June 29, 2013

1072. press

the lever Ne

gate T op

en d RES i


the n

Ne ver T l o n~e

p ate RES i d e



Posted by nancy at 10:58 PM | Comments (0)

June 27, 2013

1071. She said her father was

an American soldier.

She was from Vietnam, grew up living near the beach.
Her voice is soft and pretty to hear, like a blossom might speak.
She said that there were hurricanes every year. "So you lived with destroyed
houses every year," I said. "Yes," she said, explaining that they were inexpensive and plain for that reason. I did not understand every word she said, because her voice is quiet, but I did understand her gesture for her own house having a "metal roof, very hot," she said, shaking her head.

The color I had chosen for my nails was a purplish burgundy with sparkles in the color. I don't think her words sunk in fast, that her father was (or is) an American soldier. I had to remember hearing her say that as I paid my bill and drove away because it seemed possible that I did not hear that. But I had. She said that.

In talking during the time it took pleasantries and her steady skill to remove and prepare and apply a new shade to dry on my hands, I considered her. I think of her now and continue to think of her. She and her husband are not simply business owners putting their children through college, waiting for their time, a later time, to think of themselves. She is giving every day of her life into a service that is long working hours, making a living in America. She grew up in Vietnam, and her father was an American soldier. An American soldier. I don't know why that is marvelous, but it is completely marvelous to me.

Posted by nancy at 11:01 PM | Comments (0)

1070. at sea

today in a sub | marine space

fish, airless | compositions | ancient scene

not drugged, but | dragged into wake

full | Ness, believed and sought

by divers | weights, sub | merging murky water, land

locked myth, today | i am at sea.

This can be called sickness, because it is.
When I begin with air again, writing will be less bogged.
I am not drugged, continuing with regular managements, proper doses.
What I am experiencing is the imbalance of having grown a psyche too
connected to shore, to surety, rarely risking joy over daylight, rushing toward dawn as clocks, united, spin expectant nonsense.

Posted by nancy at 12:37 PM | Comments (0)

June 25, 2013

1069. the decade

began for you

a shock
a sorrow surprising as white rain long

falling when the sun is shining and chalk

fade intense

down the river that is not a river

only colors mixing in high clouds

sun raking

sensible as plucked gray, hairs belonging

to you, surprised to receive a silver river
of high

shining sunlight.

may have been a shock, a sorrow, loosed

footing several months or the whole 365
in 50

weeks of leaning

into 59, wary stability

would arrive
in time.

Posted by nancy at 11:27 PM | Comments (0)

June 23, 2013

1068. You were on a porch

either sitting hunched over your legs,
or you were lying on your side,
watching the volleyball game.

I could not take my eyes away from being aware you were there.
You were intensely handsome to see, but further, you were unique,
not loud at all, but strong, reserved.

Are you strong? I know you are
strong enough to see the truth about your life, and know
the truth of your abilities to continue

in circumstances opposed
to you, you made arrangements to leave your reputation for a time,
to get your life into a place you needed to go.

You are strong.
Seeing you on the porch years ago, I knew.
I did not know that I was not strong.

I was adaptable and attempted to be as strong
as my parents were active. I learned to choose a path
and take it without much thought.

I have
made myself
absent in


This is not poetry, only lines of thought for this number, observed.

Posted by nancy at 05:47 PM | Comments (4)

June 22, 2013

1067. You don't see it

at face value
until you type

the word "peat"
into the apple

dictionary widget
and read "hag" defined.

I try again typing "peat"
and again "hag" is defined.

You don't see God's Fingers
crossing all of yours, typing

an afternoon's history into
something poetic, like it is

not a rant on some negative
"hag" burning "peat" time.

I am defined, twice "hag".
Unacceptable work, words

I formed into expressions
from something he meant

well and did poorly. Rubbing
that in, to show how mean

acceptance is in a woman's
hands typing reality, actions

God defines through apple
dictionary widget as "hag".

I am a "hag". Period.
No more to say. No

fingers allowed
their true story.


apple widget "peat" and tell me if you don't get "hag";
okay, now do the same in the thesaurus widget. That's where is happened.

Posted by nancy at 06:51 PM | Comments (0)

1066. as sunlight shimmering

through breeze dappling bricks

in trembling glaze i see energy poured

our airways open, receiving

Christ focus, give stamina to live
today now, our Saturday thankful.

Posted by nancy at 10:09 AM | Comments (0)

June 21, 2013

1065. Day

4 fair o u r

1 o n e

25 t w e n t y f i v e

Posted by nancy at 10:57 PM | Comments (0)

1064. the mother carried two

sons within, and birthing,

returned her soul to its Maker,

leaving one body to

bury, and six to


Posted by nancy at 04:15 PM | Comments (0)

1063. de







Ed, please list



avor id.

At a point
where i would change
my skin, if I could, to erase
humiliation of being white and op (a city)




through aware now every


is further gone as them

selves, skins a side fact,

like face grows noses;

heads, ears.

Deactivate demanding endeavor ID.
Skin be you, intact,
frightened wit

Posted by nancy at 03:49 PM | Comments (0)

June 10, 2013

1062. marble factory

button factory
needle factory
balloon factory
string factory
pencil factory
eraser factory
paper factory
US Mint.

candy factory
Altoids factory
bandaid factory
earplugs factory
wheel factory
reel factory
tackle factory
bobble-head factory
rubber fish factory

dog toys factory
rubber mice factory
news factory
newspaper factory
dark socks factory
striped socks factory
paint factory
language factory
noise factory
ticket factory
static electricity factory
puppet factory
doll clothes factory
small curtains factory
theater company fabrics factory
candy lips factory
stand alone display cases factory
radio housing factory
repairing broken history factory
protecting today factory
making room for displaced people factory

glue factory
synthetic fibers factory
Simon Says factory
all things Elvis factory
Neil Diamonds factory
Standing Room Only factory
lotto balls factory
recycled numberless lotto balls factory repository field
Stand of trees.
Small house with driveway, mown lawn, back patio.

Burgers. Beef. Mushroom. Vegetable. Mushroom.
This is what I think of when asked, "What do you think of burgers?"

Victoriana factory
Remembered People factory
Humans are Us factory
Humans were Them factory
Bottle with tears factory
Voices speaking, "I'm not hungry, thanks" factory
Voices speaking, "I'm famished" "Do you want milk, Sweetheart?" factory
Voices speaking under their breaths, "yea" "right" "oh" "stop, please" "look this way" factory

The Look This Way factory
the I Love You factory, never closed, though abandoned for centuries.
the Park Artilleries At The Door factory
the Please Bring A Spoon factory
the You Are Welcome, yes You factory
Fax machine factory
Tighten yourself factory
New Language factory
Use Your Own Body instructions factory
Ink factory
Everything that rhymes with "ink" factory
Temperamental Elegance extinct factory

Genuine Everything Dear To You factory
Free factory
Come get your animal factory

One visit per lifetime factory
One life per visit factory
Savior. Creator. Nature. Music. "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

Remembers Love.
Closes distance.
Grace. for typos.

Posted by nancy at 05:16 PM | Comments (2)

June 08, 2013

1061. writing

is not prayer.

I stop to pray for my mother-in-law; my mother; my younger sister who is ill.

writing does not send prayers to Christ's ears, though He is not blind to my fingers,
moving. I stop to pray now, remembering Him, and in remembering bring others with me to Him, and His Words, seeking those to repeat promises and speak better prayers than I might imagine Him answering.


is not loving.

I stop to love, and love, making sure love has time to recognize itself with me, God's love loving.

Do not leave off any part of praying or loving. Stop and pray. Stop and love in time.

Posted by nancy at 08:45 PM | Comments (0)

June 07, 2013

1060. Thought i was recycling

Trash by the road:
many wet cardboard boxes, many household plastic containers, milk cartons, laundry bottles, fruit juices.
Then photographs and two shiny pennies, two keys, colored pencils, music that attaches to a marching band instrument.

This was not trash by the road.
This was a tragedy shaped like a family that had not taken its valuables with them.
Or like a family whose house had betrayed their trusting it to hold their valuables.

Recycled as much as had room in my two containers to recycle, but could not ignore the depth of loss left in the yard.
Maggots were in the first handful lifted.
Was wearing gloves but had not been that close to maggots before.
The dumpster was empty.
Did not have trash bags, and impulse was to throw trash like this into the dumpster.
Wonder now if was not creating a smaller, worse environment for the next person to remove.

Rotten bananas did not resemble food on the grass.
Bags, seen as containing recycled garbage, were actually filled with the contents of a refrigerator: removed pickles, salad dressings, Baconettes, toppings that dress a healthy meal.
Could not consider each piece and threw the bags into the dumpster, feeling sadness and tears and, can't call it anger, but perhaps uncertainty: How does this happen?

There was Christmas garland and a broken Christmas toy-body—once a happy decoration for a porch.
Had trouble throwing the legs of it into the dumpster, because they were the approximate size of child legs, though nothing at all like real child legs.

Do not know what happened to this family, but in some way they either betrayed themselves or were themselves betrayed.
The house stood neat and quiet, and the more tried to remove wet boxes and empty plastic containers, the further realized this job was not "neighborly recycling" in hand.
Could not finish the work.

Felt I'd stumbled upon an open grave of people not buried.
There was a live mouse under one of the boxes, and my husband was waiting for me to pick him up at Home Depot.
My husband is not a mouse, but I do not think he would have looked twice at the mess in the yard.
Still wonder why I did.

Two items removed to
protect the family, to mail to
their places of business. But know could
not have seen all that needed or wanted
protecting. The family was not there. Some children
from the neighborhood came around, smiling and interested, riding their bikes.
Maybe they knew about this mess.

Know it is God Who protects us, them, the family strewn, but hope
time was a part of His kind providence and not an intrusion into a place
did not belong, either as neighbor or seer. Never expected, when decided to recycle what could, to discover a family thrown out into the weather to saturate in maggots, rain, and mice. What

do we do when this happens to people? Thankfully,

Jay finished his business at Home Depot and was able to ride with me to the recycling spot up Rutherford.
We recycled the plastics, some of them from our own house, and wet, flat cardboard and paper.

That was all I could do.

Is there more to be done?
It seems like there is, but by whom, and how?

Posted by nancy at 01:08 PM | Comments (0)

June 04, 2013

1059. Elsie Simons

summoned early her rebuttal.

Late she heard the answer
quiet, Just Remind Him. When {you}
{you} wake, He loves you, leads you

well, Elsie Simons.

(Elsie is the name of a dog that my sister and brother-in-law own. She is a Great Dane, healthy and well-loved. Occasionally I like to bring names to actions in a small amount of words, not like a story or prophesy, but like hope mirrors a healthy life-given name.)

Posted by nancy at 06:28 PM | Comments (0)