aphickey's blog


I dropped my favorite cup today.
The one I use each day for tea.
It looked OK,
at first.
I laughed.
But now it's leaving


Light circles,
not yet pooling up.
But leaving footprints, nonetheless,
clear evidence of one thin crack
that will, as all cracks do,
grow wide

in time.

I made this cup myself,
from clay.
I sliced it from its cool damp pug.
I wedged it on the canvas, then,
I fought the wheel for it's existence.


Roll With It

The beloved community
gathered at the mall
after forty years
still wandering
in the wilderness.

back in the house of justice
the faithful gather
to worship the graven image
of Moses' tablet.

Oh where is Joshua's horn
that these walls might fall?

At the ranch they plot
with those who are
with us
against The Others,
and still
they call themselves christians

writing exersize - start where you are

I am home. My sweet old dog is doing her sniffle/snuffle/snort/give me food noises at my right elbow. Keys clack and a pen scrapes swiftly on a journal page. Susan is surprised by her laptop's beeps. The other dog Maggie snores tunelessly in the corner. The refrigerator hums. In the background the sound of a mower and the pounding of the baseboard heat compete to name the season.

The day is grey but the energy of the other women at the table is palpable. We have read and now we write. Around the maple table the heat of thought replaces the flow of voices.

The Depth

once I swam
with my mother and

in chlorine pools
tile halls
hard echos

and soon it seems
I must return
to such a place
for winter's shelter

but now while light still lingers
and winds are mild
I swim
in the deep
man made

the still cool water
the hushed expanse
the mineral bath of history's hammers
the grotto walls
of green, no purple
no gold, no green
on pink cold granite's easel

The US of America

Oh, my beautiful country
birthplace of my dreams
hijacked now as oft before
and yet

the fullness of it's promise
the power to the people

and in the aggregate
our petty little jagged means
would smooth to ends
if not so
at least, well

I did not imagine then
it needing work this hard and long
nor concentration so
intense, nor focus
so relentless

Too much, by half

In the sizzle heat
we yearn
for any colder chill
oh, please
one ghostly presence
in the hall
one shiver
worth a bag of coins

damn be doom
it's hot down here

how many souls
are there in all
can the countless be

will it matter
if I take time
or will I simply be required
to return
to try again
to be a bodhisattva
next time

if indeed something
to find myself
returned to

Swimming Steel

Swimming Steel
stealing swims

blue or grey
a salve on skin
her soft wet fabric
holds me high
suspended here
above the deep hole

where once men
worked and
once men died

for ballast weight
and roadways
for commerce and shoed livery

themselves now buried
brave men
strong horses
crooked cobbled paths

while I float in my own time
refreshing my spirit
with their legacy

(WG 8-8-03)

The milk pitcher

Humbly offered
in use

smooth hard
rough soft

from liquid
now containing

handle curved
from jaunty sides
it's mouth turned out

cream inside it's
blue cream skin

this fired breast
with which we amend our
chosen libation

offers all it has
and once empty
is refilled

(WG 8-8-03)


Art is strong
but Earth
the stronger,
Earth is mother.
Art must ride on Earth's broad shoulders,
if it rides at all.

Art is flashy
Earth will last,
bouyant days and
sleepless nights
beyond the pain filled striving
for message and mastery
and audience.

Art needs
to speak
"I'm here"
"I count"
while Earth just simply
and what it is becomes

Things hurt

Things hurt that I didn't used to notice
I am losing my eyesight
and must wear reading glasses
I sometimes pee my pants when I sneeze

On the other hand, I am alive at fifty
a milestone my mother didn't achieve

But wait, I was complaining

I don't have a basement or an attic
My car is all rusted out and
smells like an old wrestling mat
I don't have a garage

If I had a second floor I could see the ocean


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