Portland, smoke and fire

    by Heather Rose

The music, disjointed,nobody can hear but me.

It surrounds the images I see

of arms raised, fists tight, defiant

in the face of tear gas, rubber bullets

and batons.

They strike at the core of me,

The part of my heart that yearns for

that strength and freedom.

Fist raised, smoke pours.

There is a  thunderous round of shouts.

But here they stand

creating life from hate.

Justice from oppression.

They move as one.

Violins play fast all around the darkness,

wanting that those that were standing there

would see that there is so much they can do

 to stop what is happening.

Fists are raised, smoke pours out.

Faceless ones hit and shout.

My heart cries inside

with a wildness beating

and all I want to do is be there.

I want to raise my fist, expand my arms

 reaching high into that darkness

 tearing out it’s heart in my hands.

My dreams are full of shouting and mirrors of hate.

My mind is adrift with anger and I need to stand

with those I see.

Mind dancing, soul sifting through all the fear

to find the core that brings me here.

I may not be there but I am there.

I am always there.

Dancing here alone.

Seeing those I want to be with.

Those I want to protect.

The ones that I look up to

who relish the wreck and rebuild

of the lives they lived before.

The violin beats out a flurry of strings

While they dance, fists raised, while they dance.

I have to curb my hatred have to remember who I am.

There is firmness in love

There is strength in caring

There will always be those

who hate.

Who snarl in the mighty darkness.

Who fill you with fear and hatred and need to push down..

because they are hurting those who you love.

And the violin keeps playing on

Van Gogh, portrait of an artist,

Surrounded with sunflowers

The mind of an artist

The mind of an artist can always conquer

the mind of someone who is closed

They care not for each other or anybody else.

They lie, their mouths flowing with honey and crocodiles that bite.

That kill.

They grab hold and stay there over an over and over

I understand that the smoke and the fists raised are the way to go.

The way to be.

I stand.

I stand.

I stand.

Do not forget me.

Do not forget me.

Do not forget me.

I am there.

I am there

I am there.

One of my typical walks to the store

A walk from my house to the store

The curtain blows in an early spring breeze---

cats curled in front wanting sunshine.

The winter was so mild but still so long

and the body yearned to walk without a coat.

Deer pause in mid-graze as I pass the yard

of the apartments next door.

Deer are common as stray cats here

and though they are sweet

they garner little real attention

from those in this part of town.

We took their feeding and breeding grounds

so now we share our streets, yards

and gardens with them.

Sometimes i give them apples.

It is just fine with most.

Little puddles fill holes in the sidewalk.

Stepping over to keep my shoes dry,

I know soon I will miss one puddle,

 the chilly water wetting my socks anyway.

A little water never hurt anyone. 

I come to the light between the McDonalds and the liquor store,

pausing at the walk signal a bit timid here.

Nobody ever stops at this light.

I take my life in my hands every crossing.

Still yet-- I have to get there somehow.

I look left, right, watch the little man on the light blaze up bright.

Then, saying a little prayer, scoot quickly across--

a little thrill of victory when my feet touch the sidewalk.

I adjust my headphones,

Music playing or perhaps a podcast,

trickling in to my waiting ears.

I never go anywhere without my private sounds.

I love my carefully constructed playlists

or my podcasts--usually stories read by voice actors. 

Sometimes by perky podcasters---their voices are soothing to me. 

I walk quickly. I have always walked quickly.

Not much for strolling I like to make progress

no matter the reason--business or pleasure--

 I like my feet to march ahead,

confident in their pace and placing upon the sidewalk.

I go by the Sunoco where the little Indian man

always greets me with a friendly

“How are you ma'am?” in his lilting voice

while music plays overhead.

It is all unknown language and lovely sounds.

As I walk to my left I spy the great, messy expanse of construction equipment,

dirt and straw that is the new Switchyard Park,

where they had a grand opening a few months ago--tempting us--

then closed it back up.

I want to cross the dirt anyway

but  i will be patient.

I am excited about the ease of access

this affords me--a foot and bike commuter--

To the safety and ease of the B-line.

I take the side street to separate

from the loud, busy noise of walnut street.

There are little houses, old trailers and the gun shop here.

I rarely see any people.

The sidewalk is a bit rough so i take the little road instead.

I progress by the building that used to be the cigarette store

for a long time with a discount TV shop next door.

I can never keep up with the changing tides of business

in this part of the street.

They come and go like party guests.

Some overstay their welcome but all go eventually.

Turning left and there is the large yard of city buses

and the bus station where tired drivers go to have more coffee,

 probably griping about this or that rider--- 

“Can you believe that guy? Some people. Pass the creamer.”

Now before me is the great bridge of the B-line Trail.

The whole trail is a masterpiece of urban artistic expression.

I remember when they were building that

(big messy construction like switchyard now)

When they finally finished I was so excited,

I took out my bike and rode it purposely one end to the other and back,

so I could see all of it.  

Now the junkyard where cars sit neglected,

 They patiently wait to be wanted and needed--

given a makeover--so they are useful again.

I used to come here to get bits and pieces

for my old cars.

Inside is littered with old parts---

headlights, batteries, other parts

that a mechanic would recognize but I have no idea.

There is an interesting man with a long beard

and many stories to tell I am sure.

It seems junkyards specialize in this type of person.

The day is getting a bit long in the tooth.

It is time to get my shopping done and return home.

Entering the store and turning up the sound on my headphones,

I go to get what I need. 

Tiny hands, Tiny Hearts

Tiny hands, tiny eyes, tiny hearts

June 24, 2019

Drying tears with the dripping trees outside

I think of small hands holding each other

While voices cry out for love and family.

Tiny eyes look out at chain links,

Cold floors their only beds

And hearts that ache for holding,

For the warm arms of their families.

Do they know they are loved at all?

Do they know that they matter?

Do they feel like they are nothing,

To be thrown around like toys

In a big political game that is

So much larger than them.

They know nothing of borders.

One bit of earth is like another

But there is that invisible line

That when they cross it

The arms they are held in,

The hands they hold,

Are taken from them

And then what awaits them

 

Uncaring hands and cold chain link cages.

Not enough food to eat,

Not enough water to drink,

Not enough clothes to wear

And a mylar blanket is the only bit

Of warmth they feel.

Tiny hands.

Tiny eyes.

Tiny hearts.

They close up like small flowers,

Like a bird with head tucked under its wings.

The fear so big it overwhelms them.

The tears drying on their shirts

As new tears take their place.

Do they know anyone cares at all?

Heather Rose

Spring greening

Spring has come and summer soon after
like a frame of flowers glowing
in late afternoon sunlight.
A billow of wind
takes spring from us
for a bit
but I remain hopeful
that soon the wind will
grow warmer.

I see small green buds
on every tree
and feel renewed.

The days are longer.
I forget what time it is.
I set my geodes upfon my porch rail
to gleam sparkles in the sunshine.

My home is open again,
the cats roaming freely
porch to home.
They give me a small
turn of head to thank me
the way that cats can.

My bike calls to me,
saying NO MORE BUSES
for now I am saved from
noise and humanity
and I ride my through busy streets
making my own schedule.

I wish the warmth could last forever.
I wish the trees could have green
every day.
But eventually the winter will come.

But for now, here on my porch,
all is easy and small gifts come to me
like a bit of sunshine
or the lightness of shorts and t-shirt
after the long burdens of coat, hat and gloves.

Bring forth the warmth you smiling sun
and keep us remembering
that life is change
day by day
and the change can bring forth
both cold nights and warm days.

Blessings come in small things.

North Dakota-1977

North dakota 1977

I walk outside in the winter,

The air to me smells like raw bacon.

I do not know why.

The snow blows in a blindness of white

 the sky a plate glass grey.

I walk to school,

8 years old and I walk alone.

I will find my way there.

My shoes shelve snowy flakes

upon my small, cold toes

and though my coat is warm

I still breathe the icy morning

my breath puffing out in long,

white strands.

This early, there is only the

low, milky sun and I

following our selected courses

And I ask the birds as I pass by

“Where do you go when the wind blows?”.

I worry for the birds.

I sift through snowy flakes on the ground,

feeling the small, cold pearls

of frozen bits here and there.

Making a wish that my eyes could see

something beyond the white

and feel warm again.

But here the air is cut through

like knives in my lungs.

I walk still down the street

And think of nothing.

Mind blank like the white morning.



Heather Lake

She is the messiness of love

A tiny light that has no meaning beyond being.
She has no further ambition. 
Only to live,
teasing from life the essence of every moment,
to draw out every gasp of breath,
every furrowed brow thought,
every fevered dream.
She is Life.
She is that love that breathes in 3am talks and midnight teary hugs.
She is not the noonday, coffee shop love but the messiness of emotion
thrown wildly through darkened rooms of the soul.
She is the love of family strife and redemption.
The fearful goodbyes.,
 the edge in the eyes when one recalls the memory of a tight hug in
the midst of grief.
She is the beat of our lives.
We are never truly alone
That most complicated of things :the human heart.

Heather Lake

A little update on myself for 2019

      It's been awhile since I have been able to do my blog. My computer broke 6 months ago and since I couldn't figure out how to fix it i just disassembled it and put it in the closet and bought a typewriter which is awesome for writing but you can't post it online.
   Christmas was fun. I worked some and got to visit some friends and enjoyed just relaxing at home. I worked Christmas Eve at the community kitchen packing to go meals for people.
  These days I have been very busy working at Feta, the middle eastern restaurant I am employed at. I enjoy working with people and the crew there are all very nice and hard working. I am starting to work as a prep cook too which is fun to learn how to make all the dishes.
   The other day I made the pickled cauliflower which is a kind of lengthy process. I cut up all the cauliflower, then made and cooked the brine and put it all together. It's pretty tasty. I am learning the proper way to cut herbs and how to make various things. I have never been a very complicated cook so it's fun to learn new ways to prepare things.
  I have been reading a  lot as well. I have usually 4 books going at the same time. Right now I am reading a Jack Keroak novel and a J.D. Salinger book of short stories. I am also working on Life of Pi and a book called Nevermore which is a collection of short stories inspired by the works of Edgar Allen Poe.
  Joint problems, muscle pain and back issues have stymied much of my physical activities these days so I am looking into starting Yoga and Tai Chi for Arthritis at the YMCA. Getting up and down is difficult now with my knees as they are but I figure I can do some things with Yoga and perhaps my mobility will get better with it.
  I miss running but it is just not possible for me anymore. I do still enjoy walking in the woods and being outdoors however and in the warmer weather I spend a lot of time on my commuter bike and walking. I walk in the winter as well unless it's really deathly cold.
   I am working on getting out more. Actually I have been working on that for quite some time now. I had a nice experience working with some students from IU this fall. The speech and hearing center at IU put it together for me.
   Three students (a medical student, a social work student and a speech therapy student plus a  mentor) came to my house once a month for three months. We worked on ways to improve my memory, get more social and work on some medical issues. They were very nice and helpful.  I had done the same thing last year.
  So looking into the new year I am working on some personal things. One is to continue to find social experiences, especially as it gets warmer and it's easier to get out. Another is to continue to work on several health issues. And, last but not least, celebrate my 50th birthday in September. Thinking of something special to do for that.

I hope all of you have a happy, healthy 2019!