• Butterfly/love (A short reflection on change…)

    I put this on Tumblr in January, reposting here so doesn't get 'lost'. 

    When push comes to shove,
    I often find myself on the receiving end 
    of stubbornness:
    My own resistance to change,
    to life’s attempts to rearrange 
    my tidy kingdom.

    I swat away helping hands:
    demands, however gentle they may be,
    wear like sandpaper on my skin;
    thinly veiled reprimands
    issued from soul to self:

    “Don’t be so needy, so greedy.
    You can stand on your own two feet,

    Yes, but once I’ve learned to stand,
    there is no shame
    in leaning
    on friendly arms
    the harms of bad relationship
    are not to be found here.

    Today is not yesterday.
    I am more than I was.
    We are settled in space,
    a kind of lovely sweet grace,
    that embraces this new be-ing.

    Full of gratitude,
    Wishing for latitude to be granted
    from and to my ornery self
    I sit in silence and take it in.

    My life, all life, hard won.
    I will not will it away - 
    no matter how tempting the old ways.
    Today’s a better place

    and only just begun.

  • As the "news" rolls by..

    Every day - 
    after - 
    like the worst ticker tape parade
    you can imagine - 
    the headlines roll by
    the massacres
    the injustices
    the childbrides
    the sextrafficking

    Then like a paint bomb
    the latest ridiculous
    of some minor 
    washes up over the screen
    that which we would prefer
    to have seen

    I've felt it myself
    "fatigue", they call it -
    Tired of hearing about war,
    we are tired
    of all the bad news 
    from abroad;
    we change
    our channels
    dull our minds as we sit in flannels
    sipping hot chocolate
    and eating ice-cream.
    But what about the people on the 
    other side of 
    that screen
    the ones 
    wearing fatigues
    the ones whose bakeries are destroyed
    under the theory that bread is life
     -  if you destroy their access to
    you destroy their life

    I don't know what
    I can do about all this
    what can we do about all this
    is life really all about this
    how do we allow this?

    Sometimes at night I dream
    I am running, screaming
    I wake,wonder if I'm bleeding
    from the bombs others are feeling
    is someone reaching out to me
    from their dreams?

    Halfway across the world
    yes, believe it or not it's the same world
    even as I sit here listening to Ella Fitzgerald,
    "they can't take that away from me"
    right now
    A could-have-been me is losing, has lost

    Even here in my own town
    Freedoms I squander for granted
    are supplanted by our very own human traffickers
    out of sight
    under our noses
    rarely are we supposing
    it could happen *here*
    but  -  it does.
    Amanda, Gina and Michelle
    what kind of hell have you been 
    just a few miles away from 
    where I live?
    All too easy it is not to "see"
    all too easy to walk down the street
    ignoring the signs nipping at our feet
    like mongrels hoping for scraps of our 
    My intention is to be different.

    What is yours?
  • "We are but dust"

    Continuing on in random poetry vein:

    “We are but dust”


    But the dust is beautiful

    Tiny grains of ever earth

    All that is human





    A handful blown into sunny motes

    Contains a thousand trips

    down highway six,

    the remains of 

    family vacation

    meals on the side-away



    powder from your mother’s compact

    resin from bow of brother’s bass


    tiny smashed down bits of Christmas trees

    and rosemary needles

    from fancy dinners

    crystal shards

    of broken windshields

    worn down,

    winking in the starlight


    We are but dust

    But dust is every thing


    Ashes to ashes

    Dust to dust

    Formed out of everything

    To everything we return


    To nourish the land of our ancestors

    To sustain the hand of our children


    As a nation is built upon

    the detritus

    of its history

    So too are we created and recreated anew

    Out of




    Liz Huff May 25, 2013

  • Back To Zero

    Once upon a time


    I thought I knew

    it all.


    Men - I had your number

    in slumber or in waking

    I had you quaking in my boots


    Job, I had you in my hand, 

    the broadband of employment at my enjoyment

    next move unplanned.


    Didn't matter, I could disband and

    move into my dreamland 

    any time I wanted.


    Once upon a time


    I learned I couldn't do 

    it all.


    (Now I ) Gotta reboot, reshoot

    the vision of my life

    I ain't nobodies's wife and 

    that's okay 

    but someday


    I want 

    to  want a man 

    who wants to stay.


    Career in arrears

    I've sheered off a few years

    I coulda used to make my mark

    it's stark, the difference between

    what I thought would be

    and coulda been 

    and how am I here again?

    Once upon a time


    I thought  - you only get one chance

    at the brass ring or the romance


    But now I find

    with a little tarnish on my game 

    I can tame

    the crazy, the lazy, the whoops-a-daisy

    no shame in the future being hazy


    I do what I can do 



    I've been broken 

    and pulled apart.

    Now I got a

    fresh start.

    Amateur hour 

    ain't nothin but a

    good heart learning 

    the hard way

    about the right way

    that's the art that

    sets us apart

    and pulls us together

    the tether 

    between the me and 

    the you.


    So now I set it back to zero

    I'm nobody's hero

    but I can begin 

    to learn now

    I got the burn now

    can discern what I want and can do now

    I'm the intern on the upturn now

    ready for what life's been waitin to show me.


    Don't you shoofly me


    I can be

    just about anything.


    Just watch me.

    (Now you've seen the twist

    the turnin'

    the lazy Susan

    I'm usin

    to rewrite hist'ry

    this silly myst'ry

    of living - 

    This acrobatic syllabic musing

    I hope

    is not bruising

    or contusing

    if we shadows are not amusing

    remember we are just cruising through,

    with friendship infusing

    this thing 

    called life)

    Liz Huff copyright 2013 (written March 22, 2013)