Archive for questions

80 Degrees of Azure

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 10, 2009 by 1writegirl

She has
Everything
A woman could
Want

Money
Houses
Diamonds
Antiques in the
Foyer
A Rolls in the
Garage

Friends
Successful husband
Two healthy children

Vacations every season
On a private tropical isle

She fights for
Every cause
Donates to
Every charity
Attends
Every rally

She chairs the
PTA

And yet every morning
When he leaves
For the office

She lies in bed and
Stares at the ceiling
Wondering what
Went wrong

When she derailed

Why she didn’t
See it coming

How the chasm
Grows ever
More hollow
Ever deeper
By the day

Then she dresses
In her casual
Prada
Slips on her
Dolce Gabbana’s
Grabs her
Gucci handbag

Slips off
Her wedding ring

And goes to the bars
At the far end of town

Where it’s
Always Bombay Sapphire
And
Never the same
Man twice

Where no matter
How much she drinks
How long she
Looks in the glass

How long she
Lies in his arms

She never finds
What she’s looking for
One day she knows

She never will

That morning
She doesn’t stare
At the ceiling
She doesn’t
Wonder anymore
She merely
Steps into
The pool

80 degrees of azure

And doesn’t
Step out

Again

The Alter of Illusion

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 17, 2009 by 1writegirl

How else can you find joy in a joyless place
Except by realizing you are not there?

— From A Course in Miracles, received by Helen Schucman

Paths cross
In shadow
And light

In love
And hate

As we stumble
Blindly
Toward the edges

Never knowing what lies
Ahead

Always fearful
Always scarred
Always asking

Why

There is little
If any
Happiness
To be found
Here on earth

Whether alone
Or with someone
By your side

You will still suffer
You will still doubt
You will still want to die

On your bad days

Each of us takes his
Own journey
Even in the arms of
Another
The dance is the joining of
Sorrow and hope

At the alter of illusion

Gauguin’s Maiden

Posted in Prose with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 20, 2009 by 1writegirl

Last night I awoke to find myself in a painting by Gauguin
a Polynesian maiden with a flower in my hair
dark skinned dark haired only just clad
amid lush vibrant colors

Comfortable in my world
on his canvas

As he painted he drank and reminisced
of early youth in Lima, Peru
where fatherless and poor
he became obsessed with creating
and creation

Our champion in Primitivism
he shunned the European life of artifice and shallow convention
void of inspiration

Where do we come from?
What are we?
Where are we going?

He asked

His answers delivered
through the stroke of a brush
the lashing of color
the consumption of demon whiskey in the birthing
of modern art

transported us all

He left us too soon at 54
afflicted with syphilis
on his way to prison sentenced
for challenging the Catholic church on our behalf
so that we might have the freedom
to ask and answer
these questions for ourselves