Thursday, July 31, 2014

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

211/365 : What women do


Your name ran out of my mouth 
Down the hall 
To the glass-window door
Where it smashed it's face against it
And fell backward 

I helped it up anyway
Because that is what women do
With all their little boys

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

210/365 : two poems in

sometimes we have to get
10 fake poems out
before we can get down
to the bones
of our
knowing

I'm only two
poems in


Monday, July 28, 2014

209/365 : 2am, afraid to write



is there any poetry left in me?
my throat tingles and whistles 
so i suppose 
that's a yes

yes
there is the poem about the train
and the other one about the itch
and the big one about 
the owning

i'm afraid i can't keep writing love poems
about the same old love story

i'm afraid 
this love story
has gotten old

Sunday, July 27, 2014

208/365 : Each day we move closer to The Quiet


You zip up your jeans 
Tuck in your shirt
Pull close your belt
And gentle-grip-whisper 
Your goodbye kiss

I moan naked standing 
Legs warm and opening 
Always slipping into my kiss,
"Don't go"
"I never want you to go"

But you go
And I go
I, into my silver car
Or you, yours

We go home to ourselves
We get under our own quilts
We give ourselves our own speeches 
About who we think we're allowed to be
And if we're winning or losing 

We fight 
Alone
Until we decide to go home again
To an older home

Round and warm
Sweet as fire
A place where sweetness 
Is bigger than ego
And melting is more magical
Than staying solid
Or zipped

Saturday, July 26, 2014

207/365 : You are in


Tonight the stars tickled the back of my neck
And the grass hugged my hips happy

I didn't need your lips
But they were a bonus of moon drooling ever-so-still-cruising across the craters of my heart

I take it back
I needed them--

I keep pretending I can do this practice alone 
But your hand is missing in the fold of my knee every time I'm overthinking and under cuddling 
Every time I'm caught pretending that I can make out with myself 
I'm glad it's you who catches me
With my teeth surrendered
My jaw drawn like an open bridge
Your tongue swimming in 
Plunging in 
Diving and back stroking and butterflying in
In in in 
You are in the wet mystery of me 
You are in the silent rhythm of me
You are in the forgotten heat of me
You are in the tunnel, the darkness, the light, the drive
You are in, driving, driving in the moonlight on the back country road to nowhere but now, 
hands and music and lips and quiet reckless dreams that we never say aloud
You are in my shout 
My rapture
My clenched fist full of sheets 
My dripping sweaty belly beats
My mudslide sacrifice
My secret cubby 

You are in, and I am between your body and god
A little orb of fairy glow
A little chance for you to know
You can have the heavens in the palms of your hands
You can fuck your prayers 
You can lay unravelled there in the lap of your lady
Like a little boy in a happy home 
Like a cottonwood seed
Floating in a puddle of holy love

Friday, July 25, 2014

206/365 : a message from the sky

go home to the river, child
cross twigs like teepees
and blow generously on the spark

there is no need to start fights
in your mind
over time or fame or safety

there is only one fire that matters:
and that is the fire of now

blow sweetly into the heat
fan the friction of wood

watch the light grow
into something good and warming

let it warm you



Thursday, July 24, 2014

205/365 : the marriage of power and voice

i can hear my voice
full as a songbird, smoke-less
unhurt chords, healthy

i've remembered my belly
the bellow, the might, the source

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

204/365 : guts and breath and believing



oh gut, you mudslide,
you goopy marsh of bubbles,
popping growling doubt

oh breath, take me to the river--
baptize me a believer

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

203/365 : After Breaking Up and Getting Back Together 7 weeks in a Row


What am I learning here?


That self-love is uncompromisingly
honest

That my throat compression is trying to
tell me something

big

like, let yourself go

to where the wind flows through your body
and you are not clogged with lying 
or
"I-don't-know-ing" your heart 

you can be
brave
and
dreamy

go quietly
without a wimper
with crystals in your eyes
knowing

Monday, July 21, 2014

202/365 : Bridges


Jodi taught me about bridges
the other day after dance

To move from scarcity
to sufficiency

You appreciate
what you have

To move from sufficiency
to prosperity

You ask for what you want
And know when to walk away

Tonight Chris suited back up after we made love
Black jeans, belt, tucked in shirt, sturdy boots

I laid naked in my white jersey sheets
And watched him walk away

Sunday, July 20, 2014

201/365 : I am here to remember



The crows are black as ash down here at the river
And the fire smoke is midnight lavender, flush against my skin

I've come here to remember the weight of fallen branches
Sometimes lite with a long history of surrender
Other times dense and strong to the touch

These arms know the feeling of reaching, scavenging
Like a baby's lip to a mother's breast
Culling in her nourishment

These feet are not afraid of thorns or rigid rocks
They have walked across coals
They know buoyancy in their soles

There is a natural, quiet crackling
A slow simmer disintegration
A humility, perhaps greater than hunger

I am here to remember that this humility 
is the birthplace of warmth

I am here to toss the trappings of the crammed up digital age
Into the laughing fire of the ancient ways

I am here to remember a million years of thriving by the flame

I am here to remember the circle

Saturday, July 19, 2014

200/365 : does this make you a king?


you sucked so hard on my neck
that momentarily
my belonging
felt everlasting

momentarily
i could quiet the queen
hush the scream of knowing
you're fucking somebody else

does this make us royalty?

Friday, July 18, 2014

199/365 : THE REVOLUTION OF SOUL, AS INSPIRED BY LEGAL BROS



i like the energy of the bros to the left of me
studying for the LSATs.
rigor. scrutiny.
a weird mental passion.
backward hats.
"bring it on, complexity!"
highlighters.
pie.
livestrong bracelets.
faces close to the page.

i can feel the machete in the fields of their minds.
new pathways.
treading, grunting.
"i'm losing my mind!"
yes. lose it. lose it. lose it.
"i'm not even going to DEAL with that one."
no. don't. don't. don't.

i am whispering my stories,
my writings for the revolution.
i am typing new possibilities
in the light of an ancient fire.
i am tired, too.
i am losing my mind, too.
"none of that really clears anything up," he says.

we are in the dark swampy lake, together.
they are grabbing for slimy vines.
i am letting go, sinking to the sandy bottom.
i am emptying my lungs
the beat of my heart thumping on without me.

she is singing in the silence,
"dream now. dream now.
you will emerge later in the light
and you will not be who you were before you dreamt.
you will be full of midnight stars
and a fiery smarts
that's mightier than the mind.
you will know how to keep your soul alive.
you will wake and shake the winds of change.
dream now. be unafraid."

"those are the elements i fail to see," he says.
"because they're so obvious. so obvious."

i am writing the obvious secret of the lake.
i am calling home the dragonfly.
a spider is crawling across my arm.
i am weaving a rigorous web.
a weird physical passion
of words to catch you,
tell you the story
of how to be fed by something
as intoxicating
and dangerous
as a dream.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

198/365 : The Missed Potential is Maddening


In the spirit of bringing more raw shit to the woo woo nation of my particular Facebook feed:

MISSED POTENTIAL
by Rachael Maddox

It's 9pm in a major American city
I am in a trance-like Pie Bar in a hip area of town
There is a live DJ spinning better-than-disco throw backs 
And it's fucking magical

But somehow, the barista-bar-tender-pie-cutter 
Is paying more attention to the dude who wants to buy $5s of pie
Than the dude (who's her boyfriend) who wants to make out with her

And it makes me think about the movie Amelie
And I must admit, I start idealizing France
Because in my gut, there's this insistence that somewhere, there are people who would never put their loyalties into low wage service
Somewhere, there must be a place where distracted by romance is not a crime 
Where you can kiss with your ass in the face of the customer--
Make them hungry for meaning that fills deeper than pie

But it's 9pm in an American city
In a magical vortex of tunes, pies and booze
And no one is making out 

Instead, the room is full of laptops
Zombies on LAPTOPS

There is a dad-son duo 
And they are bobbing their heads
And we do connect for a moment
About the sparkle in the air
And people scattered everywhere
Neck-curled, hunched, missing it

And then there's me:

I am eating two pieces of pie alone.

The man in line in front of me
Ordered two, looked back and said to me, 
Of course!
Why not?

And I thought
He's right, Why not?
I never eat pie
I am here to eat pie now!
I will have two slices

So I'm in this pool of pietopia potential
Eating two slices of pie alone
My phone is not in my hand
I am taking everything in

The red dressed walls
The neon sign 
The street glow outside
The fat and vibrant DJ
The eye-glazed computer zombies
The pretty girls behind the counter
The zero dancing
The amazing music 
The rising and falling of slow-hum chests

I am secretly wishing everyone had cigarettes 
That the smell was ruining our hair--
Then at least we'd be connected 
By a poison we could see 
Floating between us
Eye to eye
Daring to find 
The pupil

I'm taking everything in, wondering
How it is possible 
That we've erased the temptation for
Real Life Sex
Where is our wild, damnit?
Must I go to the woods?

I am eating my pies
The Flirty Berry is drooling on my tongue
The real-butter crust is massaging my molars
The Peacan goop residue is still on my fingers 
from when I tore the slice apart, scooped the goop,
Recieved it shamelessly in the bed of my mouth--
Really had it like I wanted it

I'm taking everything in 
Through the pores of my skin
Through the hunger of my heart
Through the neon light eternal flicker
Of my techno-grooving soul

There is an every day everywhere 
missed potential to FEEL
And it is driving the wild in me mad

So mad that all I can think is,
I'll have sex with the first person who smashes his laptop here
I swear I will
And I will hold nothing back

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

197/365 : make your witch a broomstick




today, i did not go to the river.
not yet.
i washed the soot off my walls.
i drenched myself in salt.
i called home my witch.
i made her a broomstick.

except...i didn't.

i wish i would.
i wish i would love my dark wizard.
i wish i would see him as oz,
small and timid behind some big
talking mask.
i wish i would feed him, at last, the stuff of
kings.
100 queens. music. silks. paints. candlesticks.
drumsticks. olives. gentle lips.
kisses by the thousands.
whole orgies of power.
power like a warm glow
power that's not trying to show off
or one up the next candle over
power that always remembers
the delight
the enchanting fright
the sensual might
the ecstatic cry

of a thousand blazing flames
side by side
setting the whole room on fire
with love

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

196/365 : I think mostly we're just full of talk



i think mostly we're just full of talk

i think mostly we're just full of
talk

i think mostly we're just full
of talk

i think mostly we're just
full of talk

i think mostly we're
just full of talk

i think mostly
we're just full of talk

i think
mostly we're just full of talk

i
think mostly we're just full of talk

i think mostly we're just full of talk

Monday, July 14, 2014

195/365 : infinite spoonfuls


i'm interested 
in quiet
courageous
anger-love
and infinite
spoonfuls 
of forgiveness

Sunday, July 13, 2014

194/365 : mindfulness rule breaker



i feel like i break all the rules about mindfulness
except that i don't
exactly

when i read your losing-meaning-words
i want to give you something 
from my body
that requires nothing
verbal
and everything
eternal
and mindful

like a kiss
or a smile
or a hand
or a gentle line of breath across your hairy chest
that means to say nothing but
here
i am 
you are
here
we
are here
alive
alive
alive
alive

nothing's died 
love didn't die
love doesn't die

why do i fear that you fear love has died?
or worse, that you don't need it?

it's just my own thing
my own imagining
how sad i'd feel 
if somehow i believed
there was something between me
and love
and others

something between me
and the infinitude of pleasure

it's just my own thing
this desire
to stimulate

Saturday, July 12, 2014

193/365 : everlasting



I've often dreamt of 
oil lamps, tending to an 
everlasting light.

Friday, July 11, 2014

192/365 : to my poetry pen pal part 3


I forgot
Your phone number
For now

My stomach hurts
From the green chili peppers
In the beef stew
(Homemade broth)

I can go so long 
Remembering 
How to avoid the things 
That hurt me
Until I forget again

I liked following the trail
Of faces and sounds with you
It felt kind of scary
And I wanted it to feel 
Sexy or at least sweet
But scary was good because
We still loved each other
In the end
In the during
In the scary

I was afraid to hurt you
When we were rolling around 
Hardwood
I felt like I could break you
Fat kid complex
Maybe also true?

I don't feel free feeling careful
I feel scared

And even still
There's a staying happening
Amidst a hundred tiny riots
And that feels like 
Healing 
Or maybe better--
Like creativity 

When you dance,
You are a firework,
But freer

My face lights up
Nostalgia swarms my heart

I belong face-to-face
With the explosive

Thursday, July 10, 2014

191/365 : to my poetry pen pal 2




This poem is for me
But I'm writing it to you
Because I've forgotten 
My fingers for 
Writing to myself 

I've forgotten that if these fingers
Come from the man 
Who's planning is always two-birds-with-one-stone
And who's quarter jar spills over like a drooling July moon
Then they can probably hold something as buoyant as a basketball
Move it down the court with the confidence and carelessness of
I've-already-jammed-every-knuckle-so-fuck-it

I want to surf harder
Into my own wild wave 
Say it here then say it there
In the open 
Where tomatoes are thrown 
Or worse 
Nothing happens:
FUCK IT
I MAY FAIL 
AS I SHOOT FOR WHAT I LOVE
AND, BY THE WAY,
I'M CRANKY AS FUCK ABOUT IT

Last night I dove into my favorite ocean of sex
With my favorite body to caress 
With my favorite eyes-closed-where-did-we-go
This-is-definitely-home sensation

I'm not sorry for all this surrender to pleasure

We were fucking and I was wishing 
I would stop saying in my head, 
"I can't feel more.
This is my limit."

And then I finally said it,
"I'm allowed to feel this pleasure.
I'm allowed to treasure my body's joy
I'm allowed I'm allowed I'm allowed."

I howled and cried
But nothing really died

My hater is so god damn loud
And proud like a God Hates Fags campaign 
Except God Hates Your Pleasure/Power
God Does NOT Want You In Charge
God Knows You Will Fuck It Up 

Delusional child 
Delusional cold stupid chatter
Be quiet
Better hide
Better keep it in your journal
The place for dreams is in bed

Can I send you this? 
I'm so close to deleting

I don't want you to judge me 
Hate me 
Be hurt by me
For having sex with him

I don't want to be poisoning 
Everything
With my demons of doubt

FUCK THAT
Who cares?
Who can avoid the feral humanness?
It's here. 
It's alive.

Now,
I am quietly surrendering my fear to the pillow
The low hum window AC
Maybe some weed later

Because I don't want to feel
How much I want
To be somewhere or something else
I just want to go
Now
For a little while

I might also read a book

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

190/365 : to my poetry pen pal



I remember 
The thrill of writing 
Lightening-rod-real
Those first few 
Poetry dance mmmms

The disgust, almost
Like raw beef
African savage sincerity 
Kinda exciting 
In a fetish-like way

The ache has become serious now
moved Inward, stomach curled 
Barf.

I'm not surprised by what
I say
I just know 
I hate 
The taste

But then again
I kinda like it
Here, in this clinic of
Self pity hate 
There's no curiosity
But there's endless space 
For the hope
That a drop of it 
Could change
Everything 

And hope
Is a well-cooked
Cow of comfort

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

189/365 : Hygienic Lies


Self love is annoying like a nagging Jewish mother

When I was a kid I'd lie about brushing my teeth
I'd even WET THE TOOTHBRUSH
And still not brush 

I also used to click the sound of the seatbelt buckle and STAY UNSTRAPPED

Tiny rebellions
Against myself
That felt like grand rebellions
Against The Authority

The Authority that was never With Me
Just nagging me from the other room

This is how to be Safe Healthy Happy, Rachael
This is how!
(While we slam-door-curse horrid anger balls at each other)

I am here now 
In my own room
And no one's nagging me 
Except the posters of positivity 
I've made for myself
Out of desperation
To protect the parts of myself
I've managed to cherish

This is not a lie of a poem
This is not just wetting the brush

This is what happens with no double-standard nagging:

Teeth rot
Impact hits

You learn for yourself
The importance of hygiene
And helmets

Monday, July 7, 2014

188/365 : bad mood poetry



Bad moon
Bad mood
It's never too soon
To tell the full truth

I'm cranky as fuck
Pushed all my luck
Coyote's cackling 
At my attempts at tackling
The wild wave of July water
With a little flame of spite or anger

What's needed here
Is earth

Sunday, July 6, 2014

187/365 : Breaking in



I have not one pair of loved shoes
That haven't worn through the soles
Or splayed at the sides,
Torn at the toe
Or stretched to my size

And this how I like it:
Signs of mud 
Failed attempts to clean up the wild
Unpolishable scuffs

I'm not rich enough to stay pristine
I don't value a boxed kind of clean

I want age and character and signs 
Of too many puddles

I want scuff marks and stories and
toe-heel-n-kickin those babies off

My shoes do not need coddling or protection
They need adventure inside them
The kind of strength that trusts the breaking in, and breaking out 

Saturday, July 5, 2014

186/365 : I miss po



I miss po
etry,
qui
etude,
spac
iousness.

the South 
Dakota 
sky.

Friday, July 4, 2014

185/365 : what happens when you're an artist, and your father says, "there is no undoing what you've done," in regards to living FOR A FEW MONTHS off your credit card

1. after years of protest and quick-wit out lashes of passion, you decide this time, to simply say, "thank you."

2. added to your, "thank you" is your, "i hear your. i hear how scared you are. i hear that you're afraid i won't ever be safe in the world, and i hear how upset you are with both of us for getting into this spot, that you see no way out of. i hear that you want my future to be safe. i hear that you don't trust the world, and in reality, don't trust the way i am in the world. i hear you."

3. you ask, "what can you do to make yourself feel more safe in this situation?"

4. you let him do whatever he needs.

5. you hang up the phone with an, "i love you."

6. you let the swell of energy in your throat move toward your collarbone, out to the edges of your shoulders, down to your elbows, forearms, fingertips.

7. you write a new security. you write a thousand ways out. you write the truth: that you are alive and happier than you ever were under the scrutiny of cash-based worth assessments. you write the other truth: that you know you are called to make this world safer for the artists, mystics, healers and lovers. you write up an offering, an invoice, a love letter, a thank you note. you write a poem that goes like this:

8. dear dad,

the sky has plucked
my feathers of fear
one by one

i feel my nakedness
and i have already come undone

this skin-to-sun reality
this burning
is not a death to me
i know the names
of all the neighbors
and all the trees
the creek has held me
in my grief
and given of herself
in my thirst
there are worse things
in the world
than befriending the wild
isolation
is not my way
i'm okay here
i'm okay

love,
rachael

9. you get back to work.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

184/365 : surprise me


today will go down in the history books
as the umteenth time
i let the five year old girl i nanny
fuel my sleepless body
with the silly folly of dancing to billy joel

it will go down on record
as the hundredth time
i'm hung over on heartbreak--
i've gotten smarter, by now,
at drinking lots of water
while cracking, crying
calling on each others courage

today will go down as the third time, maybe fourth
that i looked myself in the mirror--
after sleeping in my clothes from the night before--
and said, "grow up, kid.
it won't kill your spirit."

today, was the fifth time i burned all my little dreams.
floated ashes down the stream
whispered silently to the hot summer sky,
"surprise me.
surprise me."

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

183/365 : gates of paradise

you built yourself
like a famous doorway
bronze casting
tiny stories of spiritual
triumph, men in robes
blessing men in robes

like the gates of paradise
everyone powerful
walks through you
for baptism
for salvation
to feed their hungering
for something
bigger than humility
stronger than death

i told you i just wanted you
as a doorway
not a destination

i didn't realize
i'd have to walk through you
each time i wanted
kneel down and pray

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

182/365 : i hate you

it's not your age i hate
it's the way you disappear
before you're really gone