Hummingbirds, Wishing Wells and Clowns

Five fifty am, still pretty dim, and the hummingbirds are already juicin’ up on nectar outside my window.  (Mykael hung a hummingbird feeder there because I love them so!)  Even if I am not looking, I can hear the otherworldly hum of their light speed wings.  This is one of the more enchanting facets of my mundane existence.  I swear, no matter how many hummingbirds come for a sip, I feel newly thrilled and captivated each time.  Now I just need a wishing well in the front yard and I will be complete.  I mean it.  I think this world sorely needs more wishing wells, don’t you?

In my creative writing program here in the school of mostly soft knocks, they taught me that as a writer, it’s important to have a target audience, to know who it is you are speaking to.  Even before I began to share my writing via this hallowed blog, I always spoke to a very specific “someone”… in a voice that is very intimate and deliberately loving.  But it wasn’t until recently that I consciously realized how I relate to You.  I think I was riding my bike when it struck me.  I realized that when I share with You, I often feel like I am a kid sleeping over at my best friend’s house.  I’m all nestled into my sleeping bag, so delighted to feel free and in such good company.  I just want to stay up all night and share my heart with you, tell you EVERYthing.  Shrug.  Funny how You, an entirely innocent bystander got cast in that special role… Says a lot about the school of mostly soft knocks… as a student, I give it eighty seven thumbs up… just incase you’re looking to continue your education.  The only down side is that it takes WAY more than four years to graduate.  I often wonder if I’ll EVER get my diploma…

I just got up out of bed and Q-tipped.  Yeah, I got this burning impulse to do so.  I am addicted to Q-tipping… I mean just once a day… but I am committed.  My friend John calls it “ear sex”.  I never quite realized before he said that, but it is SO orgasmic.  I know, I know, it’s not so good to Q-tip every day… you don’t have to lecture me.  But in a world where thrills are sometimes cheap and far between, this girl’s gotta choose her frivolous battles.  Yeah, surprise!  I haven’t been writing at cafes for the last few days.  I just got sick of them.  If I don’t change my sceneries and rhythms, I go berserk.  (I like the word berserk!)  So now I just fling myself out of bed in the morning, make tea and fling myself right back into bed and get down and dirty!  The up sides of this new groove are~

#1~ I don’t have to put up with other peoples less than tasteful music choices.  (I am so finicky these days that mostly all I like is kirtan chanting… with a side of Shimshai (God, do I revere Shimshai!) and a once upon a mattress, a sprinkle of Sweet Honey in the Rock.  But I am also a hard core fan of bird song… and wind making love to trees.

#2~ I can write in my snuggly bath robe, in BED no less!

#3~ It’s free!

#4~ I have the rest of the day at my disposal (which is kinda bitter sweet, since that is more time for me to structure.  But I think I’ll take up painting again soon… It’s been like two years since I painted.  When I don’t paint for a while, I can start to literally FEEL the paintings welling up inside me and pressing aggressively against my insides in a noble effort to free themselves.

#5~ I can burn sage and incense in my bedroom.

#6~ First thing in the morning is my freshest time.

#7~ I LOVE making lists.

#8~ There is the cutest little squirrel who must live in the palm tree out my window, because he is always there acting all innocent and adorable.

Hmmm, I guess I’ll stay poetically lubed up and stab at another poem.  Y’all didn’t toss me any topics (frown!), so I’m forced to ask the Iron Fisted Man Upstairs, Himself.  (Ewwww, CRINGE… I hated making such a nauseating reference to God… but I felt compelled to, because the truth IS that so many people in this world really do view All Pervading Font of Joy this way.  It’s a playful though barfalicious reality check.)  So, Lady God God, what shall I write a poem about?  (And then Athena proceeded to close her eyes and take some deep breaths, opening her mind’s ears extra wide.)

Clowns.

Some wear smiles

And some wear frowns.

Some come out of your closet

At night

On stilts and tip toes

Laughing like psychos.

Frozen in terror

You hope it’s but a dream

Gone sour as the cream long forgotten

Tucked in your refrigerator door.

Curdled and thick.

Do you mean the cream?

…Or the curdled bloody scream

streaming from a terror strangled throat

as the clowns dance down

upon the sweaty town

between your sheets.

Phat circus music trip hop beats

Bumpin’ from the psychedelic

Big top

In your tainted mind.

Wake up!

WAKE UP please…

Rip the disease of fear

And false idols gone sour

From your mind

Like a blinding band-aid.

In Heaven the only clowns

Wear sheer flowing gowns

And wings that fill

The entire sky.

It’s time.

Wake up.

Wow, I’m kind of embarrassed to admit that that’s what came out of me this morning.  Oh well.  What can I do?  The only rule to the poetry on the fly game is to say yes and let it pour forth.  Shrug.  Now what?  I guess I’ll go meditate.

Amen.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Rosy Moon
    Jun 25, 2010 @ 17:36:59

    I’m so glad you used the word frown in your poem. It always makes me laugh when you add that in your blog (frown). I’ve begun adding it into my mental chatter, a frown in parenthesis is somehow lightens the mood of my all too real frown.
    Perhaps you could devote an entire poem to frowns for me?
    And/or aging and mortality.

    P.S. I feel entirely whispered to from your sleeping bag, yes, even before you wrote that. I love hearing your everything shrug.

    Reply

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