Monday, October 1, 2007

Makeup

Makeup

Beauty
Is not on the surface
In people
People that I love are beautiful
To me
They shine
It doesn't matter how they
Look
In fact, scars make them more real
More human
Intimacy is knowing what this scar is from
And that
Knowing their stories
That they trust me to tell me
People that I love are beautiful

I have been wearing makeup
I never cared before really
Until a book by an artist
Showed me his vision
The beauty that he sees
In everyone
I call it my paint by numbers makeup book
Because he is a true artist
Who believes that art is for everyone
And so he includes instructions
For each picture
So that I too can dabble in his art

I will wear makeup at my family summer lake
I do not think my family
Will approve
Nor do I think that they will understand
Even if I try to explain
I may say that I am trying to catch a new man
That will confirm their disapproval
I will break the rules
By wearing makeup
Which is exactly the point
But I am also
Celebrating beauty
The beauty that the Beloved sees
In everyone

7/1/06

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

life isn't dull

I haven't posted since Sept 3 and lots happening. Two poems today, a new one and an old one. The new one is because a new goat is being scaped where I was last scapegoated. They are averaging one every two years. I wonder if anyone else has noticed a pattern. It certainly makes it feel less personal towards me and I am doing what I can to support the current victim. Ick, it's just yuky to watch. I am so glad I am not there. I wonder at the state of their souls. At least it's fair and everyone gets a turn. I'm trying to resist starting a betting pool on who will be next.

The other poem has come up because I started dating. I waited for a year after my divorce. I started dating in July. My daughter said, "Oh no," when I told her I was going on a date. I asked why "Oh, no." She replied, "I don't want a stepdad or for us to move into another house." I said, "It's just a date. It's not serious." Famous last words. Now I'm sort of wondering how to tell my children that you don't always fall for the first person you date. I am Bemused, Bewitched and Bemildered, as the bats in the Pogo cartoon were named. They couldn't remember which one had which name and the names changed. Sometimes one was Bothered. They would look at which pair of pants they had put on that day and the names were actually attached to the pants. Makes sense to me. I am happy, happy, happy but it also brings up the Fear of Loss. That brought up the second poem, titled Resistance.

Blessings!
Red Paw

Resistance

Resistance

Over and over
I resist
I stand at the edge
I stare at the torrent
The cliff
The falls
The abyss

Over and over
I resist

Over and over
I let go
I fall
Over the cliff
Down the falls
Into the abyss

Over and over
I am sure
I will drown
I will lose my way
I will not surface

Ecstasy is in the air
Between trapezes

I am elsewhere
I am other
No words
No thoughts
No body
No mind

The water is cold
As I expect
When I hit
I knew by the spray
Before I jumped

Submerged
Immersed
Subversive

Over and over
I am born
From the surf
I emerge
From the waves
I am delivered

Fear is my key
Grief is my key
In the places I do
not want to go
That's where I must go

Over and over I resist
And then let go

4/3/06

Scape that Goat

Scape that Goat

Raise the drawbridge, build the moat
We'll be fine once we've scaped that goat
Appease the gods by slitting her throat
We needed one so we took a vote
We're scared of lions, tigers and stoats
We won't admit how much we gloat
Throw a passenger out of the boat
Sacrifice her to the dragon's throat
We're safe for now; that's all she wrote

9/21/07

Monday, September 3, 2007

format

Powergirl didn't quite format right. The second line of each phrase indents. That was very satisfying to write and feels good to post too. I'm trying to sort out how often angels have turned up in my poems. Biggest thing about divorce for me was that after I tried for two years to see if we could meet in the middle (couples counseling) then the choice between modeling misery and getting out seemed easy. Modeling happy single parenting seemed like a much better idea. Took another year after that poem.

Love,
Red Paw

Powergirl Takes Off

Powergirl Takes Off

Powergirl have wings
to fly
She related to
Superfly
She scared when
baby almost die
She scared and yes'n'she
do cry

Husband say she much
too strong
He say she most allays
wrong
He sing and dance de
same old song
He rather she put on
a thong
He played too much with
that old bong

Now man he working
ooh he big
He have no time for
little kid
Not that he ever
really did

She researches kides
summer camps
She studies schedules late
with lamps
Pay de money, lick de
stamps

Husband say she got too
much power
He say it nearly every
hour
He grumpy sullen and really
sour

Powergirl got wings
to fly
She look with longing
at the sky
She look at husband
wonder why

She finally realized he
a pain
She take a saw to
ball and chain
Husband he whine and
complain
She wonder why he
goddamn insane
She learn divorce lawyer
nice name

Husband lie on ground and
moan
He whine and bitch all on
de phone
Powergirl leave him there
alone
He drink and fuck and get
real stoned

Powergirl have wings
to fly
She rising rising
in the sky
Kids light as she is
hollow bones
They scared to leave
familiar home
Ride on her shoulders
in the sky
She hopes that they will
learn to fly


7/15/05

Witness

Witness

Sometimes
Even as you make
The same mistake
Cross the threshold
Open the door
Lift the glass

You feel the presence
Of angels
Drawn by the seriousness
Of your decision
Present
Not to pull you away
From the cup
The drug
The wrong man
The dire pattern
You feel their intensity
The presence
As if outer space
Has clung to their wings
Or motes from heaven
Alien
The weight of their gaze
And their interest

Sometimes
Even as you make
The same mistake
It's not the same
To sense an angel
Witness


6/25/05

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Ride Forth

Ride Forth

My grandmother
Packed all her troubles in her saddlebags
And rode forth singing

My mother
Packed all her troubles in her saddlebags
And rode forth singing

My father
Was the only one
Who ever saw the contents
He tried to drown them

My mother was loved
For her charm

I ride forth
Sometimes I sing
Sometimes I weep

My saddlebags are empty

Prayer flags flutter
Slowly shred
In the wind

I write my troubles
And my joys
On cloth
And thank the Beloved
For each

My horse is white
When I sing
Black
When I cry
A rainbow of colors
In between
The whole spectrum
That the Beloved allows

After I emptied
My saddlebags
I tried to leave them
But the people I met
Most, most, most
Were frightened

A naked woman
On a naked horse

I had to leave my village
When I learned to ride her
Made friends with her
Beloved
My village does not allow tears
When she turns black
Their saddlebags squirm and fight
The people try to throw them on my horse

In other places
The horses are all black
The white aspect of the Beloved
Frightens them
And they attack

I carry saddlebags
And Beloved is a gentle dapple gray
And the illusion of clothes surrounds me
When we meet new people
Until we know
It is safe to shine
Bright
And dark

I hope that others ride with the Beloved
In full rainbow

I ride forth
Sometimes I sing
Sometimes I weep

Even the color lonely
Is a part of the Beloved

9/1/06

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

On today's poems

My chest has been hurting for about 2 months. It's old pain, emotions, I could tell that. I tried to let it be, ie not suppress it, but didn't really go towards it. No, it's not a heart attack. On Monday I had to drive somewhere, leading another car. My daughter was with me and she is perfectly content to have the car be quiet. I decided to really open up to the old pain and the first poem I posted today started forming. I didn't drive badly, but I was so focused on it that I got us lost not once, but twice. And the friend took over for the last bit and led the way. So then I wrote the second poem, fool. I get so distracted working on some poem or thought direction that I really do trip over things, the same things over and over. When I get emotionally tired in clinic I start tripping over my own feet.

Child is also written for one of my clinic patients who told me about his childhood.

Beloved is from Rumi.

I was just loaned a copy of Joseph Campbell's "the masks of god: Creative Mythology". I'd read the first page before I wrote Child. Three pages later is TS Eliot's The Waste Land. "Here is no water but only rock." My thought was that women know rock isn't eternal and there must be something under it, bedrock or no. It's only called bedrock, right? We know there is a molten core.

Love,
Red Paw

Child

Child

You work at healing
For years

You dive in the swamp
Of your psyche
Turn over the mud
Tunnel through it
Breathe it
See lilies arise
From the much

The Beloved is a deer
Dainty hooves
In the swamp

At last you come
To bedrock

So you rest
Bedrock
You think

Until you notice
A chink in the rock
You look away
You avoid it

At last you look
It isn't going away

The Beloved is a bittern
In the reeds

Fluid leaks
From the chink

Foul black bilious
Acidic
Etching trails in the slanted rock
Again you look away
But not for long

You step forward
Touch the rock

I am present you say
Who is there?

The stream of foul black
Increases
Pours from a widening crack

Beloved is a tiger
Paw against the rock
You see the acid burning
Her paw
But she does not run
She stands guard

Who are you?
You whisper

The rock crumbles

There is a child

"Go away" says the child
Ancient

No you say
Beloved and I
Stay present

The black is swirling around you
It's hard to keep your footing
Beloved, an orca
Steadies you, swimming

No one stays says the child

We stay present you say

I was born
I loved
I was abandoned
When I was afraid

We are present now you say
Swimming by the Beloved
Hand on black fin

I was abandoned
When I grieved

We are here now you say

I was abandoned
In my despair

We are here you say

You say
You fought
out of love
You argued
out of love
You gave
out of love
Please child
Let us cradle you

The child is silent

The tide is slowing
Clearing
The rock has crumbled away

You will stay? says the child

We stay you say

Beloved is a whale
Singing in space
Singing to the stars

Am I lovable? says the child

You and Beloved
Earth and sky
Wind and trees
Moon and stars
Answer yes

Am I loved?

yes
yes


8/27/07

Fool

Fool

I am a fool
A buffoon
I fall over my son's shoes
Wondering why they are lying
In front of the door
Not once but twice

My mind is lost
In the wilds
Of thought, speculation and memory
The picture drops from the wall
I'm not even home
Kids call me
To say what happened
We clean it up
Yet I forget
And my sister cuts her foot
I didn't warn her

I understand why saints and mystics
Sometimes seem crazy
Angels hover near
The tips of their wings
Brush distant galaxies
But I am a mom
The kids need dinner now
I drop a plate
Clumsy fool
In spite of angels
I am grounded

8/27/07

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Drug Companies

As a family doctor I am getting less and less enthused about drug companies. I do think there are some good medicines. Exercise works wonders though, and walking in the woods and on the beaches or anywhere outside. I really do read some of the junk mail from drug companies very carefully just to see what they are encouraging me to do. Some of the pamphlets seriously creep me out.

I'm listing the talky part of the blog before the poem or song starting today because I don't like reading it from the bottom up. Also, I learned to spell questionnaire. I can now rest on my laurels.

Red Paw

The Doctor's Educational Blues

The Doctor's Educational Blues

Helpful pamphlets
Come in the mail

Primary care
Diagnosis and treatment
For bipolar disorder
Is particularly popular
Right now

An article or journal
Arrives nearly every day

I read one
Sponsored by a helpful
Grant from Astra-Zenica

They happen to make
A drug
FDA approved
For treatment

The pamphlet says
1 percent
of the population
Is bipolar
Using the DSM IV criteria
For diagnosis
(Developed by psychiatrists
Experts in mental health)

But it says
If we use a broader definition
Than the DSM IV criteria
Then 2-8% of the population
Is bipolar

They have a questionnaire
For me to use
On patients
To diagnose
This disorder

They fail to mention
If they used the strict
DSM IV criteria
Or the looser criteria
To make the questionnaire

I can see that Astra-Zenica
Will sell more drugs
If we loosen up the diagnosis

I sit and wonder
How helpful it is
To change the diagnosis
And put more people
On medicine

Helpful to Astra-Zenica
No doubt

The pamphlet has a chart
Showing the range of feeling
Normal to manic

Normal is listed as
Happy and joyous

I sit and wonder
How many of us
Would feel that we are normal
Looking at that chart

Not me


5/19/06

Monday, August 20, 2007

Song: Little Blue Pill

Little Blue Pill

Little blue pill
Little blue pill
Help me help me
I'm over the hill

Don't wanna have sex
Nope nope nope
Little blue pill
Gives my husband hope

Can't make a pill
Til we define the disease
Doctors would you
Hurry up please

Little blue pill
Little blue pill
Help me help me
I'm over the hill

Thought them hormones
Would make me hot
Doc was right
They did not

Hot flashes make me
Swing my fan
No help from that
Testosterman

Little blue pill
Little blue pill
Help me help me
I'm over the hill

Doctor this
Is really no joke
My husband says
He'll slit his throat

Can't make a pill
Til we define the disease
They're trying hard
Those drug companies

Little blue pill
Little blue pill
Help me help me
I'm over the hill

I think we'll know
If they define a disease
Drug companies will tell us
On tv

Doctor I found
Just the thing
A brand new stimulating
Clitoral ring

Don't wanna have sex
Nope nope nope
Little blue pill
Gives my husband hope


6/4/06

Compassion

Don't gimme none o your damn compassion. Compassion is too often passion with a superiority complex. Instead, tell me what are you doing with your anger, your grief, your sorrow?

There, I probably got my R Blog rating, right? So let's go with that.

I got a guitar for Christmas. Now I know what I want to sing. I want to sing the blues.

Love,
Red Paw

Gin With Mara

Gin With Mara


I was tired of running away
There was no where left to hide

So I sat down
To play gin rummy
With Mara

I had run so far
I didn't have many cards left
Only 3

Mara said, "Keep them"
She pulled a deck from her sleeves
Shuffled
Let me cut
She took three cards

I played curiosity
She played grief

I knew Mara would let me run
But I would lose, again

I was plunged
Into the place
I had avoided
A well
I thought I'd drown
As the waters closed over my head

This game is played over days
Months
Even years

I played strength
Mara played shame

I fought
I struggled
I writhed

I played tenacity
Mara smiled
She played fear

I was trapped
Overwhelmed
My heart trembled
My mind clamored
Tried to escape from my skull

I had no cards
"Draw, " said Mara

I drew
I looked at my card
I played despair

Dark, dark
I sat
I sat
I sat

Mara played want
Mara played vulnerability
Mara played

Dark, dark

Mara played joy

I stared

Mara said, "You lost the cards as you ran,
Remember?"

I touched her hand
She dissolved into me
The cards all falling about us

We picked them up
And went on


1/25/07

Poem: Puttering

Puttering


I'm puttering around in my brain
Seeing just what I find
Isn't it funny
How a bear likes honey
And how much of the time
I think in rhyme
I'm puttering around in my brain

Now it's less of a strain
To putter and play in my brain
When I was down
I went around and around
I wanted to get off that train

It's fun to be up in the light
After the long dark night
I have such a full heart
I don't know where to start
I'm glad I continued to fight

I'm puttering around in my brain
Seeing just what I find
Isn't it funny
How a bear likes honey
And how much of the time
I think in rhyme
I'm puttering around in my brain


6/28/05

Not all bad

Hey, tell me if I didn't spell levethian right. Either it's not in my Webster's or I've REALLY spelled it wrong.
It's not all bad when you go to explore your unconscious. Some of it is really fun. So next is a poem about the fun part.

Love,
Red Paw

Poem: Unconscious Sea of Love

Unconscious Sea of Love


The brain is a vast deep sea
Mostly not accessible to you or me
The surface chop or calm or waves is all we see
And we wonder why we do the things we do

We're riding on the surface of a stew
Those brave enough to dive in deep are few
The depths are dark and levethians abide
And we wonder why we do the things we do

I was so frightened and alone when I dived
I wondered if I'd still be alive
I'm thankful there are helpers when you strive
And we wonder why we do the things we do

Pearls from the bottom of the sea
Gifts that the spirits gave to me
Back in the sun again my heart is filled with glee
And we wonder why we do the things we do

Be joyful if your depths are calling you
Those brave enough to dive the depths are few
Love and strength and stubbornness will see you through
Sometimes we have to do the things we do

6/28/05

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Poem: Street Angel Crabs

Street Angel Crabs

Now
I see
The street angel crabs
Their eyes meet mine
They know
I've molted
I know they have
I acknowledge each of them
That I meet
Scarred, seared, torn in the attack
After molting

Bright angels
God loves you
Even if the world does not

8/16/05