pleased to meet you

 

Whats your name summer girl?
Will you stay until September comes?
And takes it’s sun from your blonde hair

Whose your type summer girl?
Who’ll hold you tight till the fall comes?
And your life takes you away

I remember seeing you
Before the summer sun touched your pale skin
And now you’re golden
And sitting round the fire with my friends

What’s your name summer girl?
Will you stay until September comes?
And your life takes you away

Whose your type summer girl?
Who’ll hold you tight till the fall comes?
And takes it’s sun from your blonde hair

All the lonely winter days

Crust and brake around like autumn waves
And Massachusetts Bays
And get cast out to sea and gone for good

Who’s your love?
Where will you go when September comes?
And brings your body back to him

Walk with me summer girl
Walk with me till the sun comes
And takes the night, our world, away

Summer Girl, Family of The Year

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to whom it may concern

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looking for advice?

please, let me advise.

might I suggest

you prioritize?

or better yet,

just reorganize

your values

your thoughts

your should

and should not’s

your stomach

“in knots”

your “can you please stop?” ‘s

now I’m changing the locks

and cutting mine, too

and all that was once so precious to you

it’s no longer yours

so when your heart pours

do not open my doors

do not beg on my floors

don’t show your heart’s halves

cleaved to have-not’s from have’s

you know, some scars surface

and some stay inside

but next time yours itches

remember, I tried

now leave me my pride

I’m changing the tide

not one tear left to cry

so hear this now:

goodbye.

rebirth

IMG_9221.JPGBeen a while since I felt this way about someone,
I’d really really like to know you, more,
Oh oh, know you, more

Oh, your eyes, they sing a song to me,
I’d really really like to go to it, oh, go, oh

And I will oh, open my heart
And I will oh, only for you

Only For You, Heartless Bastards

The reckoning.

A recognizing.

Recommended reintroducing.

A reentering of soul into changing body.

Changing mind, painting face.

Saving grace.

Erasing all trace.

Finding power in this space.

Hello, nice to meet you.

It’s me, we’ve met before.

But now I’m something more.

It’s hard to ignore.

The newness in us, myself and me.

Blooming into being.

Fruitful and all-seeing.

As we walk side by insides,

Rooted, yet free.

-12:14 on a Wednesday, Me, as a personal baptism begins

 

 

puddles of petals

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dripping red bikes so “JUMP”
so I do
into puddles of petals
blasting off nature’s confetti
and reigniting the celebration

I May march through a thin veil of rain
coat open it’s coating me
a darker shade of green
with every step

bloom, branch, blossom
exploding trees, creaky knees
reintroducing the birds to the bees
the green to the leaves
the warmth to the breeze
the you’s to the me’s…

spring wind

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Ah, a sunny Sunday spent spring cleaning before an evening show. Is there any better way to refresh and reset?

Life, man. It seems to wrack me with obstacles while I’m trudging through challenges and just when I think I might break, comforting words from an old favorite sing out, green air bursts through the windows, and I exhale.

I lived awhile without you,
Darn near half my life.
I no longer see our unborn children,
Born to you my unwed wife.
But yesterday I had a vision,
Beneath the tree where we once talked,
Of an old couple burning
Their love letters so their children
Won’t be shocked.

Love calls like the wild birds-
It’s another day.
A Spring wind blew my list of
Things to do…away.

My friends are gettin older,
So I guess I must be too.
Without their loving kindness,
I don’t know what I’d do.
Oh the wine bottle’s half empty-
The money’s all spent.
And we’re a cross between our parents
And hippies in a tent.

In a mucked up lovely river,
I cast my little fly.
I look at that river and smell it
And it makes me wanna cry.
Oh to clean our dirty planet,
Now there’s a noble wish,
And I’m puttin my shoulder to the wheel
’cause I wanna catch some fish.

-Jack Johnson, Spring Wind

pigs and figs

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3 pigs, 2 weekends, 6 sold out shows! Another successful chatterBOX in the trenches…

Time to reflect on curly tails and tiny blooms, as it’s starting to feel like Spring in Providence. And just in time…boy, does the universe have a way of serving what you need when you need it. Like that one reassuring saying goes, “you are never given a challenge that you are not ready and prepared to use for your own growth and evolution,” or something like that.

Speaking of timely quotes, after our “Mirrors” program, I stole away to Miami with B and read Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” in 3 days. I just couldn’t put the morose story down, Plath’s quiet cries seemed to cut through the thick South Beach air, past the sunshine and right down into my emo-loving soul. One passage stood out enough for me to copy down into my journal:

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

How tragically beautiful is that?

two thousand nineteen

As a lover of lists, I look forward to my once-yearly grand tally of each revolution round the sun. 2018 was a year of appreciating the struggle. And there was quite a bit. But there were also HIGH highs! Engagement! House! Book!

Just a few hours away from a brand new year, though, I can’t help but look ahead with the fear-excitement of a planner who loves clean slates and a chance to draw the most perfect picture.

Alas, the perfect picture is never really made, is it? We always regret that decision to dot our i’s with a heart in middle school, we spend hours sketching addresses for save-the-dates only to be slightly disappointed…or is that just me? Maybe this year I can not only embrace the struggle, but also welcome the harvest, whatever it may be.

Not to be mistaken for forced joy at life’s less-than-overjoying moments, welcoming the harvest means cooking with what you’ve got, even if it’s not your favorite veggies. This is not to say “make lemonade out of lemons”, because sometimes we just can’t. And that’s okay. Welcoming the harvest is about acknowledging when things don’t go exactly to plan, and then noticing that the earth has not stopped turning. Every crop is a lesson, an opportunity to learn. Welcoming the harvest is the decision to take it.

I’ve planted some major seeds in 2018. Let’s see how they bloom.

restful

a restful moment in january.

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a red ruby and a soaring american on a 26th birthday in february.

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too much on my plate in march.

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a mini-tour to new hampshire and a swim on stage in april.

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another fairytale princess in may.

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the trip of a lifetime and an engagement in june.

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sword-fighting pirates and reminiscing on italian adventures in july.

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dress shopping in august.

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first home purchasing in september(!!!)

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bostonian adventuring in october.

cape cod nutcrackering and book publishing (!) in november.

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a homemade stocking, two dancing queens, and so much good boo time in december.

 

Thank you for sharing this little corner of webspace with me. It has been a good eight (GASP!) years.