Political Jargon #1

Political Jargon #1

Widen the lens

and watch the optics.

No, we’re not talking about photography.

This is the age of

political language

based on art.

Ironic, isn’t it.

Watching and Waiting

Watching my mom

asleep in her hospital bed

and wishing she would just

Let go.

And then I wonder,

Is that me being selfish?

Or wanting to put her out of her misery?

Maybe it’s both.

If I tell myself that

Maybe I won’t feel as bad

about

wanting my mom

to give up.

Her face has started to smooth out

I remember when my grandma died.

She looked beautiful,

Her skin looked young again.

That is what is happening with my mom’s face,

except she isn’t dead yet.

And that is what scares me,

Maybe she really is that close.

Writing. Stories.

Writing.

The act of putting words on paper

in an organized manner

to tell a story.

Story.

A narrative,

either true or fiction

The writer’s burden.

How the story is told

Is what matters the most.

How the story is told
will determine if it is read.

How the story is told

will influence

How people hear, see, and smell it

How people perceive the actions

How people will judge the characters.

Truth.
or

Fiction.

A good story contains both.

So does life.

Writers tell stories

with words.

Singers tell stories

with words and music.

Actors tell stories

with words and actions.

People see and hear what they want to hear

and sometimes

They hear it in a way

that touches their heart.

That is when the story or song

becomes art.

Writing

Stories

can be a way

to touch someone’s soul.

Laughter

Laughter,

They say it’s the best medicine.

In a hospital bed,

IV pumping fluids in,

unable to get up without assistance.

The television is on,

It’s a “modern Family” comedy marathon.

She looks almost radiant,

watching,

laughing,

And then the laughter causes a cough.

And for a moment,

the frailty returns.

Until her face relaxes

and transforms

as she smiles and laughs

again.

Laughter.

It may not cure the disease,

But it makes it more bearable.

And that is good enough.

Fly Away

Sometimes I feel like

I want to fly away.

Sometimes I feel like

I already have.

Like I spread my wings,

soared,

and look where it got me.

Right back where I started.

Sometimes i feel like

I want to fly

away from my life,

To anywhere but

here.

Sometimes I feel like

I already tried that,

and it got me nowhere

but

Right back

where I started from.

Or maybe it just feels

like that.

Maybe it’s true

that

the more things change

the more they remain

the same.

And flying might feel free

while you’re doing it,

But at some point,

you need to land.

And then what.

Being Human

Accept.

Adapt.

Change.

Grow.

Settle.

Not necessarily mutually exclusive.

All are part of living.

Raw

Raw.

That feeling when

things that mean the most

to me

Become fragmented.

Raw.

That feeling when

it seems like

everything that matters

Is falling apart,

Dying before my eyes.

Literally.

People are dying.

Relationships are dying.

Love is dying.

Raw.

My heart feels like it has been

torn into pieces.

painful, 

tender,

injured,

exposed.

Which is worse, being the one who is aging or the observer?

I may have made this one longer than it needs to be.
The condensed version is:Which is worse,
feeling your life slip away faster every day
or watching as someone you loves
is dying before your eyes.

Long version:

As I watch my mother sleep

I wonder

Which is worse

Feeling your life slip away from you

at a faster rate today than yesterday.

Knowing you are stuttering over a word

that you thought you knew how to say.

Knowing from the look on a face

that you just asked something

they have already told you,

probably more than once.

Knowing that you can’t fully control

bodily functions.

Knowing that you can’t do things

that make your life worth living.

Not wanting to be cared for,

And praying that you could just go to sleep

and not wake up..

Or is it worse to be the daughter, the son

watching a parent

become the needy child.

Knowing you are helpless to change the course of events,

Knowing you need to be positive on the outside

even if you are crying inside.

Knowing you need to be strong

for your parent

and for your own children,

who are watching a grandparent slip away..

All the while wondering,

Will this be me someday?

Will I be a burden on my children?

Will I cause this kind of stress?

Am I handling this the way I should?

Which is worse?
Which is more stressful?

Aging or being the witness?

Am I being selfish to even wonder?

Stress or selfish?

Neither one is what we wish for.

Both thoughts are part of the cycle of life

And a sign of the strength of love.

Ties that bind.

Create fear, worry and wonder.

Wonder that love can be so strong

And so confusing

Yet so sure.

Heat

They say that a poem a day

Keeps the doctor away.

The doctor of doom.

Very funny, she said

With a laptop

On a pillow in her lap.

Too hot.

Baby, it’s cold outside

So the heat is on high inside.

Add a battery to the mix

And it IS hot.

Don't Judge Me

Do not treat me like

I am the problem,

when the real issue is you

and your attitude

And outlook on life.

You may be a son,

but you are

not

the sun.

The world doesn’t revolve

around you.

We each have an orbit.

Stop hinting that you and your orbit are superior.

You aren’t God

as much as you act like you think you are,

Which is odd since you worship one.

So instead of looking down your nose at me,

try looking in a mirror

and judge yourself

before you go judging me.

Between the Lines

Very few people want to read what I write\

I’m not young

I don’t draw cool illustrations

I haven’t been discovered

and gone viral.

But I keep writing

because that is what I do

to keep sane.

Words shall set you free/.

Writing is my outlet

the painful venting thoughts

which name names

and are unfiltered,

and contain harsh assessments of my worth.

No one can read those.

Those I write for me only

in the hope that

someday

those thoughts will exist only on paper.

I publish the things

that I think won’t hurt anyone I know.,

Maybe thats why no one reads them.

Read between the lines.

There are people hidden there.

 

Cold Rain

Rain

Cold rain

Too warm to snow here

Just gray

And foggy

And rainy.

Christmas in the south,

Raindrops instead of snowflakes,

Mud instead of snow drifts.

Missing my mountains,

Missing the crisp dry cold

That gave way to a bright sun and blue skies.

Somehow the north felt warm when it was 30

And the south feels cold when it’s 50.

Damp, not dry.

Better for my skin,

and hair.

Harder on my disposition.

Right thing to do?

My one year reflection.

One year ago I was packing and cleaning up.

Saying my goodbyes.

I was petrified.

I was excited.

I was about to close the door,

on people and a place I dearly loved,

To start a new chapter by going to where I knew no one,

The scenery and weather would be vastly different.

Everything would be different.

I was in turmoil and hoping, maybe even praying

that I had made a good decision.

It wasn’t an easy thing to decide or do.

And it hurt, a lot.

I figured it was probably the right thing to do

And if it didn’t work out

I would find a new path.

At least, that’s how I explained it to myself.

That no matter how it turned out

I would gain something from it,

So, therefore, it was the right thing to do.

What I knew for sure was

it felt like it  was time for me to leave,

whether I was 100% on board with it or not.

I’m still not sure if it was the right decision

But I do know that I made a new start

Job, place, people.

It may not be a perfect fit,

But it fits

well enough

for me to be happy.

And to feel like I am part of something,

a community..

To feel like

I am making a difference,

at work

and in a city where little things

Can mean a lot.

And that makes my decision right.

Even if sometimes it feels a little off

And maybe a little wrong.

I haven’t failed.

I don’t feel like I need to leave.

And that is good enough for me.

For now.