Lost Mantra


 Don’t go gently
 with your head to the ground
 following your sad shadow.
 Go with brazen yell
 shouting you will overcome.
 These depths are not for drowning.

 Don’t go gently
 like a mouse ashamed
 of stealing cheese.
 Go with eyes up and heart courageous
 acknowledging lessons
 accepting challenges.

 Don’t go gently
 as a weak candle
 being snuffed by tears of remorse.
 Go like a blazing bonfire
 certain there is more to embrace.
 Forgive this heart its bruises.
 Let tomorrow define tomorrow.

Dark Night


Black night you draw me
to stare upwards at stars
wondering at my pauses
those spaces between my words
that contain the truest parts of me.

I hinder my heart with deep silence
contemplations of my deepest hiding
those peek-a-boo places,
that shelter my hurts and hopes
those broken pieces we keep for mending.

I cover my patterns, they are mine to see
I do not make them to decorate parlors
or hang on collectors walls, like dead deer
I make them to help me puzzle out
this stranger that calls me soulful.

Black night, hider of hurts
These tears are blank in darkness
unshed as far as others notice.
Oh to be at rest from wonder
to finally know how contentment feels.

Damn this mind that wonders
that must know, must seek, must learn.
It is my greatest joy and deepest foe
for contentment is not a learners companion
though, at times, I long to be so.

Restless me.
Wandering up from warm covers
to stand in silent regard
contemplating my future
under the dark eye of black satin.



Don't Mess with Mama


What’s it to you if I love you?
Did I ask you to reciprocate?
Ask for declarations of undying fealty?

My love is my own business and I own it true
I will never lie to my heart,
though, I may lie to you.

You do not need do anything,
except leave me be.
With my sighs and my thoughts,
my unending contemplations,
about what makes this quirk heart work.

Love is not for expectation.
It does not need response.
It exists for itself.
It is something truer,
than your sides I do not love as keenly.

This too shall pass…and if it does not
that’s none of your beeswax either!
you dig?



Dress Me in Apple


I want to dress in apple today.
Be fresh and ready to bite.
What does one choose,
when selecting
the tastes that run to Autumn?
Such a woody month for dreaming.

Would one first choose the
Mcintosh, with his clever red
and deep sweet twinkle
or would one be better suited to something
somewhat Fuji and flirty
(though patience is required)
always a winning combination.

Golden Delicious, so fine
and so fleeting
so easily bruised
in passing.
His dynamic flair dies if left in the dark
too long without an audience
his colors are made for seductive evenings.

Don’t forget Fall Pippin
that culinary creation
with the added splash of
something medicinal
“An apple a day my dear”
ringing in your chef-like hearing,
as you attire yourself in something tasteful.

Don the leaf, pass the twig
twirl into cinnamon accessories.
Enfold yourself in apple spice
such slenderizing flavor.
The newest clothing option.

Copyright © 2011 
Bekki Bedow
 all rights reserved.
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