but not lonely

alone
but not lonely
the memory of you
pulls at me
demanding attention
for too long
you got it all
and now
all that is left
is a phantom
the whisper of a dream
that once was
hiding in the shadows
seeking the light
that shines for you
no more
dimmed by words
that cannot be unsaid
deliberate with intent
and delivered with a twist
setting the barbs deep
and leaving a wound
big enough for me
to walk through

alone
but not lonely

jas

no party

it is too easy

to give in

to the demands

of everyday life

every day life

demands to be

catered to

but life is no party

and i am not

a good hostess

jas

a mother is a woman . . .

what is it that makes someone a mother?  is it issuing forth new life from one's own loins?  is it the breath of an angel?   the smile of a god?  synchronicity? serendipity?  biology?  chemistry?  anatomy & physiology?

years ago, my son attended kindergarten at the local catholic school, and it was run by nuns.  a group of us was standing around at the end of a friday, catching up, chatting, sharing our plans for the weekend.  the principal, who was a nun, announced that she had to be off to attend to some business.  as she turned to walk away i said, "happy mother's day!"  she stopped, turned, and just looked at me.  with tears in her eyes she said, "no one has ever wished me a happy mother's day before ..."  and i said to her, "well, that's sad, because mother's day belongs to every woman who has ever loved a child."  

in the church i grew up in (that's how we say things around here), at some point someone, or a committee of someones, decided that mother's day should be celebrated, which is weird because people aren't supposed to be celebrated in church.  that's another topic.  anyway, there were these little contests, and the winners were given a corsage to wear.  the oldest mother.  the newest mother - one year someone voiced dissent about this award because the newest mother had adopted her child.  the mother with the most children present in church - didn't matter who actually had the most children, just who had the most with her that day.  my mom could not stand this particular practice.  we were methodists and this wasn't proper.  that and the fact she wouldn't be getting one of those corsages for one reason or another -- another topic for another day.  her main argument and concern was for those women who didn't have children, who couldn't have children, who had tried & tried and it just didn't happen, and especially the old women in our church who had devoted their lives to public education back when being a teacher meant you could not marry.  i decided then that too many women loved children and their love wasn't being recognized on mother's day.  

a mother is any woman who has ever loved a child.  she could indeed be your mother -- by birth, by choice, by the longing of her heart.  she could be your aunt, your cousin, your neighbor (that was my mom, another story), your sister.  a mother can be married -- to anyone, or she could be single, or divorced.  a mother can be young, old, middle-aged.  a mother is a woman who has taken it upon herself to love and nurture someone, to want the best for someone other than herself.  a mother is someone who will sacrifice her own wants and needs, maybe not always, but most of the time, to see that her loved one is safe and comfortable, clothed and fed, cared for and nurtured.  a mother does not always say what is on her mind, but ponders things in her heart, and always wants better for the one, or the ones, she loves.

a mother is a woman . . . any woman . . . who has ever loved a child.

My mama, Queen Elsie, and her baby girl . . .

no mama

ain’t no mama perfect

we try and we fail

we try

we fail

we make mistakes

big ones

we question everything we do

everything

                    we

                            do

“is this the right way?”

                 “what if i’m wrong?’

   “what if i’m right?”

                            “what if . . . ?”

         “what  . . . ?”

and we are always here

not “there”

not

there . . .

here

where we’ve always been

always

offering up ourselves

offering up

even that which you refuse

to give in return . . .

acceptance

compassion

sincere

infinite

unconditional

eternal

love

ain’t no mama perfect

but we love you like you are

sunday

i am not in a church
though standing on holy ground
love in my heart
compassion in my soul
goodness something to strive for
though i may fail
and fall
not detracting
from my spirit
but shoring up
my foundation
keeping my edges from
getting too sharp
too rough
protecting what softness remains
pensive and hesitant within
i stand and fall
stand and fail
stand and remain
standing on holy ground

in the garden

the ground is ready
tilled and dark
soft and warm
aromatic
falling through my hands
plants and seeds waiting by
watching the weather
looking for that sunny day
with my hair loose and free
bare armed
barefoot
when nature and i
together
make magic

mine not yours

there is nothing i can give you
that you don't already have
freedom
independence
acceptance
strength
resolve
these things you have
entirely within yourself
there all this time for you to claim
what i have within me
is my own
my freedom
my independence
my acceptance
my strength
my resolve
you cannot have them
they are my own
i will not give them up
why would you want mine
when you have your own?
perhaps you see that i possess these things
though i sometimes lack the clarity and confidence
to see them for myself

there is nothing i can give you
so what is it that you want from me?