Back to soul...for now

These are all poems I wrote more than ten years ago. They unearthed themselves for me.



Change of Season
The leaves of red and gold
the paler sun and bitter winds
did once foretell the chill
ascending in a soul
a life was rendered
changed forever.

Subconscious tricks of heart
and soul that left you breathless
The sun that once would
warm your core
departed now and
evermore.

Now reds and golds tell of light
and fire that burns of love anew
enduring patience made to ease
erase the pain
and change the season
once again

Becoming One
A long time coming, this contentment.

Stirring where forgotten feeling lies
and distant memory lifts its head
to ponder where the good life went.
But slowly, still yet crystal clear
the recollection comes in view
and to a heart once shuttered fast
the promise of a calm renewed.
So now instead of lonely days and nights
spent praying to whomever hears
the plaintive words to send a love
the days fall sweetly down and rest
an easy calm ascends the night
with paler moon then brighter sun
begins the day with hope anew
embracing hearts
becoming one.

For You
How do I let you know my love?
What once was thought to be sigh,
and inner breath was said aloud
and to the night, you by my side,
not daring breathe
not knowing how or if to move
but you
love you

I, too, have heard the words and seen
the look and know the lie in sound
and how the eyes deceive.
What looks like love is often lust
the words we hear, we want to trust
in you
love you

We fit like gloves, each hand in hand
We walk the step in time and yet
the fear of what could be
keeps us a measure off
away from me
and you
love you
I love you

The Dance

We met, we danced
we shared our stories on the edge.
We knew the something that we felt
Could not be shared until the
me and you
were there in whole
not just in part.

And now each one is one
our pasts and futures
turning 'round, entwining hearts
that felt a spark
when we were half
and touched again as
we are whole.

Waiter, there's a foot in my mouth!

Oopsey whoopsey! Here's the awful truth about me, once again.

For some unfathomable reason, I believed I could go back to work in law. With lawyers. In a law firm. Crazy, ain't I?

Our local rag had all of five help wanted ads and one of them was for a legal secretary, "excellent pay, part time, flexible hours." Hey, just the thing, right? I called and left a message saying I was interested in speaking to him about his job opening. My kick-ass resume and cover letter had been mailed in order to be on his desk by Monday for review prior to his calling me. That's what professionals do. Keep that in mind as you read on.

Sooooooo, last night he calls me back. Let's just say the poor bastard is now a little wiser for having spoken with me, and I can cross law off my list once and for all. Here's how it went down.

Little Sir Whipper Snapper calls, all self-important, saying how gosh-darned busy he was all weekend, blabbity blah, asks about my credentials. I suggest my resume should be on his desk. He retorts he doesn't have time to look for it. (Say what, you gumptionless turd?) So I rattle off the many fields of law in which I've worked, realizing I should have started with the short list of law I've not done. I tell him who I've worked for and he's quick to say he knows the "big guys." (Groveling kiss-ass.) Then he drops the bomb: "I'll want you to take a typing test."

Oh ho ho, wait just a minute there skippy boy! Polite as I can muster, I say, "I think at this stage of the game, that would be unnecessary with my level of experience. That's a bit offensive."... [insert dead silence on his end of the phone]. Or in the words of a master,

"All great truths begin as blasphemies." George Bernard Shaw.

Sir Snapper's Spideyman underroos are now riding up and he's stymied for the moment. He finally splutters back that no one has ever refused to take a typing test. He just keeps repeating in different ways that he's never heard of anyone being offended, mutter, mutter, mutter. Now I just feel sorry for him and he knows it. I reply, "Wait until you see my resume and perhaps then you'll understand." HIII-YAH!!! Right below the belt, kiddo! How'd that feel?

You must realize at this point, I could not care less. The tone of this kid's voice, his eagerness to ride on coat tails of the "big guys" I mentioned, and his obvious lack of organization speak volumes to me without meeting him face to face. My desire to babysit a cluttery, muttery wet-behind-the-ears braggart are ZE-ROH.

We end the call after I tell him if he finds in his eighteen applicants a no-hitter, to call me. Ha ha HAH! Like that's going to happen. That little punk had nightmares: "Hither came Joni the Barbarian! Curly-haired, sullen-eyed, lipstick in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, and tiny fists, to tread the jeweled thrones and typewriter of Sir Whipper Snapper under her sandalled feet!!!"

"Truth, like gold, is to be obtained not by its growth, but by washing away from it all that is not gold." Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy

The Universe wants me to write every day. She wants me to listen to Heaven's mandate to create. For whatever reason I keep trying to make an outside work life, it is in vain. My work is here; my writing life is my work. That is the golden truth.