Dissonance

Reflection

Thirst

2 4 1

No matter how hard a ball is thrown, it will always find stillness if no one is there to catch it….

Love's Memory

8 days or nights
or both, more
than 16 moments
to rest in your
bosom
The clock ticked
I didn’t notice
the tock
leaving time,
breathing in
your divine sensualness,
again.
my soul
resting in your hands,
the awakening of you,
me, us…
the taste of you
playfully dancing,
lingering
beyond 8 days or nights
or both, more than
16 moments,
I hope

defiance

Being stuck in a pit is not an excuse to ignore the rope…

The Last Fall

Fightin’ my second cold
in as many weeks.
.... it’s gettin’ old.
Things are lookin’ bleak,
feelin’ numb up and down
.... my spine.
Feeling rather inclined
to leave it all behind.
There's gotta be a way,
.... to stay
when all I wanna do
is get the hell away




....from you.

Stranger Friend

She gives and takes away
the same gift
in one quick gesture
without knowing
she did either one,
simply
by saying hello.

Shame

because I’m here
in disguise
her whole life
is nuts.
she can’t quite grasp
how I take over
when you come near,
just like any other.
I’ve spent a lifetime
convincing her I’m real,
now she knows
and so do those
who let me in.

The Blue Starred Journal

Carly’s song plays
in my head
everytime
I pick up a pen
and begin to write.
My words
unshared
cause even though
it is written for me
you will think it’s not.
It really doesn’t matter
what you think,
cause only I
know my own code!
The blue journal
with a star
that was sent from afar,
knows all there is to know.
It doesn’t have an opinion
one way or the other
whether what I wrote
should have been
or not.

tuesday mourning

The following poem was written many years before 9-11-2001. 3 years or so after 9/11 I was cleaning out my desk drawer and came across an old notebook with notes in it. When I used to be an avid writer, I kept a notebook with thoughts and ideas that would come to me so I could later write a poem or story. You can imagine how I must've felt when I found the skelton of this...




late summer morning
tuesday, like any other.
sun shining...

suddenly

CRASH, CRACK, BURN
FRANTIC FAST FEET RUN,
SCREAMING ALL ABOUT
people stop, stare...
CRASH, CRACK BURN
again
FRANTIC FAST FEET RUN,
SCREAMING IN DISBELIEF
GASPING

CRASH, CRACK, BURN
again and again
lives lost
souls torn
heroes made

we’ll never forget
that
late summer morning
sun shining
stillness
gasping
disbelief
in one moment
UNITED WE STAND

HAVE WE FOGOTTEN?

the poetry of growing old...

The other day, one of the teenagers in my life was telling me something great about their day.
To show great, short winded, enthusiastic support, I snapped “Awesome!”

What I heard back was, “Oh no, you did NOT just use that word!”
“What word?” I asked.
“Awesome! You’re too old to use that word.”

-----Insert sounds of me laughing, HYSTERICALLY here!!!-----

Oh, right…. I forgot I'm past the age of awesomeness.   
 "Okey dokey, GOLLY GEE THAT SURE SOUNDS NEATO!” I said instead of the very efficient, but most appropriate word, awesome.

“Well now you’re just being sarcastic”, comes the reply.

YA THINK?????

Golly gee growing old sucks!  I know I'm not past the age of suckiness!!!

This Shirt

I used to have a shirt, not a blouse, it was definitely a shirt hanging in my closet. I made sure it was always clean, it was after all, my favorite shirt. I loved it because of the way it hung on my curves, or rather the way it didn't. It wasn't revealing or feminine and it wasn't refrained or masculine. This shirt, the color of burnt ash matched any mood I might be in on any particular day. I flowed with a sense of purpose in this shirt. This shirt clung not only to my body, but to my mind, my soul and my spirit. It was who I am inside and out!

The first time we met, I was wearing this shirt. This shirt gave me confidence and in my minds eye, sex appeal. I doubt anyone else saw what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Most people are this way, living their lives being directed by the reins rather than holding them themselves. I don't mind so much because I have a sense of freedom from knowing what they don't. Because of that fact, this shirt gave me the confidence I needed to walk right over and smile my most sensational smile, and say hello! The smile and hello were returned and I do believe that at that precise moment, I was not the only one who saw something special, in this shirt. I was grateful.

For many years we were inseparable. That's something I've never been able to say before, so I knew this shirt must have magic! This shirt brought us together, and it was rewarded by being worn over and over again. This shirt gave me 8 faithful years. I loved this shirt!

I'm not sure which came first, the dying of this shirt or the dying of our relationship. This shirt became the center of hatred and eye rolling, and the mouthing of words, "Oh God, please not this shirt again! I'm so sick of this shirt!" Did my shirt lose its magic, or had I? No sooner had this shirt lost its appeal, so had our relationship. I was back to being the only one who saw something special when I looked in the mirror.

This shirt hung in the closet, never to be touched again. But the pain of seeing it there hurt too much, and I was forced to put it to rest. This burnt ash colored shirt that had given me so much deserved no less. As I sat on the side of the bed saying my last goodbyes, one of the last 4 buttons that still hung on, rolled down the sleeve onto the floor, just as a tear rolled down my cheek.

I often think of this shirt, and the magic it had within its fibers. Deep down a part of me wishes we had never met.

Blood Stains

Sitting on the bed,
Feet dangling.
Hands over ears
Couldn’t stop the stabbing voices
From behind the door.
His name bounced off
Every wall,
And every once in awhile,
Mine too.
My own blood,
Stains from a moment of
Heated passion.
Door slung open,
Smiles fixed,
Eyes pouring arsenic
Into my soul.

The vinyl slid out of its’ sleeve,
The speakers bumping so loud
My screams went unheard.
The beer cans stacked
On the counter, one by one.
He sang and danced,
gyrating hips, like the ones that were
too sinful to be on tv
like the man he just cursed.
Becoming him
If just for a night.

Picking up my Holly Hobbie
I whispered my fears into her ears.
The secret pocket
Under her rag dress
Held a piece of glass
I found on the step.
That was the first time
I tried to drain the blood
That would dry the
Tears of resentment.

thoughts about dying...

When the shell withers
the soul is reborn in the womb of the universe,
flourishing in its' passion.....

Pussyfoot

The cat has been crying
under the window pane
for five nights in a row.
A couple of times
she left a plate of milk,
giving a pat or two
on top of its’ head,
in hopes, it would feel
enough love to move along.
But to let it in
is more than she can bare.
The cat has too many issues,
missing a few teeth
and in a few spots,
scars lay where the fur had once been.
She puts up a wall,
feeling only relief
when the crying stops.

ConstRain

with the stale dampness
lingering in the air,
her stream
opened up to me
showering me with
her gentleness.
my thirst, quenched,
every pore, saturated
my clothing, my hair
drenched with the
memory of you.
today, sitting in the
constant rain,
I felt the trickling
splendor of your caresses.

Addiction

On odd days
The wind blows
With a grin, cause she knows
My weaknesses,
Encompassing every fiber,
Bringing me to my knees.
Swirling, lurking, waiting,
Till my feet are steady.
Welcoming it
With dreaded anticipation
Again, she blows
With suffocating comfort
Allowing me to feel
The familiar chill
Of past storms.

bridle lane

A street made of bricks,
harder than knuckles
the grudging cars never speed upon.
with calculated measure
the lined trees
never blow, and
the leaves never fall.
uniformed houses,
nicely fenced
with locks that never open.
you won’t find it
on any map’
cause it prefers
to go unnoticed.

the cries of hope

Sifting through the scattered
fragments of trust, Hope,
a beautiful thing she was
but too naive to avoid
the suffering.
every breath, she
sacrificed, for the
suffocating went
unnoticed…