Monday, August 12, 2013


I am reading about this word because I am in conflict about my own inadvertent involvement in the aid of someone hell-bent on self destruction.  I have the desire to be an empowering enabler (one who encourages another to achieve their goals and become self-sufficient), but I have been manipulated into becoming a destructive enabler (one who actually speeds the demise of a person who is self destructing).  This is, undoubtedly, further complicated by the self destructive person who distorts the intentions of those who love them (the enablers) by seeing their efforts to boost them over the wall of chaos as evil attacks, thus dragging all concerned to the lower depths of existence.

I have furthered my studies to include co-dependence and am going quite mad trying to reach clarification.  I find solace in Melody Beatie's comment "It is everywhere and everyone.  Of course she has to burst my bubble by defining it simply, "A codependent person is one who has let another person's behavior affect him or her, and who is obsessed with controlling that person's behavior."  This could relate to everyone everywhere if the key word weren't  "obsessed".


                    Your choices and my guilt
                    keep us in a crib of decadence.
                    My life time of moderation   
                    masked addiction insidious -
                    justified Contagion -
                    left us all in the desert
                    awaiting intervention.



Monday, May 28, 2012


She yelled at me in CAPITAL letters..belligerent, incoherent.  My usual armor gave way, and I left... immune at last to her extortion. I was an Innocent...still lost in the illusion of my children's childhood.  I had never experienced this harmonic of a four year old's resentment and confusion about the bonds of dependency and the pre-mature strife for independence.  I was in the "mambie pambie" world of fairy godmothers, mothers and grandmothers..What's the difference, really?

My childhood, enchanted.. rich in education, imagination and total ignorance of the tribulations of my parents; who like many couples with children were sacrificing their passions and goals for the beings who would be cast to sink or swim, maybe never fulfilling anyone's dreams...not their own or the ones imposed by their parents.

My children were free to play.  I loved the chaos and collaboration.  If only they never had to face the reality of life that I sadly did not completely prepare them for, and have so so suffered the consequences of.


The mornings are cranky wiley and weird.
Slingshot's dart just whizzed past my ear.
Twinkling Toes is shrieking again
as Baby Bazook takes off in the wind.
The ba-bas are lined up
The TV's full blast
The laundry is piled up
The kitchen's aghast!

I'm thinking of Spock
and child expert, Ginott.
Motherhood is something
they will never ever know!



I accompanied a few rhymes
in my zooming - appreciated
their presence however void
of prosaic due.

I started composing a title, "I Believed You"
and trusted my stupid intuition, religious
contradiction, ancient babble's new rendition.

Now look at the mess I created.
Lao Tsu, your lofty ideals.
How could I expect that a guilt ridden teen
could grasp what scholars question?
And inmates, alas, as the last light flickers
waiting in cells with cravings for snickers.

And I remain searching for Buddha's
mention of  "ethics" trying to comprehend
"renunciation" the rigors of denial and a
mother's inclination to spoil a child.


Tuesday, November 22, 2011


Interesting word...Sabotage..  "A weakening of;  most usually, a workplace, by slowing production either by lowering energy or committing a physical insult i.e. loosening an important screw or sugar in the fuel tank etc." 

How about sabotage of the heart?  Matters so personal, yet completely relevant and of the utmost importance for heart survival.  How does sabotage enter here?  Subtle ignoring, not being direct, suffering in silence, or complete rejection...a slow unacknowledged numbing until only solace remains.    . 

Not an Archive

I think with cobwebs in my brain,
huge bubble gum motors...smiling
yakking nurses keeping the spotlight
on trivial matters while tears back
up behind my eyelids squeezed by
the webs (no room for the spiders)
and the nurse just keeps yakking.
So damn happy cause she escaped
with her job; and now I'm desperately
searching for commuter positions,
government, education, administrative,
or whatever. While my friend, forsaken,
is courting a Parisian Artist wearing a
beret for sure; and soon he will be
gone, I employed, and we will both
shake our heads because we left the
hourglass turning with no supervision...
turning with small chance of revision.
Sand sifting through a narrow cross
determining our founds and our loss.

October 3, 2010

I suppose self sabotage is the worst because, after all, it does come down to "self". 
No one to blame but..........  etc.

There are outside pressures, however, and sadly they come from other people whom we allow to capture and influence our hearts, attention, time, views of all sorts: political, philosophical, religious, familial and on on on. . 

I guess this is what is called "love".  The stupid fuzzy lapse in time where you succumb to another's will and live to not only regret, but to hear the person who pursued and captured accuse you of the very same hypnotic conquest.

 My eyes flashed

at the incongruity of your words.
Darkness cast over the sanctity of Intimacy.

Me, melting into sensual yet alert to intellectual,
feeling confident only in the Physical where
It is not allowed, whispered or even spoken.

And You, unaware of its existence yet completely
knowing that its impending presence will be.

And It will pose a problem that could either expand,
alter, or instigate a termination; which I, nimble-footed will resist
and you? I can not imagine.

Yet, when I saw your Picasso body with outstretched arms
demonstrating a certain airplane, my heart melted; and I knew
you were the Patron of my non-conformity, the Divider of my soul.

November, 2007

Saturday, April 23, 2011


Spring... the time of rebirth and new beginnings.  We haven't quite experienced it yet, but the anticipation is killing me.  I love the season mainly because it is a precursor to summer, which is really my favorite. 

I love the heat(not the sun) but the heat.  Everything is easier.  There is no need for socks, shoes cumbersome sweaters or coats.  Most transitions from home to car to buildings take less effort; unless, of course, you live in the more hot humid climates.  Then, this blog is more suited for your autumn.

Having been in those climates, I have a deep respect for the long term survivors and their tolerance. They are not unlike the very robust people who live in the very freezing cold climates.  I am humbled by the courage of both!

Nevertheless, spring deserves to be honored.  In some parts of the world it is the New Year and in others a celebration of life, flowers, children, love and most of all; the end of another dreary, wet, cold winter.


I’m really much better in the spring
where hopes are high
and toes are free.
I’m really much happier in the heat,
where my limbs can breathe
(especially my feet).

I’m so elated in the sun
despite the warnings and fear.
The  winter shadows are dreary,
the cold a pain. I guess
I can tolerate the rain;
but only if it’s followed by the
sweet sweet warming
rays of the sun.



Mmmm...delicious fragrance in the air.
I smell Jasmin everywhere.
It climbs on pretty petal feet
to doors and surrounding planter boxes.
Jasmin, smelling sweet
on the vernal side of the equinoxes.
Oh oh... there it goes again
sneaking up so very spicy.
A waft of perfume in the air
pleasing bees and noses nicely!

Spring 1986
Special thanks to Carl Sandburg for
inspiring my second line.


The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

By Carl Sandburg

Friday, April 8, 2011

Feining interest... or other hazards of partial revelation

What is the process of true feeling revelation?  Is it just " Sorry, I ate the chocolate that you were saving."  ...or is that only a prelude to words that are too blurred to be expressed?  "Sorry, I ate the chocolate you were saving  because I really wanted to throw away everything I own and join a monastery because I don't belong in my life or anywhere for that matter because I really hate chocolate but you love it more than you love me and because........?"  

We are fortunate to have language as an aid to expression; also, art, cinema, literature, cell phones, video games, substances, computers, poetry, music, philosophy, religion, therapists, meditation, exercise, marathons, dance etc.  However, wouldn't it be ultimately more satisfying if we could really make clear the fuzzy words that are trapped inside?...if the words could reveal themselves a drop at a time; appear, disappear, and reappear again.. perhaps in a different form or at a different time...until finally, even we would know what we are trying to divulge.


Delicate Tact lets Sooth cower
under absolute silence less the
"Tippler" appear.
From what Cocoon a Butterfly?
To what Jailer does she comply?

Asunder casts a Heart buoyant.
Brilliant Intellect argues a case
to Wind, Breezes, Bubbling Brooks,
Giggles, Teases-- who all so
freely care, listen sincerely,
contribute a phrase or two;
but are gone as before--the Air.


"Tippler"   a tipsy character in a poem by Emily Dickinson     He is Tipsy by either spinning or drinking, Interpreters argue as to which. This is perhaps my favorite poem written by Emily Dickinson. To me, her poems are the pinnacle of subtle yet intimate expression.  She somehow manages to turn herself inside out; and because exposed, her flesh reveals her inner most thoughts.  


I taste a liquor never brewed,
From Tankards scooped in Pearl;
Not all the Frankfort Berries
Yield such an alcohol!

Inebriate of Air-- am I--
And Debauchee of Dew--
Reeling-- thro' endless summer days-
From inns of Molten Blue--

When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove’s door-
When Butterflies-- renounce their "drams"--
I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats--
And Saints-- to windows run--
To see the little Tippler
From Manzanilla come!

by Emily Dickinson

I, not being as cleaver as Emily and certainly lacking her unique eclectic vocabulary, can only grasp the tails of wispy intangible stubborn cyphers awaiting their entrance.


Your fading snores comfort me from a
wall behind vows taken lightly,
refusing your promise or any.

To what avail is this annex viewing?
Perfection from blue eyes,
blue steel eyes that miss nothing.

I was flippant with the poems because
they were lazily hanging around.  I took
offense at their slovenly indolent after
the fact critique of my annoying loneliness.

I could have gone to see you uninvited.
I could have explained how my paralysis
caused an inconvenience; but you were
being yourself, and I hated you for it.


Sunday, March 13, 2011


I am only writing about trains because I am really longing for a plane trip to Florida but can't commit to a date. I know that I  have to get a jump on it early, so the ticket won't be too expensive.  Whew!  So, I got really excited when I saw my relatives getting free Southwest airline tickets from the web.  I checked it out and ZAP nothing.   Lies, hype and disappointment.  Sigh.  The nerve of marketing scams!!

However, I am not one to be rained out completely.  I can be, but I am on a new trend of positive come-back.  Therefore, I am going to write about trains. 

I took a train two years ago to visit my son; and since I was alone, I got to absorb the scenery and muse on the passing buildings, the sounds of the train, and the ramblings of my imagination.  Sadly, my son didn't rave over my poem and only said, "Neglect eh?"

My come-back?  I am publishing my poem and dedicating it to Trains, Sons, and Travelers everywhere!

Fresno Train  

All Aboard!
Martinez, Modesto, Madera, Merced.

All Aboard!
Backlands of the San Francisco Bay.

All Aboard!
Backyard Doughboys, puddles, sheds,
graffiti, leaning fences, neglect,
cul-de-sac streets, old cars, and trucks.

All Aboard!
New communities with no space for clutter or rust.

All Aboard!
The horn blows past factories, farms, seedlings in
neat wet rows looking up at the big Montana sky.
Its iridescent clouds' big fat cheeks ready to rain
some more or float away.

All Aboard!


Saturday, February 12, 2011


A little too full of I am sorries right now, yet, wondering what for?  I am sorry I am me?  hmmm doesn't seem right.  I am sorry for my mistakes.  well, OK.  We should all reflect and take stock. 

We need to be careful with "I am sorry".  It isn't always our fault.  I once admired a friend who said, "I never say I am sorry."  Wow!  How bold.  Yet, as time passed, I noticed a few "I am sorries" whispered softly from his lips.  Did he suddenly become an abuser, or did he suddenly become more aware of his responsibility in social interaction?  Personally, I think he realized the sensitive nature of humans and became aware of his ability to cause harm.  I think he became human.


Tip toe past the wind in the early morning hours.
See that by August God lopped off the flowers,
weary of blooming "y El Labrador sin horas".
Watch Mulberry leaves settle on a Sunday
afternoon.  Make humble inquiries as to
the where-a bouts of the Moon.



I planted Cosmos in a garden for you.
Became Sherlock Holmes.  Unraveled
my arrogance into strands of silk dyed
by my tears in a rainbow of sorrow.
No apologies no regrets in a grey
endless hue.  Should I be sorry that
I love you?