their own homes so I stood on a stool painting the walls of my laundry room. It’s more of a closet, really, but I never had a separate room or closet for my washer and dryer before I bought my house so I prefer to call it a room. Especially after the makeover I gave it with burgundy colored paint. Yes, burgundy. I had removed all the clutter, rolls of paper towels, poorly folded blankets, bottles of cleaning supplies, rags and more. The space, with its two bifold paneled doors had become a catch all for clutter. Unopened mail, unfinished to-do lists, business cards I never refer to–out of sight, out of ...

Honoring Jan– The Barefoot Girl ( Lyrics to Like a Stone by Audioslave in italics, woven between the lines of an original poem.) Shadows fade as pearls of dew blush . . . and there you led me on unbridled, bareback, and barefoot apple-cheeked and artless ripples dimple the dark glass and water striders breathe their last breaking her reflection with pendulous bare feet and line she casts . . . in dreams until my death chasing mystic water rainbows . . . lost in the pages of a book filled with brittle gray memories bent corners frame her withered apple face . . . reading how we'll die alone a marker saves your last page . . . on I read until the day was gone . . . in regret of all things    Buzzards plunge and pierce . . . the sky was bruised tearing hollow remains . . . the wine was bled . . . on a cobweb afternoon they strip the bones clean, selling the spurned to the highest bidder          essence of stardust of...

  eyes and ears, the only witness stuffed shirt and stalk still, if you will earn your name All-Seeing, deep as full-dark with subsong, pulsating throat  warder of murder stock still sunlit sheen of blue deceives ebony wings as         three beaks belonging to brash birds, scoop and arching back, quench ebony throats spattered flecks of black deceive field of green stiff-legs obliquely hopping pair upon pair heed the wader’s quick halting clicks and crystalized song tempered beaks clack, fanned tails flicker, Ravens’ wings beat blurring like hands clapping, black across blue sky three at the trough untuck ebony wings spreading feathers as  stained tips leaving charcoal fingerprints on pale blue canvas. the puckish warder perched on stuffed shoulder, pecked a vacant eye, chuffed its victorious caw and into the sky, flitted away.

 B singular-- (background music for poem: begin with Horse With No Name by America , the La La parts, then hit shuffle.) Glorious thrusters hiss through thin air as a red-faced tot behind, kicks a tizzy-fit on a maiden economy power trip. Shuttling at capacity, crawling and conducted, destinations controlled. It’s palpable one, or many, needs a shower trip. Even keeled, chugging towards the horizon, never acquired, bundled bald and blue-haired directed activities every hour, trip. Serving number thirty two, I’m one hundred and one in the que, a din like gregarious locusts, swarm-in-from-out-of-towners trip. Looking left, then right. Diana, que of one, in a mod tin Lizzy beast, chewing breezy byways, destination unknown horsepower trip . * Ghazal poetry defined.

 B here and now-- Today is the first day of the rest of your life           overused words for people seeking a reason and the strength to break the pattern of a rut           dug by all the tired yesterdays jammed into your messy junk drawer and expanding           to make an even bigger mess on the floor so you kick it out of your way and through the closet door           forcing it shut tight with the might of soft shoulders managing to get it solidly shut in but then           bits of paper junk peek through the crevices and cracks and you resign and deeply sigh           bone-weary from the effort as the sun sinks low expiring another chance to shine and           “Afterall," it has been said, "tomorrow is another day.” and that tomorrow will be th...

B poetic -- 1.  Tanka High-rise windows gleam against a pale blue sky and an urban park thrives. Horses clop, dropping clumps while a late winter woman beams. 2. Haiku log flecked with cubed scat it’s clear a wombat lives near no scat is as cute 3. Haiku Octavia glides on the sea floor, arms care for her young. They’ll ne’er meet. 4. Tanka Eave to overhang wisps ensnare crisp leaves and flies, swept away by straw. Vigor wasted, trap is razed a skittering search ensues. 5. Haiku Ineffable lure echoes from the rusted disused,  vines clutch the past

 B Funny! Even if you're the only one laughing. My dry execution of one-liners wrapped in sarcastic self-judgment delivered at the wrong time has earned me more than a few obvious mental eye rolls. I’m like an upbeat Eeyore without the self-loathing, more positive than pessimistic and joking most of the time. My witticisms can be as dry as the Sonoran Desert with the landing falling just as flat. Reassuring someone that “It was a joke,” or worse yet, trying to explain where my mind is coming from becomes a joke. And not the funny kind. The moment has passed and all that remains is their scrutiny of my twisted thoughts causing me to wish I had kept them to myself. My life as an extroverted/introverted: laugh at my joke/don’t judge me! The struggle is real. Humor can serve as impenetrable armor or expose your deepest vulnerabilities. Just as the knight in a jousting challenge, unkinghted people look for the chinks in your psyche that jokes will sometimes expose. When you...

B weird In comfort of twilight caught between unfolding dreams and missed opportunities coffee makes waking worthwhile water and grounds at the ready Who will push the button? Vividly smelling a new day brewing Much to do today first one more dream music muddies the scene dead as driftwood until shouts and shots break the plane between what I missed and reality Rewind Responsibilities grow, time shrinks. Borrowing late night to pay back yesterday  after unwinding the spool acid melts the scene this girl is gone a high pitched scream hissing and glowing waking dead things waking me much too late ah well, morning will inspire Alarm snoozed echoes intrude. Repeated harsh persistence reminding resistance is . . . I finally submit finding fantasy has assimilated reality. The collective noise is silenced making sleep futile.   Never do today what can be put off until tomorrow. Or… something like that. Beginning today doing what I meant to do yesterday. A tale of Mercy Brown brings V...