Rejoice! Rejoice!
first night
first shower
first breakfast
first loads of laundry
first time to take out the trash
first snow
first time to close the gate
first meal on the gas stove
meet my next door neighbor
deal with a barking dog in my yard
use the bathroom, wash some dishes
drive to a new grocery store
throw frozen food into my new fridge
welcome first visitors
I miss the first trash pickup
spot a white cat scampering through the yard
who trips the sensor lights outside
pick up the phone and hear a dial tone
hook up my computer and the internet works
Hallelujah! I celebrate!
Showing posts with label snow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label snow. Show all posts
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Black and White
Just because black is not a color
it doesn't mean you have to hit me
with it. It's not about blackness really,
it's about occupying white space, visible
like tints and shades mixed together.
Some colors, when muddied, make black.
It is who I have become -- a blue-eyed
soul addicted to color, respectful of black,
a multifaceted black, a good strong black,
like the black ink on printing plates,
toners at work, pens used to write.
Black is beautiful and bold, as the polish
that shines my black S.A.S. brand shoes.
I never thought of black as depressing
except, maybe, at someone's funeral
when everyone wears black.
How can I be negative when so many
positives play around in black spaces?
Just because white is bare as if nothing there
you don't have to stare at me so blankly.
Lots of white space is good. It helps me breathe,
think, imagine...imagine black pieces here,
white places in between, a graphic image
I took pains to design on a white sheet,
white text transposed over a black box,
a plain white sheet used to scribble on,
write poetry, plan schedules, make lists.
White makes me feel pure, though I know I am not.
White is clean and cut. White is carved marble.
It is the color of my skin, wishful as the whim
of my thinking, as the waddle in my walk.
Though white lacks color, it is
the color of snow, reflecting light,
white on my walls and shelves,
white on my shirt that hangs in the closet,
the whites of my eyes, a square on a board game,
a ring on a target, lines on the flag,
the whiteness I see when I pass out.
it doesn't mean you have to hit me
with it. It's not about blackness really,
it's about occupying white space, visible
like tints and shades mixed together.
Some colors, when muddied, make black.
It is who I have become -- a blue-eyed
soul addicted to color, respectful of black,
a multifaceted black, a good strong black,
like the black ink on printing plates,
toners at work, pens used to write.
Black is beautiful and bold, as the polish
that shines my black S.A.S. brand shoes.
I never thought of black as depressing
except, maybe, at someone's funeral
when everyone wears black.
How can I be negative when so many
positives play around in black spaces?
Just because white is bare as if nothing there
you don't have to stare at me so blankly.
Lots of white space is good. It helps me breathe,
think, imagine...imagine black pieces here,
white places in between, a graphic image
I took pains to design on a white sheet,
white text transposed over a black box,
a plain white sheet used to scribble on,
write poetry, plan schedules, make lists.
White makes me feel pure, though I know I am not.
White is clean and cut. White is carved marble.
It is the color of my skin, wishful as the whim
of my thinking, as the waddle in my walk.
Though white lacks color, it is
the color of snow, reflecting light,
white on my walls and shelves,
white on my shirt that hangs in the closet,
the whites of my eyes, a square on a board game,
a ring on a target, lines on the flag,
the whiteness I see when I pass out.
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