Nursing home

There is still life here
Kindness, courtesy
It is not where anyone
Wants to be
Wants to end up
People here have stories
They have lives
They miss their families
They miss their mom
They may be convinced that
Their mom is coming
To pick them up soon
At eighty years in failing health
They might be right
Whether it is an atrophied brain
Or an atrophied body
There are still hopes
There are still desires
There are still feelings
Of love, of longing
Pain makes life immediate
Pain rewrites brain pathways
How you think of the world
Pain relief is needed
A Vicodin, a clasped hand
A string of Christmas lights
On the window

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, February 2017

Artist Life

Success comes from years of failure and practice and headache and despair. When you finally succeed at whatever it is, there is often a surprise as if you popped out of a magic hat that way. I feel the real danger for artists is to compare themselves to commercially successful artists, assuming they did it all on their own- Maverick with little more than grit and determination. While that is true, they did not start out successful and back then, back then they didn’t have staff. There was not a whole team of corporate paid handlers, marketers, cleanup crew. Yes, the artist has the raw talent but their team polishes them. So please, for the love of God, do not give up on your art because it is not perfect. You don’t have staff to help you. Not yet.

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, May 2017

Affinity

There is more
There is so much more

Yes, breaks are allowed
But time marches on
Ready or not

It is unfair to expect
One person to serve
All your needs

It is unfair to think
You can serve
All theirs

Consider the great
Humbling honor
It is to love another

Agree to share
Their life with you

We have so few days
Mayfly life
In the memory of the world

Why chain them in sorrow
Why chain yourself in anger

Let go
Hold Loosely
Love always

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, April 2017

High Romance

Call, write a letter
Email whatever
Let me know

Take a week off
Two weeks
Get on a plane

Meet me there
In the tropics
Small island

Pitch an umbrella
Over beach chairs
Bottle of wine

While sunset fades
Eat a ridiculous dinner
Dance

Lay in bed a couple days
Naked as we came
Curtains flow in sea breeze

Room service
Feed each other
Pineapple

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, April 2017

Cycle

It is a meditative practice
Physical meditation
Focus on the now for hours
Hours speed by with the world
Natural world
Patience, solitude
Flowers grow by the thousands
In forgotten ditches
Animals startled
Silent approach
Sun beats down at high noon
Heat radiates up from baked asphalt
Cracks spread
Threaten to grab tires
Threaten to throw you off
Lonely trees grow along cornfields
Shady spots to nap
To eat nuts and chocolate
To stare up at the impossible blue sky
Life passes, no deadlines
Only dandelions fields of youth

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, April 2017

Bitter Fruit

The years pass
In two’s and three’s

You still are as you were
Softer, harder

Not bitter, so bitter that
No one calls or visits
Or wants to talk to you

You are given a choice everyday
Where you want to go
What you want to do

If it is to be enraged
Yet one more day
About what might have been
You are free to do so

But the years will pass
In two’s and three’s

Walking the treadmill
Money in, money out
Sex maybe, food always
Death upon death upon death

Pick the dandelions while you might
Blow them into the wind

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, April 2017