I talked to an owl tonight. Sigh.

I can talk to owls. Well, at least baby ones!!!!!!!!
Today, just one baby owl in the jasmine vine. Across the dirt road, all the other owls were
roosting. This one poor baby was all wet and miserable. I think he flunked owl 101. Because
he was being shunned. So, tonight at dusk, around 7 ish or 8pm. I snuck over, thinking maybe
I might get to see Mama owl giving more flying lessons from the awning on the front of the house.
So, I am kind of hiding in the island (a jungle of oak, and azalea bushes by the side of the front
of the house, near where the baby owl is) And I see an owl fly across the road and go right
past me. Then, a baby owl flys from across the road and lands just inches from my head on a limb
right above me. He was perfectly finished, just tiny. He warbled. I warbled. We talked and warbled back and forth about five times. Then he kept leaning towards me like parrots do when
they are going to leap on you. I very carefully walked backwards towards my house. Also I did
not want him following me or getting confused. This was the most awesome experience of my entire
life. A baby owl had a conversation with me. And he liked me. I just wish I knew what we said
to each other. Good Night. ♥ Sigh.

Just a few Things

There are just a few things I want to get off my chest tonight.

My husband is a dickhead, My husband is a dickhead, My husband is a dickhead.

There, I feel better.

Why, just because you are ready for bed, do I have to go to bed at 10pm.
If you want sex. Just tell me so. We can do it, then I can get back up and
read.

Why don't you ever spontaneously bring me flowers, surprise me with a weekend
away, give me back rub without my asking (and then not let it lead to something
else) I envy wives with husbands like that.

Ok, I feel better all done now.

Whoooooooooooooo Whoooooooooo

Let me just say. I love owls. For two years I have had Eastern red Screech owls nesting in a house on my mother's property. Mother is gone, but I know she can see them. I think I will start posting some of my older poetry here. My new poetry does not ring true. It lacks depth. But at the end I will post one of my older ones. See the difference. The richness is gone. I hope this
is not an early sign of Alzheimer disease. I miss England. But I am recovering. But still, if given the chance one day. I will move there in a heart beat. My soul resides in England. My body is
here but my soul stays there.

The Bottom Fuels Me


The bottom of the glass,
The bottom of the ocean,
I am always diving in the
dumpster of life.

Street people,
derelicts,
missed placed souls,
oddballs,
the lady in NYC
crossing the crosswalk
24/7 yelling about jesus.

I want to get into
their skin, follow
them for days,
journal their life
Make a tracing of
their heartbeat.

When I know the lines
are pure and channeled,
the tears run down my
face as I write.

Maybe that's it,
the spirits have left me,
negativity tracks me like a
magnet,
clinging to the cracks in my
soul.

( I don't think it worked. Not my usual flowing stuff.
But, hey, I'll keep trying San Franciso.)

Here is one of my poems from years ago.

Riverbed of Dried Dreams


Dried riverbed dreams,
no flotsam floating in a sea of creativity,
bottom scum raked free of spontaniety,
buried ancient artifacts rise
from the muck.


Shells washed up upon a shoreless beach,
life passing by with no guarantee,
just missed the boat,
lifevests all given out,
no place to be me,
dried up riverbed dreams,
running to the sea.