by Debi

wits are fresh
this muse of madness
on fine days
oft hid in coarse obscurity
the beauty of earth and heaven
behind the indelicacy of haze and unhappiness
breezy open spaces
in quiet restricted zones
long hours in the open air
ephemeral wastes beside bankrupt boxes
the direction of the wind
a deviation’s tempest
the blessed air
cursed heavens
the scent of flowers
the stench of rot and weed
the position of the sun
unemployed orb of light
the sun a kindly welcome
invisible moonshine
every feature of the landscapes
no view of fair attributes
hill and dale, pool and brook,
ditch and trench, puddle and sewer
trees and cliffs and walls
lampposts, skyscrapers, graffiti
yonder hillock, brook, hedge, or copse
adjoining the featureless cityscape
boundaries of a given space
indeterminate urban wastelands
a wheat crop on the southwest
a rubbish piled curbside
a hedge on the northeast
a chain-linked schoolyard
bounded by the high road on the south
confined amusements
the relative positions of villages and towns
perceptions limited to a street horizon
smoke of chimneys
plumes from factories
we are an overwrought generation
once people breathed simply
a bent inherited from some unknown ancestor
now we live the spirit of the times

by Debi

living on the borderline –

he needs you to be crazy for if it isn’t you then who could it be he can’t risk being crazy because blame is easier than self-reflection even while eternally gazing at himself you’d think he’d see the truth but the warped mirror allows only distorted appearances open to myriad interpretations and misinterpretations

existing on the margin –

he requires you to be irrational for if it isn’t you then who could it be he’s unable to chance being out of his mind because denunciation of the other is simpler than personal implications even while ceaselessly contemplating his own reflection you’d expect he’d perceive the reality but the deformed glass sanctions no more than misleading forms accessible to countless views and realities

by Debi Taylor-Hough

You may think you know me
You read my Facebook updates
You see the funny memes I share
The photos of my cats and bunnies
My new guest room
My bookshelves
My new magna cum laude degree
My six blogs and 5,000 followers

You may think you know me
From some blog a decade old
It shined a glimmer of light on my religiosity
of the time
A snapshot
A glimpse
But not true insight
Like looking in a reflection
Did you notice the posts stopped?
My heart moved on
Your glimpse of me was frozen in time

You may think you know me
But if you knew me
If you could see inside my head
Feel the true beat of my heart
The pain of my soul
Then maybe, just maybe
you would know me
You would know
That what once sustained me
what gave meaning
and purpose
and joy
and love to my life
is gone, missing in action
and left a gaping hole

Nothing has filled that emptiness

You may think you know me
You may think I follow organized religion
But the reality is
any religion I have left
is disorganized
Not a title on a name tag
Not the emotional highs
Not the hierarchy
Not the patriarchy
Not the submission to an organization
Or to a man
Or to a creed

You may think you know me
But now what you might see
On Sundays
when I choose to go
which is rare
A small liturgical service
The prayers of the people
Quiet music
Standing for a familiar scripture
The gentle smile of a stranger
Passing peace from hand to hand
A moment for reflection
A word of encouragement
Breaking of bread
A brief and holy communion
with saints and sinners,
with God and broken humankind

You may think you know me
But listen to me when I say
that other part of me is gone
Listen to me when I say
something new is taking its place
Listen to me when I say
you’re not listening to me

Maybe then, finally
I may think you actually may know me
But for now
You may think you know me
But I think you may not

by Debi Taylor-Hough

When no gifts are beneath the tree
When the family table sits empty
When no cards arrive to share
warmest greetings
Then you will know
my Christmas

When no stockings are hanging or filled
When no phone calls are sharing glad tidings
When the people you love
abandon and ignore
Then you will know
my Christmas

When all that you live for is gone
When all you believe in feels empty
When you think you may die
from a broken heart
Then you will know
my Christmas

walking

slowly

one step
two

pause

the sidewalk sprouts dandelion greens
and clover
in the cracks

resume

walking

slowly

one step
two

pause

with eyes closed the trees sing
listen
to the shaft of light

resume

walking

slowly

one step
two

pause

hush

hush

hush

pause

resume

walking

slowly

one step
two

pause

breathing breath of breezes
inhaling

slowly

one breath
two

resume

walking

slowly