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Today was an especially Mondayish Monday. It seemed to drag on forever. I felt scattershot, unfocused, and less productive than I needed to be. What do you do when you feel like this, poem friends?

There is a lot going on here, in the north woods. We got about sixteen inches of fresh pow, and now it is raining on it. We had to call in favors to get our cars up our driveway and wished we had plows of our own. Friends in our other homeland, Missoula, MT, have been evacuated from their home right in town, because of avalanche danger. Their neighbors were rescued after a slide took off the entire second story of their house.

Another thing that is happening is that a risk we endeavored with family isn’t panning out the way we’d hoped. Not for a lack of hard work; I haven’t seen anyone more devoted and hardworking than them. Or us. We took a risk, and it didn’t work, but I am still in awe of what we accomplished and even though it is coming to an end, I’m proud of what has been done, and in awe of my family for their abilities. Life without risk isn’t really living, and the beauty is, in life and in art, in the attempt.

My beautiful friend Kathy posted this on the book of face today, and it got me thinking about aspirations, and dreams, and hope:


Isn’t that just freaking awesome? I’ve watched it like five times through. Humans dance with stars. What we imagine, we make. Imagine that, a poet inspired by stars. How original. I’m certainly not the first to gather some inspiration from those seven sisters. That said, we have to take inspiration when it comes, and that’s what’s coming tonight.

So, here:


When steeples sleep under deep drifts,

and hope is a merry bird, skittering just out of reach,

isn’t it a stunning temple we humans conjure?

Every daring brings a casting off of the solitary.

Each dream is a challenge for others to join in the brave dance.

“We reach for the stars”. Blech.

But there it is, hands tossed skyward,

faces naked and upturned,

hearts bared and luminous,

we turned the arrangement of dots into floating stories.

Because there is the sense of it. The celestial connection, the hands stretch to light,

and the recognition that we belong to the heavens, and vice versa.

It is the grandest yearning,

the flowering mind,

the greatest grasp,

the fixed cartography of the snickering firmament,

the transporting kingdom,

and the surest laughter.

These seven sisters teach big lessons.

That the body is less than the soaring,

that the fixed light is ours to clutch,

we are but rustic shadows,

rejecting the corporeal stuffing of fissures with tissues,

and demanding wedding with those staggering heights.

So often we throw up such admirable wishes,

and get nothing in return,

and that is tough knowledge.

But then, sometimes, yearly, in fact,

the hopeful orbs cast themselves down, and fall to earth,

because it goes both ways,

the spherical itch.


What are your big dreams, poemhearts? I’ve been told that this blog swallows comments. I can’t for the life of me find them. If you get here via facebook, comment there. It will be easier, and I desperately need to hear from you. It really does help, to think that you are out there. I wrote a star poem! first time ever. Woot Woot! AND it included the word “Blech”.  Happy Monday 🙂