being who i am

[creativesoul]

when the mother in me
was happy, alive and playful
i believed in the white picket fences
romantic dreams that foreclosed
on my property
men that claimed they loved me
wanted me
only to make a sculpture of flesh on the couch
that was not to be disturbed
the light kept drawing her closer
like a moth
a bird flew in some place
where it was ok not to be in cookie cutter
exactness.
rumors
smoke
the nest was gone
in the walk accross
sadness
life grew in between the places
like grass between toes
in springtime
blackberry juice dripped into her smile

[the mingo]

Wow

[saw]

I'll second that WOW, Jana....you're work always has the raw truth of someone that has lived it.....it pleases me that you are expressing your life so poetically vivid.............please don't tell me this is not autobiographical........

[creativesoul]

i cannot lie- in here- it is like a safe haven in here- and yeah- it all be a gift- i feel free in here- like the secret society of other poets- thanks-

[dadio]

Bless me reader for I have brought forth a humdinger of a poem, you ought to have said but wouldn't of course. A poem worth reading not just for the theme, but the fineness of langauge.

life grew in between the places
like grass between toes
in springtime
blackberry juice dripped into her smile..

[justwalt]

I try to feel it
always... but it is
larger than that,
the whole universe
already knows, and I
am just catching up

but that just makes it
hit home a little harder,
and the experience is...
for me to decode, and
process into memories

and so, even if I'm wrong,
with what I feel about it,
I am also right, as we all are

the good and the bad of it,
are like the two sides of a
spinning coin that form a
single image...
and I roll with it in that way

a stranger in paradise...
enters in through the out door,
to sup with the self, united in
spirit... and is filled

the memories will never die,
but instead are relived as a
reflection into the cosmos...
of what we are

thanks

[tarbaby]

(How frail the human heart must be-
a mirrored pool of thought. So deep
and tremulous an instrument
of glass that it can either sing,
or weep). —Sylvia Somebody

thank you for writing

[creativesoul]

oh yes, all the' i am' of all- and how beautiful- even when we fall
when each leaf turns a crimson, yellow-sienna
the moments are held
even if brief

the life is still there
no taming of a wild horse
no matter even if a thief
all that hair

fell to the floor
had to go out the door
all that excitement
travel
adore
the moment
cannot wait
must never live with debate
live and love
and still give
what i can
makes no difference
when and where
try it out if you dare



like what you did
and said=every inch of each thread

[creativesoul]

loving this- true story' my roomie and i were talking about the 'sculpyure on the couch' just last night- and this morning- it appears-;
like dat magic kine stuffs
thank you for all the words and energmerci-pilaymia-megwich- toksae-grazie

[Arcadia]

so lovely poem with a dylanthomanesque-like beggining ... and the mother in me was always complicated ... so I connected with it easily! gracias for sharing it, creativesoul!!!!!

[Steve Plonk]

Creativesoul, I like the imagery in this poem. Yep, the earth keeps spinning & time moves us in another direction...we keep on keeping on, as they say...

[creativesoul]

you all rock me- thank you

[david]

where it was ok not to be in cookie cutter
exactness.

Amen to that.....well thought....David