A decision was made,
Bundle up and let’s brave,
The ice planet of Hoth.
Snow crystals kissing our face,
Tongues out checking the taste,
Slight hint of mint muddled water.
We left our hearts and our names,
And some footprints of games,
In the soft crunchy slosh.
Not a cold hurried fate,
But a walking play-date,
Between mother and daughter.
– April Resnick
Hand Painted Sketchbook by Carla Francesca Castagno
Reposted because it fits the weather today, and our walk to school.
It is real
Anxieties gather in my gut
I feel them churning
I hear their chatter
Making plans out of my fears
They worm their way in all directions
Northbound
They burrow in my brain
Whisper failure in my ears
They drip warmly from my nose and eyes
Then prickle, bead, and bubble from my pits
Some of them bolt and make a beeline
Straight up my esophagus
With an unexpected urgency
The rest of them hunker down and turn
Southbound
With parasitic precision
They compel me
To run towards relief
But I stay seated and feel the battle
Rage inside my body and mind
Soon with surprise I find
Reinforcements shoring up my spine
My wormy nerves are calmed
And I am brave again
Until next time
— April Resnick
Raw Nerve 2, by Julie Lawless
So apparently “new stuff” happens, just like fear, to spite my best laid plans.
Let’s hope that bravery lingers along with my fear.
…I just want to let everyone, who follows me, know that I am preparing for my first public reading. Which is why I have been posting less new stuff these days. I should be back on track after next week. Until then…enjoy the old stuff. See you on the flip side.
Much love, April
Do Not Follow by Junest on DeviantART
Spring does not bring change
It simply continues
The constant doing
And undoing of things
If I am to fully let myself feel it
The giddy heady longer days
The forward motion
Of birds, and grass, and sun
I must have thrown myself in
To the depths of winter
Covered in the stings of pelting ice
Or huddled in the dark, hibernation
Of isolation and waiting
While snowdrifts piled outside
I did
I let the seasons in
And let myself be with them
So today I sing and dance
With spring
Because yesterday
I fell with leaves
And let myself
Lay dormant in the drift
— April Resnick
Seasons by Dilorom Abdullaeva
Reposted for Thanksgiving.
I am thankful for all of the seasons of my life, and for learning to let them in…fully.
There are times the drudge and daily chore,
Do calm me down to spite the bore.
Things in their place and quite wiped clean,
Provide a peace I’ve seldom seen.
It never lingers past the surface, yet,
There are days when menial tasks are worth it.
Not exactly bliss from mindful meditation,
But silly satisfied reprieve from piling up frustration.
— April Resnick
Photo by Stephen Swintek/Getty Images
Last night
My lover claimed 100% of me
Of loyalty and of belief, I will not let this be
I reject this, my body cannot digest this
100% of anything, a lie, unless we speak of when you die
All of me, not up for grabs, not even on the table
I will save whatever painted face that I am able
There is at least one card you cannot see
So close that I have sewn it directly into me
Mine this fleshy vest, you may have the rest
But this Dame, she’s mine to play, one day
I alone will reach into my beating heart
Seams ripping apart, and I will throw her down
That Queen, and claim her crown
She and I alone decide how much of me
To hold, to play, to bluff, discard, or hide
Or perhaps if you are lucky
To let it ride
— April Resnick
Judith II The Queen of Hearts by Karen M.
Sometimes
I sit at the top of a staircase
No sacred space but a threshold
No sacred wall hangings but hastily draped drying towels
No sacred incense but the scent of wood and dust and dampness
And whatever soap I used last to wash my hands
No sacred sounds but the clicking of dog claws on the floor
The world as it moves outside
The sudden ring of a phone, and my breath
As it passes over the hairs in my nostrils
Mimicking this morning the wind that howls thought the tops of the trees
No sacred design but now or never
A moment between routine and responsibilities
Before I shrug it off, descend, and start my day
No sacred posture but balancing
Upright just enough to keep me from tipping too far forward
I am acutely aware of life and near disaster and the forward motion of it all
And another shadowy tunnel I will someday face
No sacred schedule but a subtle pull towards stillness
I am content for now to sit silent
To gaze down this century old passageway
To pay attention to whatever comes up
At the top of this staircase
— April Resnick
My Staircase
We wake up in bad moods
We forget our breath
We argue with others
We will face our own death.
We all get embarrassed
We trip and we burp
We reach out for others
We hurt when we hurt.
We can sit in silence
We can follow our breath
We can notice the details
And wake up before death.
–April Resnick
Partner, playmate, provocateur
I forget the power you hold
Transform this sullen sleep-walker
Into giddy, grand, and bold
Whether all alone and careless
Letting go and moving free
Or intricate instruction meant
To mold each tiny turn of me
You bring me living lessons
Self acceptance, courage, trust
If only I would not deny you
Save sacred space in me, for us
— April Resnick
Paintings are dancing… by ribhu on deviantart.com
Today I expected to sit inside of pain
But with the bell still ringing
I found surprise again
A little silver wrapper there in front of me
Cradled by swirling carpet
Sweet equanimity
Contents devoured weeks ago, you glinted
Empty in the morning sun
My discontent relented
Hollowed out from seeking treats
No trick at all, just
You and me
I bow to you with closing bell, reminded
A candy Buddha is enough
To find it
— April Resnick
Hershey’s Kiss by Kellie Marian Hill
sometimesihatemycat 