The Stories of Tears

Morgue File

i am afraid of tears
afraid that they have no end, once started

they tell forgotten stories
that i choose to ignore
until i can't any longer

their tiny detonators
disrupt rivulets long forgotten
finding their way into the wash
pushing toward the surface

destroying dams
i thought wired into place



I am feeling the loneliness of the old. I think it has to do with more pain and less sleep lately.  But today the tears started, and I don't know when they will stop.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015

The Subject is Pain

the morgue file

Sometimes I try to make sense of very complicated emotions in poetry. I will look at a form or see something pass out of the corner of my eye and something will make sense to be --suddenly.  I think that is what poetry is, a making sense of something universal--


For me today, the subject is pain.

i want to form fists
that cannot break
upon contact

hard surfaces
a sounding board
pain
its reaction

always clear upon impact
my question
how now
to find
a moment of float
along its current

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015

night sky

John Bauer
Riddaren Rider, 1914
Wikimedia Commons

i fell from the sky

moonlight dancing

on bits of memory

etched on junk dna

left behind

as the universe

found its rhythm.

i called out to the sun

to find its way to me

a memory imprinted

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2014

Posted for Poets United

the need to weed

wikimedai commons

Natubico

Life's changes continue to unfold 

without reference to the desires of my heart. 

Plans feel mired

 unkempt. 

I suppose i could weed a bit, 

but i like the feel of the grasses

 high up on my thigh as i wade through them--

just a bit of sun behind them.

copyright/all rights reserved

Audrey Howitt 2014

Transformation's Petals

wikimedia commons

Jef132

Bourgeon de rose sous les gelées alsaciennes

It is a year of transformation, not so much because I desire it, although I am restless by nature, but more so because it is trust upon me. And even though I have mentally prepared for much of it, I find myself reacting more than I would like--it is like dodging bullets of some kind I think. 

transformation fills the air

its motion insistent

its sound intrepid

a sense that i could do without

i suppose

i think

as it jerks my arm

waking me.

its heart, a bud really

about to unfold

the unfolding seems inevitable

and like all spent flowers,

petals will litter my floor.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2014

for dverse OLN

A Lesson in Letting Go

wikipaintings.org

William Adolphe Bouguereau

Portrait of Gabriella, 1890

This winter has been a lesson in letting go. My children move on, inhabiting their lives, finding the path they are meant to walk. I want to hold them in my arms and tell them the secrets i have learned--that life is short and that love is sweet, even when it fails, that in their time, i wish them all the joy their lives can possibly contain, so much so that it spills out and inhabits those around them. I want them to know that they hold a place inside me that no one will ever dislodge.

There is no magic in this. It is only that I love them. And the letting go means that I trust them enough to let their wings loose in the world to soar as they should.

Heart outstretched

i find the pulse of you

moving through air

a soft weave against my cheek.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2014

May it always be so

wikimedia commons

Louis Janmot

Poème de l'âme (16) : Le Vol de l’âme

in the public domain in the United States

How many ways are there to feel your soul pass through mine

I balance you on the tip of my heart sometimes 

just to see your face as I recall it when you were small

and still your sweet voice sweeps through me when I least expect it

a tumult in my eyes

brings me to my knees

I look at pictures of other children and still see you 

in your wildness

and in your strength.



may it always be so




copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2014

Thank you Beth

Shorts in January

it should be colder
this winter
no wind whips by

i saw a girl walking downtown today
in shorts
it is january

six months from now
i expect that we will all be hoarding water
putting bricks in toilets
like so much rusted water
with little signs about yellow and mellow

but today, i too pulled out my shorts
a tribute to global warming


How can this be?  We are so warm and much of the rest of the country is frozen. They used the term "drought" for the first time this week in a long time. I expect we will hear much more of it---

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2014

Breath Made Visible

wikimedia commons

Anna Halprin

DLambertNJ

I need to breathe somewhere close to my chest
where the pillows can't reach me
with their quills pointing

I need to feel something akin to quiet
but as I type the word, it feels foreign
a land beyond my ken

I had a dream not too long ago
about breath
moving through soundlessly
a vision
rather than a cue

sifted in light



The end of a year and the beginning of another one. I feel the closing of doors behind me, a certitude of endings of some sort. And I pause for a moment and hold my breath before I left it leave me.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

posted for Dverse

The seasons change and so do I

wkimedia commons

Kate Mereand

autumn has grabbed hold of leaves and pushed its way into veins
altering my perceptions of the small things
inside me.

i posted poems and gathered words like raked leaves
falling short
under brittle tines
pinned to blackened earth.


i said good bye and forged hellos
out of sodden tinker toys
and wondered where i was going.

i wonder still.


copyright/all right reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

Hello Goodbye

wikimedia commons

mkindia 08

I welcome one daughter home this week after a year on the road with her boyfriend and a backpack.  I am getting ready to say goodbye to my other daughter as she gets ready to work in Germany for a year.  So I feel in between somehow, moving along a riptide of emotions.

Expect the unexpected
ride the tide and let be
pulling bits of tears from lips smiling in hope
I fold them both into parts of my heart
to keep them safe
and to touch them before I sleep.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

Chitterings

wikimedia commons

Photograph by: Hernán De Angelis Campephilus, 2008

I sit and watch the squirrels chase each other in the walnut tree outside
Their chitterings
can peel paint
off the sides of trees
on a velvet day

and yet I don't mind


how does one small animal manage to make such a racket?


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

Pee Mail

wikimedia commons

John Sargent Noble

Otter Hunting ("On the Scent")

In the public domain in the United States

The sun shone in my heart this morning as I was walking Sasha out to the baseball field.  The dew was still on the grass and nestling its way between my toes. I reached down and took off her leash so that she could sniff as her nose might lead her and not for the first time, stopped to think about what joy that simple act must give her.

I have heard that the difference between a human's olfactories and that of a dog can best be described thusly:
While I might smell something cooking on the stove as marinara, Sasha can smell each ingredient, its proportion, and could, if she had the knowledge, tell you where the ingredient came from.

A perfumerie really.

Her nose tracks some scent
lost to me
intensity in tracking
until she finds the exact spot
then she pees on top of it
pee mail received and answered


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

A Bee's Demise (Almost)

wikimedia commons

A common worker bee

William Cho

Lying among the weeds and the occasional blade of grass, she warms older bones and drowses. Almost asleep, a bees arouses some long buried instinct linked to survival, and she snaps at it, almost clamping down on it.

At 10 years old, she has snapped at many bees in her lifetime, and each time she gets one, she gets stung. But either the sting is not enough to deter, or the instinct runs strong, bumping from one synapse to another.  If I watch long enough, she'll get another one.

Buzz brightly
among the aloe-scented fur
freshly washed
scented
to lure.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

The Desire For Summer

wikimedia commons

 Summer flowers at Stockwood park

Brookie

I am craving the stillness, the indolence of summer, its high heat spreading like a sheet around me, underneath me.  I am not quite there in terms of my schedule. I have about 4 weeks left to go of intense work. But everyday when I wake up the sun sings its awakening and I am pulled to it before I turn and face the list of things that must be done today.

But first . . .

a small dance
just a two step
on the grass grown too high
its blades grazing my calves
as i feel the light crown my head
and watch the breeze blow through tender grape leaves
against the red fence

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

Crayola Grey

wikimedia commons

Conté crayon assortment.

Just Plain Bill

I am stressed by the small things right now. A mistaken date on an email. An unexpected chore to take care of.  My failings.

And my failings seem to loom larger right now. Each failing, a catastrophe in the making. Each failing making me feel smaller.

I seem to be able to carve it out and look at it, letting it grow in front of me. Then, when I turn my back to look at the next one, this one recedes a bit.

Failings are sad things really. They crown my day in grey. It is like having a box of crayolas --all in varying shades of grey--the 64 crayon size.

My box is out in front of me today and I am looking intently within. No matter how I move them around inside, I can't seem to feel better about it.


blinking
i see the movement swiftly
from the corner of my eye

the jay perches on the old refrigerator
outside the laundry shed

the one rusting out

the jay lens some blue to the grey shed next door
not knowing that my 64 are broken now into nubs

i grab blue while i can


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

An Ictus to My Day

wikimedia commons

Hillebrand Steve, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

A mist rises from a black spruce forest

Image from Public domain images website, http://www.public-domain-image.com/full-image/nature-landscapes-public-domain-images-pictures/fog-mist-public-domain-images-pictures/a-mist-rises-from-a-black-spruce-forest.jpg.html

My pen lies in the tapping of keys, a rhythmic ictus to my day.  The sounds of tapping can fill time. I am not sure that they can fill a soul nor help it to find peace.

The tapping continues for lack of a better path. Perhaps that is a loss. Perhaps not. But the way remains through somehow.

Always through.

tiny steps
on blistered feet
each small stone
making its presence known
through pain

the pain bring an odd sort of peace
the fullness of it
alerting me
to the small stone I might not have otherwise known


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt

The Sight of Small Stones

wikimedia commons 

Kersplosh

aussiegall

i blink in the small spaces in between
those spaces where fear has rooted and sprouted

and as i go there today, turn my eyes inward

i am aware of the small pebbles beneath the water
reflecting light above them

i feel like one of them
tossed
floating finding a resting place
reflecting the light

and as i feel the other pebbles about me
i turn my eyes to them and see that each one is turned toward the light

who am i not to then?


I am not sure if this is a poem or a musing. I know that the nature of fear and the willingness to feel the other things around me in addition to fear is one of the things I am thinking about. Today in the shower, I blinked and in the darkness in between I saw a set of small stones on a river bed in my mind's eye. There is a peacefulness in that image for me.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013

I Grew Afraid

wikimedia commons

Image from Public domain images website, http://www.public-domain-image.com/full-image/art-public-domain-images-pictures/abstract-creation.jpg.html

I sat in front of the computer for a long time. It used to sing sweet songs of lyricism in the poets venue. It sang often and I listened. And as I wrote, I felt the need to get "better" at it. I started to listen harder, not more deeply, only harder, to discern the voice and let it speak.

I got better. People liked my work. Or so they told me. I got better still.

I was still listening harder. Not more deeply.

I got my first criticism. I got my first rejection.

I grew afraid.

Don't we all grow afraid?  I was afraid that it wasn't good enough.

I was afraid that that was all there was.

I was afraid to write.

I stepped away from the computer and tended my garden for awhile. It sang sweet songs, simple songs to me. I listened deeply. And the tears fell out of the pockets of my eyes. I felt the wind touch my cheek and then I sang.  I sang back to the trees and the ground and to the buds in the morning dew.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013