Putting thoughts to bed

Somewhere in the midst of my daily bed-making ritual, a conversation some friends and I had a few months ago snuck into my thoughts…
On a recent trip with my friend B. to visit our friend A., we fell into a discussion about making the bed. I was surprised to discover that both of my very motivated, very organized friends had strong opinions about this. A. firmly believed that making the bed every morning not only makes a room feel cleaner, but gives it a chance to recover after a long stressful night. B., on the other hand, thought that leaving the bed unmade gave it a chance to breathe and rest. While I was inclined to agree with A., B.’s point was very convincing.
When I was younger I remembered arguing all the time with my mother about this. “Why?” I would whine, “I’m just going to mess it back up again anyway!” Mom never had much to offer beyond “because I said so!” Well, it was true. Like most housework, my efforts seemed pointless when I crawled into bed each night. I would toss and turn and, by morning, the sheets would be all messed up again and the same tired argument would ensue.
As an adult, though, it bothers me to leave the bed unmade. A bed with freshly turned down sheets feels more relaxing, more inviting, and less stressful after a long day. It’s difficult to feel relaxed if I have to deal with the irritation of untangling the sheets and laying them out properly before climbing into bed. Maybe it’s simply a reflection of my writing process…I like to have everything sorted and prepared in a neat and orderly fashion before allowing it to have a place here. Untangling the thoughts in my head and trying to wing it…well, that’s just stressful.
Most people, like A. and B., are of one mind or the other. I don’t think it’s a matter of being organized. Maybe it’s either a way of allowing the mind to untangle at night or letting it have a calming sense of relaxation and peace.
A strange thing to ponder, yet I can’t help but wonder….
As always, please feel free to share any thoughts about this. I’d love to know..

Patchwork Queen

I may smile
I might be nice
but my advice
doesn’t grow on trees
so don’t recite your monologue
thinking you’ve fooled me.
Dress it up or paint it gold
but there is no disguise
for the drama
you’ve skillfully woven
deep between the lines.
I won’t be in the middle
of two extremes,
the luggage you carry
is your cross to bear
Dear Abby isn’t painted
on my door
so don’t knock
expecting an answer.
I’m not
your one stop
fix it shop,
or the duct tape
holding the parts in place.
nor my words
like tarot cards
that drip
with some promise
of escape..

Just remember when
you come to me,
I am not
the patchwork queen…

How to Be a Poet

Those who understand
that the path
to happiness
is paved with shards
of broken hearts
unravel the wrappings
from their feet
to boldly exhibit
the old scars…

Watering Can

Some sit in despair,
convinced that even
the strongest saplings
will shrivel up and die
when the rains don’t come,
while others
have learned to understand
that sometimes the only way
to expect any kind of harvest
is to pick up a watering can
and nourish their own crops…

Art Show

A creative person
looks at the art of others and dreams
about the constant click of the shutters
pencils scratching
paintbrushes swimming in deep red oil.
A writer
reads a great masterpiece
and a new world bends and shapes
in his head,
voices coming alive
characters developing
their own stories to share.
A musical person
hears a beautiful haunting melody
and longs to tickle the ivories
hum along softly
plucking the notes from the air
like butterflies
capturing the spell
but when I look
upon each raptured expression
every small essence of soul on canvas
I only realize I don’t want my star to fade
before I have a chance
to ignite it….

Locket

I wear the locket
on a simple chain
closest to the part of me
that matters most.
If only I could instead
put my heart
on that string
around my neck
and allow it to open wide
and show my fears
my pain and sorrows
and regrets
and love and joy…
releasing
my prisoners like
Pandora’s box
too tightly sealed
under padlock and key.
Sometimes
it opens and closes
by absentminded fingers
toying with the charm
in a nervous gesture
but it does not remain
unclasped with insides
exposed
wires laid bare
for too long-
if only habit
could be so easily broken.

Loose Screws

Your problem is
you see the world
through saber toothed tiger eyes
and strangely colored fringes
that are out of style.
Your reality is a shower of sparks
in a vacant room that you are always sure
is full of gasoline
and yet
the stars won’t flicker and die
just because you think they are evil
the Earth was never flat or straight
and the days are mostly sunny.
Still I know it may rain sometimes –
I’m glad to see it come
just so you can disappear into your fog
because the only clouds I ever saw
were in your judgment.

The Blank Canvas

Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once. ~Lillian Dickson

Life is more than a series of moments
or a passing of days –
it is a collection of chances
we decide to take along the way.
Each day may be different
or maybe the same.
Either way – it still must be faced.
What would life be without choices,
regrets,
or absolute uncertainties?

Easy…

…but how much fun would that be?

The No Good,Awful, Very Bad Days…

Sometimes I wish
I could shed some days
like a second skin,
or shower them off
and watch them swirl lazily
through the cracks and disappear,
Sometimes I wish
I could recycle the moments
and spin them into
something newer..
more inspiring..
more exotic.

Maybe I could say a few hail Marys
and absolve myself of them completely
like blemishes on an otherwise clean slate.
Maybe I could chase them away like rats
and watch them scurry down dark alleys
and flee deep into the sewers, out of sight.

Wouldn’t it be nice
if they could fall
like teardrops in the dust
and just
evaporate?
Wouldn’t it be nice
if I could toss them to the curb
and watch the garbage truck
collect and haul them away?

But I am always afraid
that if I tried to throw them out
they would just end up in the lost and found
and find their way back to me
at all once
in pristine condition…
and wouldn’t that just figure?

The Wishing Well

I saw your shadow
hiding inside blankets of stars
in the world of dreams
while I was lost
inside the wishing well…

Beyond the clouds
the moon was dim
and I stared up
from my inky black prison
as all my truths fluttered around
in blights of dark feathers..

Then you shone through
like a lantern light
the flame burning in your eyes
while fireflies swarmed
around our faces…

…and now I have no fear
of the dark anymore.
The beacon shines
into all of my empty spaces…