Dear friend

You loved to laugh. You sucked it in 

as if you never wanted to stop. You clung 

to laughter like you wanted to keep it forever, but 

you passed it out to us in contagious doses. No one was safe 

from your generous grin. Wide and welcoming, your smile 

swallowed your eyes, flooding your face. 

--

Your ways were simple:

Strong hands, gentle eyes, big heart. 

We miss you, dear friend. 

--

I lost a dear friend today. His laughter has been ringing in my brain all evening and I think that's exactly how he would want it. 

Goodbye, Roland. I'll miss your smiling face and silly jokes. I am so blessed to have called you my teacher and my friend. 

Love, 

Marybeth

NYC Haiku

The sounds of the city 

are soft from the top floors.

Good morning, New York. 

--

I missed yesterday, shucks. So we'll  start the day with a haiku. It's also the last day of April, which means NPMonth is almost over. Stay tuned today short poems. I want to make today last. 

Bss,

Marybeth 

Airport list poem

Things that make airports better:

French fries

Margaritas

Card games

Crossword puzzles 

Lattes

Smutty magazines

Big headphones

Disney movies

Smart friends 

Cute strangers

Neck pillows 

Hoodies

Popcorn

Arnold palmers 

TVs playing FIFA 

Groups of people from Italy

People arguing about cheese 

Sun coming through the windows

An empty row of chairs without arm rests

A good book 

--

Here is a list poem. I spend a lot of time in airports so the list could go on and on. 

Happy Monday!

Bss,

Marybeth

Human haikus

We hold our bodies 

close to other bodies as 

we are pulled to earth. 

Space between fingers 

seems wider without others. 

My hands are empty. 

Arms and legs and hearts:

We are all made up of parts. 

Each one, sensation. 

--

This is the part when all my friends get married. The world suddenly seems very big and filled with couples and at the same time infinitely smaller than it was yesterday. 

Bss,

Marybeth 

Saturday night

There is something to be said for the buzz in my head -- a lightness of all things 

makes laughter come quicker. 

Life moves at a different pace when 

night falls and the people float from bar to bar; no anchors to be seen. Some move 

very quickly, skipping introductions while others 

never get to the beginning as they lose the words to start.  

I watch the chaos from a comfortable distance -- I realize how 

distracted we are by 

distracting each other from not 

knowing what matters. 

--

It's Saturday night and as usual I'm curled up in the recliner writing poetry. I love my mundane life. 

Bss,

Marybeth

Metamorphosis

My body is stiff like a rock on the shore pummeled by the 

waves tide in and tide out. 

The elements erode me into 

smaller pieces 

of myself and scatter them on the wind -- 

I float through the air 

weightless, carefree 

I am set down somewhere new. 

Begin again. 

The world piles on the pressure and I 

shift and change becoming solid and sparkling with 

deep foundations. 

--

Tonight I'm exhausted. Tiredness: deep-in-the-bones I feel like I'm drowning as I keep yawning for oxygen. 

So, naturally, here's a geology poem. 

Happy Friday!

Bss,

Marybeth

Old Sugar

New friends, old friends,

Big barrels, small barrels,

Real talk, real laughs,

Good drinks, good times:

Old Sugar.  

--

A short little ode to one of my favorite places in town. Happy almost Friday!

Bss,

Marybeth

Be a woman

Be a woman --

be brave, be bold, be beautiful. 

be prepared to fight for who you are, what you want, what you believe in. 

Be a woman --

be a daughter, be a sister, be a mother, be a friend. 

be the kind of person who is inspired, who inspires. 

Be a woman --

be fierce, be feminine, be forceful. 

be a frightfully fantastic, be entirely free. 

Be a woman -- 

be a nurse, be a teacher, be a lawyer, be a firefighter, doctor, or president. 

be powerful, be a leader, and keep up the good work. 

Be a woman -- 

be a lover, be a grump, be a caregiver, be selfish, be a cook and a maid, be lazy. 

be demanding and have someone else make you a sandwich. 

Be a woman -- 

be unique, be happy, be whole. 

be you. 

--

Recently I have been inviting some of the amazing women in my life to have dinner and discuss life as women and all of the pains and joys that come with it. 

I am realizing more and more how truly amazing these women are and how privelaged I am to have grown up with amazing women in my life and to continue to be surrounded by strong, hardworking, kindhearted women. 

Cheers to you, ladies. Keep at it. You're all beautiful souls and the world is infinitely brighter because you are in it. Thanks for being in my life. 

p.s. Happy Birthday to the poet who wrote my heart hundreds of years before I could know it: William Shkespeare! -- "His words are a fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes." (Much Ado 2.3.18-19); "The lunatic, the lover, and the poet/ Are of imagination all compact." (Midsummer 5.1.7-8)

Bss,

Marybeth

Crying dishes

I washed the champagne flutes --  water pouring out of 

water clear glass leaving champagne bubble suds clinging to the sides. I turned them 

upside down and hung them over plastic prongs that look like 

oversized needles with eyes too big for their faces. The last few drops of 

liquid abandoned the glasses one teardrop at a time as if the 

glasses were crying because the party was over. 

-- 

I got up before the sun, but didn't see a single meteor flash across the sky. I'll have to plan accordingly next time and pilgrimage to a place with no parking lot lights. 

Happy Earth Day!

Bss,

Marybeth 

Monday haiku funday

Time is a fickle 

friend: some days she flies and some 

days she limps in pain. 

Life is a series 

of stories my mother read 

me before I grew. 

Love is a dream her 

heart made, but turns out her mom 

doesn't like him much. 

-- 

Here awesome silly haikus just because it's Monday. Glad that the weather is finally allowing my toes to be free!

Bss,

Marybeth

Everyday

My need for you is patient, but ever present: pressing gently on the other preoccupations of the day. 

My need for you is quiet; it never shouts, but it's pulse beats strongly and quickens when we are alone. 

My need for you is not greedy, but it is deep, like the ocean and as fathomless as the universe. 

My need for you is not mine; it is yours. 

You alone fulfill it, you alone fuel it.   

--

I have been exploring some of the many poetry anthologies I have on my bookshelf and I came across "How Do I Love Thee" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. In this poem she writes "I love you to the level of everyday's/ Most quiet need". I love the simplicity of this verse. The softness and the calm that it exudes. Love as she describes it is a blessing and a comfort. I aspire to a love like this. A stillness in the soul when fulfilling the quiet need of everyday. 

Happy Easter!

Bss,

Marybeth

Vase

If my body is a vessel then let me be a vase;

fill me with water, and a teaspoon of sugar, 

and then fetch lilacs from the bush and let them live in me. 

And when they wilt and die, 

dump out the dirty water, rinse me clean, 

and start again. 

--

I have been revisiting old poems in the sunshine on a spring day. Here is poem number 2 for the day. 

Bss,

Marybeth

I missed it

Good morning sunshine. 

Oh how I've missed you, my dear. 

Today's a new day. 

--

I totally missed yesterday. I am apologizing profusely to myself. I was on such a roll. We'll, in light of my lapse there will be two poems today. 

Thanks for reading. 

Bss,

Marybeth

Ode to a cheeseburger

All American with cheese. 

Grilled to perfection, but add the cheese early so it's gooey good. Extra 

points for a toasted bun. Serve it hot with ketchup (grilled onions and mushrooms 

on mine please!) and don't forget a side of fresh fries. 

Salty, cheesy, perfect combo. 

--

Some days all you want is a cheeseburger with fries. Perfection. A nap might be in order. 

Bss,

Marybeth 

Sea sleeping

I sleep like the sound of the ocean: tiredness builds, rises, spills over. 

I crash into it and sink, spreading thin the depths of my mind. 

I stretch and slow, creeping up to shore. 

In my dreams I kiss the sand. 

Then slowly,

I recede back into waking, reluctant to return to the sea. 

 

-- 

It has been such a blessing to sleep to the sound of the ocean. I wish I could bring it with me. 

Maybe I just need it get a noise machine...who am I kidding it would never be the same. 

Back to the frozen land of beer and cheese tomorrow. 

Bss,

Marybeth

Florida

It smells hot -- 

like decomposing dirt tucked under steaming mulch. 

Tropical condensation dripping from 

hibiscus leaves --

The kind if hot that sticks to your skin and feels like 

liquid sun; salty, sandy, ocean hot. 

--

This morning I woke up to the sound of the Atlantic coming through my balcony door and I got up to look out at the sun rising over the water. I don't think I'm coming home. 

Bss,

Marybeth 

Flying

Stuffy cabin communities aren't always kind to me, but there exists an 

underlying, unspoken connection. 

You and me, we're flying; full on up in the air looking down on the 

tininess of us, flying. 

And if we get too close to the sun, if the wings start to melt I promise to hold you all the way down. And even after that I'll patch you together with safety cards and deflated life preservers. 

The plane dipped and a little girl screames. A gleeful 

deeply high pitched exclamation of excitement. Me too,kid. 

Me too. 

Solo Sunday

Solo Sunday: love 

me some rainy tv 

watching. So content. 

--

There is something so simple about a haiku that has fit me these past few weeks. Small thoughts that say a lot. I hope you enjoyed your Sunday. 

Bss,

Marybeth

Spring cleaning

Space and fresh air flow in through open 

windows. I sing along with the birds outside as the whistle while 

I work. I wipe away the snowy dust of hibernation, let in the light. Renewal is on 

the breezy as it blows away the stale stagnation of winter.   

-- 

It feels so good to open the windows and let in the cool spring air. There is so much freedom in a clean house after winter keeps in the clutter. Spring cleaning in progress. 

Bss,

Marybeth

Siblings

Beautiful, brave girl;

She always drives me crazy.

Love her to the moon.

He's the professor

Always knows the answer; he's

The best friend I have. 

--

A day late, but here's to national sibling day. Love my crazy Murray siblings. 

Bss,

Marybeth

Mind attic

Upstairs, in a drawer of the antique desk is a painted cigar box. I wait 

until the guests ate gone to open it. This is my box. Where I keep my secret talents and passions, my true self. 

I want to share its contents with someone, but it's safer this way; 

butterflies in a cage where no one can squish them. There is no freedom, but we all 

make sacrifices for security.  

--

Whenever I meditate I imagine they my mind is an attic filled with boxes, dressers, and hutches: places to hide thoughts. 

I find that I it thoughts in different place based on their category -- fears, worries, memories, wishes. What is hidden from company is not always what we regret or are ashamed of, sometimes it's the most wonderful things about ourselves. We are afraid our own beauty, our own capacity to be magnificent. 

Bss,

Marybeth

To do list

Wake

Eat

Caffeinate

Work

Eat

(Exercise?)

Sleep 

Repeat

Yesterday, Today, Monday,Thursday

Tomorrow

Wake --      Rise

Eat --          Savor, refuel

Caffeinate     --      Energize

Work --          Challenge, succeed, thrive

Eat   --        Cook, create, enjoy

(Exercise?)   --      Move, excite, ignite

Sleep       --          Rest, rejuvenate 

Repeat        --       Live

--

I've been in a funk this week; avoiding simple chores, being lazy. This is my art motivating me to live the same way I write: with intention. 

Bss,

Marybeth 

Holding on

Humans have small hands. 

They are tiny compared to the fins of a whale or the wings of an albatross. 

They pale in comparison to the depth of oceans or the mass of planets. 

Humans are weak. 

We cannot shake trees like an elephant or turn over large boulders like a bear. 

We have no strength compared the winds of a hurricane or the flows of a volcano. 

Despite the perspective 

we stubbornly ignore size and strength. With small hands and weak bodies 

we hold on -- clutching to the things we think will matter. 

--

We are funny creatures. Day after day I watch people cling to pride and reputation and politics. All I can think is "will you care about this in 5 years? Will anyone remember you for this in 100?" 

I do the same thing and I wonder if anyone notices, will I learn to notice?  Notice when my natural instinct to hold on is holding me, us back and use my small strength to loosen my grip and let go. 

Bss,

Marybeth

Water and glass

I like to watch the rain on my windshield as it comes together to run down the glass. 

To think that something as old as time is colliding with something so new, so young. 

The rubbing together of eras, the brushing if generations. It ties us together: ties us to our ancestors and their ancestors; binds us with the earth and the air and the sea. 

The agelessness of water -- it sustained dinosaurs and mammoths, Ancient Greeks and Romans, this seasons tulips. 

Our art sustains the soul. 

With our fleeting lives we devote what little time we have with the hopeless hope that it will flow on into the next generation. 

--

I love the sound of rain on the windows. I'll be searching g high and low for signs of new life tomorrow. April showers bring May flowers. 

Bss, 

Marybeth 

Self animation

I start with a pencil sketch. 

Curve drawn over curve; a seemingly perfect circle appears. 

It is becoming clearer. 

I do not have an eraser. I keep drawing line over line; darker here, lighter there; 

some shapes are shaded, some remain empty. Errors are 

lost amongst bolder lines redrawn. 

This is how I make myself. 

I will continue drawing tomorrow, flipping back to 

yesterday for reference. No two days are the same, but 

together they animate me. I become a whole picture 

of living motion; a magical organism that moves through life. 

Always changing, growing, becoming. 

--

"A dream is a wish your heart makes."

Here's to dreams of animated mice and magical nannies. Here's to making mistakes and learning; always changing and adapting. Like the poem says, this is how I make myself. One line at a time.

Bss, 

Marybeth

Lighthouse love poem

I fell in love with the wind. 

She came to me like a whisper of butterfly wings, bringing a blush to my cheeks. 

Her caress held all the promise of an endless summer breeze, sunsets on the sea. 

She was always around me, but never mine. 

When she rose she brought a blush to my cheeks, but before I could catch her she blew away. 

My flush faded and my cheeks grew cold. 

When summer faded her anger came in gusts and gales 

strong enough to pull roots from the dirt and my heart from my chest.  

She stole the air from my lungs leaving me empty and hollow -- a lonely tower on a battered rock. 

--

Today was the Kenosha Yacht Club's annual April Fools Butterfly Regatta. I watched my brother and some of the other members of the club sail butterflies around Kenosha harbor. What a sight for a sunny day in April. I have always loved the patches of sail standing out against a watercolor sky. 

We also got a chance to climb to the top of the Kenosha lighthouse to watch the sunset over the city while the wind clawed at the our hands and faces, reminding us that spring had not quite settled in. 

But I think the tide is turning and warmer weather is on its way. 

Bss,

Marybeth 

Chi Town Haiku

Driving in traffic

Totally worth it to see

That gorgeous skyline. 

--

I'm off to a concert in Chicago so here are my thoughts from the drive. 

Until tomorrow. 

Bss,

Marybeth 

After Allegiant

Before you, my world was small. Black, white, blue, grey, yellow, red. Simple. 

Then you jumped and everything exploded -- fire and passion.

Our world was broken, but the future was bright. We were going to save it. 

But after everything -- war, betrayal, forgiveness, love -- you are gone. 

My world is dark. There is not light. No color at all. Only numbness. 

I read about a black hole yesterday.

Now I look up at the sky, but I don't see stars anymore, I see space - galaxies is what they are called. 

And now I am filled with it. Space. Empty hollow blackness. 

I am a black hole. All the pain and all the loss is pulled into my chest and shredded to pieces, leaving space. 

Before we left the city I knew everything's place. The distance between the platform and the train, the time I spent with each fear, the size of your hand, the strength needed to pull the trigger. 

Now I am not sure of size or limit. How long will the pain last? What is the distance between here and wherever you are now? What is the strength needed to be brave?

--

I finished Allegiant today. This is the result. 

If you haven't committed to the series, I highly recommend it. I fell in love with the characters and it explores some beautiful questions about fear and courage, knowledge and kindness. It questions human nature and our capacity to change. 

Bss, 

Marybeth

Lent

40 days. 40 nights. 

It all comes at the last stand of winter -- borrowed time 

lent by the secret season between winter and spring. Snow melts into soil, dormant dirt. 

Ashes on the forehead of the world.

Home is where the dust on your feet comes from. 

We smear the sands of foreign places on our bodies 

to wipe clean, buff out the impurities - expose 

our purest rawest selves. 

We are born again in the spring 

we rise to greet the sun like tulips 

we spread our arms wise on the lawn in the afternoon. 

--

The snow is almost gone and I can feel spring poking through the gloom of this harsh winter. It's always striking to me how a few days can be enough to wipe away the grime that winter left and reveal a nursery of new life. I'm looking forward to all things that come with spring, including the opening of the mind and soul to warmer thoughts and actions. 

Bss, 

Marybeth

Refilling empty vessels and hermit crabs

Even hermit crabs move sometimes.

They find old houses, take on new lives. 

I wonder if they fill them with old furniture or bring family heirlooms along? 

When we move, we find someone to take our place - to fill the space we leave behind. 

Someone to cover our walls and walk through our hallways - it never feels the same. 

Hermit crabs don't worry about the after. 

Nothing really belongs to us, we are fleeting. 

Set out into the water, leave your house at the bottom of the sea. 

Every nook and every cranny filled with the ocean - no space for emptiness. Only a current to take you on. 

-- 

Today was a long day and as I got back from work I began to wonder how I would possibly refuel. How would I ever find enough energy to fill up my being in order to begin again tomorrow. As often happens, strange comparisons found me and I ended up with the image of a hermit crab abandoning her shell. But if you think about it her shell is never really empty because it is filled with water. 

We too are always filled if we allow for space where we fear it most. Space and emptiness are not the same. Space is good. It means air and light and I am continually striving for space in my life. This space is what allows me to soak up so much positivity and energy to carry me through long and tiring days like today. 

Happy National Poetry Month!

Bss

Marybeth 

Welcome back.

I wanted to write you a postcard

From some exotic place. 

From a window 

Revealing glittering peaks. 

From a park bench in 

An urban amazon. 

I wanted to pick out a 

Small scrap of beauty from 

A foreign field. 

I wanted to smear the back with 

Dirt form my adventure, with

Tears from holy moments, with 

Water from salty waves. 

I wanted you to see me 

Carefree, whimsical. 

I wanted you to miss me, 

Wish me with you in some 

Place more perfect, more

Picture postcard. 

Instead I am in my living room. 

Not Rome. Not London. 

There are no tourists here. 

Only me, my single self, my loneliness,

Silence, and a stamp. 

 

There is always a fear that comes with the thought of writing. What will I write? How will I say what I mean? Will it be worth reading? Between fear and new obligations it has been easy to say "I'll write later". Later turns into never and I wake up in the night wanting to express myself and not knowing how. Feeling the echo of myself slowly closing the door on my poetry. 

But poems never come out fully grown. They require frustration and nurturing. 

Everything must begin somewhere. So I am starting again and I am using National Poetry month as my reason or motivation - I haven't figure out which. 

For the month of April I will write a poem each day and post them here. I don't expect anyone to read them and I know I won't love many of them, but they will be mine and perhaps some of them will grow into real poems one day. 

The poem above I wrote this morning. It is a warm up for the month ahead. It's also a short glimpse into my fascination with postcards, which is the theme of this blog. I think of each poem as a postcard I write to myself from some new place within my soul. 

I'm looking forward to sharing my postcards with you. 

Bss,

Marybeth