dreams & wishes & the plain truth, a poem

Originally posted on Kimberly Townsend Palmer:

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Dreams & Wishes & the Plain Truth

(originally published in Eclectica)

The man you dreamed up

was like an animal, a confused,

restless animal that didn’t know

what it was.  From one angle,

it looked graceful.  Other times,

it bobbled and bumped in the night

like a blind cow.  It had to be fed, and often.

You never knew what it would fancy–

sometimes plain mash, once in a while

something with a burnt sugar crust,

and lots of whipped cream.  It made noise

constantly.  Whistling, burring, keening,

but never in the same way twice.

You found yourself wishing

it would run away of its own accord–

since it was so unusual no one would take it

off your hands.  It would look at you

out of eyes so swollen and pale

you’d think it was dying,

then it would kick back its head

and bray and bray, music…

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October 22, 2014 · 8:15 am

Please Speak Well of Me When I’m Gone, a 397 word short story

illustration please speak well of me when i'm gone

Please Speak Well of Me When I’m Gone, a 397 word short story

October 11, 2012

5:00 a.m.

I had the strangest dream, where I was back together with K!!! We were together in this hotel room, packing our stuff, which was a lot, and getting ready to ride on a plane somewhere (what else does he do these days, but ride on planes!). It was as though we were back together, after all these years, something had happened; our subsequent, real-life remarriages were never mentioned. Clearly, we knew it was awkward that we hadn’t been together in so long — but there it was, we were going to try it. We didn’t have sex in the dream, although it was clear both of us were sort of thinking about the concept. But we weren’t anywhere near ready for that! And when I awoke, I started thinking about how sometimes I get confused about my life, about the sharp turns, the complete disconnections from my entire past life, etc., and how sometimes I don’t recognize the current terrain.

And why have I been thinking so much about K. these days, like that song by the Weepies, “Speak Well of Me When I’m Gone?” The one that has made me cry so many times? “I’ve been away, a year and a day….” That’s true of so many people in my life, isn’t it? Only they’ve been gone far longer than that: some have been gone for 35 years. How young, and blind, and ignorant, and how many horrendous mistakes it’s possible to make, etc.

“Looking back now, I only wish I had been kinder.” It’s the truth — some part of me has never stopped loving K. “And when I’m gone, please speak well of me.” Some part of me wishes we had worked out, because he was the first truly committed relationship I had, the first husband, the father to my first child, so many firsts. I met him when I was 22. He was 27.

Wouldn’t it have been sweet, had it worked out? Almost like high school sweethearts. Young — I was so young, so inexperienced. God! And I would apologize to him on my knees, if it would do any good. He wouldn’t, I don’t think, be able to hear me. The way I would want it to be heard. Still, I could try, couldn’t I?

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The Way Love Is Supposed To Be, a very, very short story

illustration the way love is supposed to be

I wanted to run upon the moors with tears streaming down my face.

She treated him as if he were a rajah, wearing a satin robe and slippers.

Don’t ever marry an accountant.

You’ll laugh, but I cried.

Her radar had failed her over and over again.

Men were tricky.

She danced the samba, then the tango, in the arms of a smelly Russian with piercing blue eyes who fancied himself a ladies’ man.

I would never marry someone who ogles women right in front of me. At least, not until I’ve started ogling them, too.

My Mama loved mohair; I loved angora. We were opposites.

Move your ass and don’t take a year.

I felt at sea for most of my thirties. The forties couldn’t be any worse, I thought. Wrong, wrong, and wrong!

I plodded, envying the agility of those around me with obviously higher serotonin levels. When I studied those brain chemicals in college, I didn’t know they’d turn out to be so important.

Redial that oily odor; a ray of water consoles the jilted; all beds of roses rot eventually; be brave and rest; the noose leads to the abyss; don’t gouge the luge, egad! Lazy seared meat; too addled to ladle. Baba rhum; Joanne Arel/Aral; raison d’etre; brave agar; the smell of water; conic Eros; seed the boo-boo, Sergeant. I came, I saw, I conquered; day-O, me say day-ay-ay-O; I say, Merv, that canary sure can sing!

Canary Conn? Transsexual on Merv Griffin. Breathtakingly beautiful, not a man in drag.

At this rate, we’ll never get there. Or perhaps, we are already there and are too stupid to know it! Dogs vs. cats… different, not better or worse. Different is GOOD.

No one’s a fool.  At least, not forever.

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Opening editorial message for Truth, the magazine, 1st draft

illustration truth the magazine opening editorial statement

Opening editorial message for Truth, the magazine, 1st draft:

First off, my name is not really Kimberly Townsend Palmer. It is, or rather, should be, Kimberly Townsend Pomikala. Pomikala is a Bohemian name, which my father was born with but which was changed by his family not too long after he started school in Arcadia, California. It was changed because one fine, sunny day he came home in tears after being called a “dirty Bohunk” by the other children. It was 1943, and the world, and finally the United States, had long been at war. The biggest battles were not being fought on battlefields but being fought inside the human heart. Many families lost their entire physical existence, multiple generations snuffed out in less time than it takes to inhale, exhale — mine lost only its identity. A small price to pay for being safe in southern California, in a town named for the residence of the Greek gods. So my father grew up as a camouflaged ethnic. The name was changed, but the inside could not be changed. He never felt at home anywhere he went. He might well have been a war refugee of a metaphysical battle — a battle, the fundamental struggle humanity has been waging since its inception, the inexorable war between truth and ignorance. Factual accuracy is not always the truth — truth goes to the essence of a thing. Not the surface, but what is deep within.

The story is told how Eve caused the fall of humanity from the garden of Eden by eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. What is the remedy for this? What is the essential nugget of truth we may take away from that crucial moment? My answer is: there is no absolute good, there is no absolute evil — there is but truth and ignorance. Eating the apple and gaining the surface knowledge of good and evil was a trap humanity fell into, a trap we have been struggling to release ourselves from ever since. Love exists. Hate exists. Both can serve the truth. Both can serve ignorance. We must harness ourselves to the wagon of truth and pull our heavy burden to wherever the driver leads us. The driver is God, the driver is love, the driver is peace, serenity and acceptance of the way things are on this planet. Many things we label good and many things we label evil are in fact neither. They are simply in the service of truth or in the service of ignorance. Satan, in the guise of the serpent, led Eve and Adam into a terrible, incomprehensible trap and God is now and has always been guiding humanity out of that trap. The reason God forbade eating of that fruit was it was not yet the right time for humanity to have that knowledge.

Plainly put, we are not yet advanced enough to receive the knowledge of good and evil. God is the only entity qualified to eat of that tree. We have taken a small, superficial bite of knowledge and used our imperfect bodies, minds and hearts to inflict merciless cruelty and oppression on others. Our biggest enemy is pride — believing we, as fragile, physical and temporal beings, can ever know enough to accurately judge another’s worth before God. How dare judges and juries impose the death penalty! It is not our role to take life, which is bestowed by God. It is our role to live it and seek the truth and banish ignorance. We are entitled to keep ourselves safe, we can ensure our physical and emotional safety from injustice and repression — but we cannot ever presume to know the will of God.

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The Healer and I, a prose poem

Originally posted on Kimberly Townsend Palmer:

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The Healer and I

Fay, the healer and I, the subject, both consult my body in its entirety.  Fay directs me to examine the sensations within this body, the instrument of change I have placed upon her table.  There is first the feeling of water dripping, ice melting, inside the body.  The dripping is insistent, patient, slow.  The water is flowing from the head to the feet, and from the feet down into the earth itself.

What is melting the ice?  Light, and heat, from a source outside the body.  The ice melts, bringing forgotten memories & feelings.  A vision of mountaintops, sheathed in ice, but below the ice, green plants wait, alive, waiting to raise their heads, once the ice is gone.  Luxuriant jungle foliage, frozen water holding it down.  The ice melts, the water is freed — the water nourishes the plants growing on the mountainside.  The water…

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~A dogs loyalty~

Originally posted on iblogstr8sicit's Blog:

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“If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and man.”
~Mark Twain~

Published from iblogstr8sicit.WordPress.com
[by Dawna Bowles (C)2014]

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Wise Willy … on Love – Promote Yourself

Originally posted on poetreecreations.org:

love888888888888888
 
“If you love and get hurt, love more.
If you love more and hurt more, love even more.
If you love even more and get hurt even more, love some more
until it hurts no more …”
 
Harder to write and to read than prose, but poetry
expresses far more elegantly, passionately
and emotively than one may ever, hopefully,
aspire to … prosaically.
 
A form of written expression … so seemingly … like lyrical hymn,
has been … historically … so seemingly … favored by Him.
To wit, the superlative verse of the great poets, amongst them,
Ovid, Emily, Robert … and the immortal … William.
 
Shakespeare’s reputation, amongst thoughtful (wo)men
is amongst … the best … of the west.
It is complemented by the east’s, Khalil Gibran;
between them; amongst the best … of the best.
 
And so it has been that inspired by…

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