Six favorite things

A picture braided of my sons' hair
the wealth of three heads made into mad design
organized tangles, swirls, capers
shades of gold
all in one frame, held

A grain of sand from the moon
carved by some small hands into a castle
each brick showing in microscopic detail
blue shimmering lights flowing from the windows
like someone really lives there

A bottle, small and perfect
filled with the perfume of ginger and lilacs
all golden and swirly. diamond bits so light they float to the top

A red thread, fine and strong
connected to a star

Pacemaker, set in a mountain for the heart of the world
keeping things moving along when they feel old and slow
booming out with secrets and keeping what's next in line
the rhythm changes by and by
bye and bye

The word, twisting in the wind
there to grasp and fling
once released
the color is unknown but there it is
escaped
cut free of the tongue and on its own

Dancing lizards

Tap tap tap, hunch
up down, push ups
mating dance?
looking in holes in the rocky dirt for what?
Whiptail lizards don't need mates, they just a bunch a girls
whooshing through desert floor cacti, green and unforlorn
Nothing blooms like the desert
rain makes things red, gold, brilliant
rainbow songs
browns alter with more brown until all things dare
carry on the song of life
take nothing into account but earth's direction
snakelings scattering across the path
rattle or not?
beware people and people dog things
the desert disregards you.

Spring mosh

Grasses waving as gashes red poppys bashing togher
wind push
cactus thorn sharpeing but the
circle oh the circle
won't let go
And up and down stay together and those toes
no, those roots
won't get entangled with
another's roots
though its hard to tell apart the breath of yours and theirs
Glistening dew, sweat, golden faced sunflowers
slippery
grey rocks bash bash bash and
look up the light plays on the leaf ceiling in golden swirls
and the pool reflects in blinding arrows and
the noise oh the noise
such din
fighting fledglings, bees and more bees, babbling water
cover your ears the bears are thumping out of their caves
all around the air moves, whoosh and roar as the flow can't be stopped
never stopped.
And the smell oh the unwashed scent of fresh black earth and the unseen hundreds of lilac armpits so close but unseen
there are those who kiss angrily amongst all this madness
encircled in their own world, a bubble of insulated sound and passion and
sometimes a quiet soul watching, the heron on its tall sticks blinking unblinkingly.
Don't stop just wave on
never stop
is it KoRn or is it spring?

Why I write?

Pages, words scatter, name my name
There it is
Byline, on the fresh newsprint, or Suite 101, echoofthedesert or WordHustler
Elva K. Osterreich
That’s me, I can say something and
Maybe I’ll be on someone’s fridge
With the magnetic poetry and
Last week’s meatloaf recipe.

I write because I must be immortal
Because I will die and me, I will remain behind
Clawing through the Ethernet, on servers galore
Climbing through the future universe, maybe to Mars or Betelgeuse
Or creeping into the smallest heart, where
A dancing child, a lonely gentleman, an oldster in purple will
Feel a touch
A word touch
And that will be me.
Just me.

I write for butterflies, my children, darkness.
For making others understand what they can’t and
Know people they never thought they would care about
And for the people leaving, who should be remembered
With adventures, history, quiet ways that fade away.
I chronicle a place to die slowly, gold and red fiestas, magnificent achievements from old missions to failed rockets, children building magical labyrinths.

I write because without the words flowing out somewhere they might get jammed in
I could be word constipated, with just a trickle of thoughts left,
Or so piled my brain could explode.
Or they could get confused with my blood and act like the cholesterol
Causing a stroke, where the words instead of blood go coursing through
The synapses and frying the little ends of the brain cells
And then, well, who is to say how my brain would compensate, what new dark paths my thoughts would find to be released.

I write with no choice in the matter,
With no ability to not do so,
This is my spirit, soul, heart and flesh too,
Even with no name,
No byline,
No going down in history.
Still would I have to write.

Moving

Trudging into another place through dark browns and green

maybe the place I need is more gold, this peace

this peace is now squashing me

So unbuglike I wish to be

in the gold and rich sunlight and the green green desert trees

So I will be moving to the sun today

carrying my heart pictures

into the salty clouds

There, look at that one, with the gold rim

Find me there, drifting in the wind.

Wandering

Quiet all around me

in certain circumstances color intrudes

washed out reds,

brilliant blues,
striking yellow and pale orange
But I am in a pool here and function moves about me, I do not move
My fingers are not pressing keys
they are part of the shell shell, pretending to be me
but here
is me
so deep and lost inside, a fishhook couldn't find me.
My stunning boys in all their activity,
where are they now?
school
band
cars
grandma's
And my mind won't still.
Maybe I need a meditation class.
Quiet all around me, never inside.

Whirling sister