Rosary

 Poem © 2013 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved

The men I’ve loved

are beads

interconnected

heart amulets

strung together,

beads I’ve prayed over

since my first love

in Catholic School.

He was my sign

of the cross

made with the cross

of the rosary itself:

start on my forehead

follow with

the chaste ritual kiss

on the cross

before the litany

of repetitious prayers.

First love, my passion

sacrificed so young

all the others

carried and continued

the loss.

No wonder to this day

I still sing the requiem Mass

spontaneously

the Latin words bursting from my lips

at the most inopportune moments

religious Tourette’s

a sanctimonious, musical tic.

Most of my men

were the Joyful,

Sorrowful and Glorious Mysteries

all rolled into one.

The Church taught me little

practical

about how to deal with any of them.

Thank God I disobeyed

about birth control

and didn’t drag

any children

into my

learn by burn

my hell

on Earth.

Now even with the cosmos

the only God big enough for me

I work so hard

on loving myself

as much as all those men

and every living thing

I still crave

the rhythm

of the rosary

the linkage

of all my loves

with a Bigger Love

the love

that now must start

and end

with me

on my own tongue

where I receive

Communion.

~.~.~

Photo Credit: © Pietro D'Antonio – fotolia. com

Confluence

Poem © 2013 by Joyce Mason 

All Rights Reserved

I did not choose you, Sacramento.
You chose me,
a con job
I never saw coming.

You drew me with lust and lover
a promise of gold
bigger life
hot sun
opportunity.

Something much more was gathering
beneath the churning surface
drifting gently
floating me on your two rivers of change

I did not know then
the Native American concept
tinkuy
the harmonious meeting of opposing forces
pain and pleasure
sending me toward miracles, reunions
transcendence

in the Sacramental City
the place where the rivers
of all that was right and wrong
in my life merged:

confluence.

~.~.~ 

In celebration of the 40th anniversary of my move to Sacramento, California on May 9, 1973.  Sacramento is the Capital of California on the Sacramento and American Rivers.

Photo Credit:  Ziggurat and Tower Bridge in Sacramento at Sunset © Andy – Fotolia.com 

Dreams Not Written

© 2013 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved

I sleep in night vision goggles

pieces of my psyche

float

glow in the dark

swirl

magnetize

to a center of gravity

form a montage

where my inner story

tells itself.

The stage vaster than the sky:

I see fears

old sorrows

lingering wounds

laid bare.

Sometimes the Mask of Comedy

inserts itself

adds Technicolor

and sit-com

to the Panavision.

I’ve written these stories

for so many years

notebooks full

as many as I can remember

and have time to record.

But busyness often robs me

of the best dreams

both waking and

sleeping.

They go unrecorded.

Yet I know

deep within:

the dreams that still live

in my body and soul

are the most powerful

weaving a script

that will tell the whole story

when I finally
fully awaken.

~.~.~

Photo Credit: © bruniewska – fotolia.com

Check out Astro-Poetry month on The Radical Virgo! Learn about all the poetry that's going on in the sky. New poems posting through April 30.

Between

Poem © 2013 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved

This dark place

between lives:

I live here too often

mutating

 waiting for the rebirth of

who I am

what I do

how I see myself

hoping I don’t come out

a freak

or worse

don’t come out at all

stuck in lost.

The darkness is a closet

without the dimmest light

not even the long dirty string

of my childhood wardrobe.

Barely a walk-in

it’s cramped to overflowing

with things that no longer

fit me.

Old masks line

the dirty walls

with chipping paint.

My discomfort
with uncertainty

mounts:

 nothing new in sight

no Goodwill Store

with cheap make-do's

to carry me though

my latest transition.

No wonder

I don’t want to come out

of the closet

naked.

From this place of withdrawal

I fight the demon depression

hoping for enough strength

to beat him down.

I channel Jackie Chan

ducking karate chops

to my solar plexus.

I limbo dive

under the pitchfork.

I see depression’s beady red eyes

smell the sulfur.

He offends everything

I stand for.

Talking to myself

my words

stun me.

Maybe there’s nothing

to stand for.

Maybe it’s time

just to sit …

… to sit and contemplate

what I want to do and be

 in the last act

of my life

shelving the shoulds or dreams

I have outgrown

or the closets

full of clothes so out of style

they’re a welcome moment

of comic relief.

Maybe I should sit

and contemplate

the real me

the naked me

and what it would take

to streak down Main Street

wind in my hair

living not in-between

but right in the moment.

~.~.~

Photo Credit: © deviantART – fotolia.com

Don't forget to check out Astro-Poetry month during April on The Radical Virgo! Learn about all the poetry that's going on in the sky.