A Day in the Life of An Island

A Day in the Life
of My Pretty Pony Island

Lying in low Chincoteague grasses a pony is running
With a million little girls drawing on the mane
Wanting to ride this morning
On the Island of plastic Assateague
With the purple and yellow fringed saddle and spurs.
All packaged by Mattel to replace
A sunrise when on this island actual rain fell
Breezes blue Misty and pinto pony ran to the shores edge.



A Day In the Life Lost Isle

Everyone wants to go to a place in this deep blue sea,
To drown in the isle of her milked honeyed lies
Everything works there, but the people
All free to be and explore their meanings
It's a good thing it's underwater
Cause you'll definitely drown.



A Day in the Life of the Island of my Soul

We'd eat white beans and cornbread on Wednesdays
With those oatmeal peanut butter cookies
On my island of soul full of woe
And fry okra and butter sear trout in almonds
Blackeyed peas and lima beans, my lovey.
We'd stock up on grits and riz biscuits
Raspberry jam cooked in a pot in the morning.
Raise the roof singing while stirring wet rice
Pole beans, blue berry cobbling, zucchini relish
Ah, a plate of sweet corn with watermelons.
The foods of good life nourishing the soul.



A Day In the Life of Baby Island

Would your dreams be of finding a love to call your own like mine are now sweet baby?
Would Coltrane play his lonely suite of Supreme Love, is your baby dozing too?
As you wake and cry for nourishing milk, do you feel the hunger as I do now to stitch the rips in the sugar life you were given?
Rest here against soft breast and body, do you yearn with me now, for the skin of another to caress away all the pain in your living.
As you stretch and gaze and are rocked with love, are you wrapping feather pillows that replace the arms that never will hold you close?
As you fuss and are nurtured are you aware that the home is rented or mortgaged of walls that deny us the real safety, of mind, we need, we shelter ourselves from the cold?
Sweet little one on the island of infancy, wake us all from the darkness of age.



A Day In the Life of Crossword Island
I cannot write Rhone or Caspian or for that matter
Black, Red or Dead 'Seas' without visualizing the cross
Words making the clues fit into
Their places with the satisfaction of knowing
The world is better for this.
White Elephants for Hemingway's Hills
Appearing on the print horizon.


A Day in the Life of a Blonde Island

It didn't last too long but for fifteen years my blond head
The thin figure meant a door got opened
Or a box lifted and definitely a glass filled
In exchange for the presumption I would giggle and demurely
Decline to say anything of any sense.
Except perhaps, "I'd love to"
Or, "Isn't it a wee bit hot in here?"
Let me remove my wrapper and liquefy.
In my cellophane I was once candy apple read.


A Day in the Life of the Island that Ran To The Sea

He wrote all rivers run to the sea
That was enough to take my imagination for
Years, to hold crashing through me, as images of my escape
Into the deep, deep water were seen
Then I loved you in my blind whitewater rushing
As I flowed over the sharp eroding rocks
Onto the salty waves
To lose a self and become a current
That absorbs and receives us timelessly.



A Day in the Life of The Island of Cats

They are weary on this isle of false movement
Of taming, preferring to do their own tricks
Like avoidance, tail chasing and leaving.
They are cats and you can't expect too much.
On the island they like to be fed without waiting
Often then decide that it's not up to their standard
To walk away haughtily and find someone else.
Easily bored, attentionally disordered
(Not unlike every male I love)
These island variety cats are back-alleys
Dangerous, soft velvet , lions of kittens born
Whiskered, offensively then defensively napping in isle nooks
You may be thought a friend, if you just walk away.


A Day in the Life of the Inner Island

Here inside are the perceptions, delusions, the true entitlements
Moving over are the dreams, the hopes, angers and the fears
Your projections, the desire here is so hot it sears your lust or
With the ice cold loneliness another plunges you into frigid depths.
Mind gaming this place can unrelentingly be talking
Turning that love flame to embarrassment and shame.
It holds ecstasy, understanding and joys, often as opiates
Inner peace can open on this inner island like the lotus
Become a mirage of beauty, quickly eroded by doubt, memory and distortions
Or as an onion remain layered and tight held closed by inadequacies,
Friendless it is a space only known by a self.
Sorting self doubt and voices of conscious, this inner
Island is the gift of our unique and beautiful human mind
The evolution of our biology as animal
Insight from the inner islet in the ocean of vacuous nothingness.
The glimpse, without sight, at our hopes for self knowledge.



A Day in the Life of Lost Friends Isle

Oh where or where can my little friend be?
Oh where o where can he be
With his ears cut short and his little bald dome
Oh where oh where can he be?

Oh where oh where has that silly friend gone?
Oh where not there can he flee
I said to him that I loved him with song
And now he hides in his tree.

Oh where oh where has my Long lost friend gone
Did he really think this was the key
To run so far and be gone so long
To prove he meant nothing to me

Oh where oh where has that little sweet got
His life is so precious to me
For he has no idea of his capacity to heal
Nor apparently how sad one can feel.



A Day in the Life on an Island in America

If I were naming an island in America I might call it Marmalade
Or possibly Indigo Reef. Maybe it would need a name to describe the sky
Azure the Isle, or Cloud None, it works.
Maybe it's a place of meadows that needs a name like Queen Anne's Place
Or the Strawberry Fields, which might not work out
If it grows Lupines and blackberries and needs a name such as Finches Island.
Oh whatever the name it knows the sea that sits on each side of our shores.
On a first name basis it speaks to ocean, as we also might know how to speak with something that bathes us.
That provides our isolation, strength, nourishment and sustains the
Conditions to call it America's Isle.



A Day in the Life, on a Dream Island

Ah the recurring dream you ask about as you search out pathologies
It's easy tonight as my head falls into pillow
The only dream that holds my husband is the recurrent one where I try and try to reach him
On phones that do not dial, or I repeatedly enter it wrong
He is living away or gone to places I do not know and
I use energy in this dream trying to find anyone who can
Give me a small clue to try to find a man who does not wish to be
Found or even wanted.
I wake myself from this saying he is there, this is so ridiculous
But it isn't a feeling remotely like relieved.

Here I am in a life where
I am again fond of a man who gives no number
No connection to know if alive or dead, no sometimes call to check and see if I am alive
There is no dialing wrong or letter to share.
I'm shamed for wanting that at all, again.
It is just nothing at all really, I think he called it perfectly innocent.
A dream awake that drives panic attack and confounded feelings up
To the consciousness with heavy determination
I'm dreaming of being unable to connect, lost
Of a need for a someone that is just there
Holding your hand.