July 22, 2021 § Leave a comment
This is the hue of my Mean Reds.
This is cruel and wild and violent.
I want to bite something til it bleeds,
pin it down,
and mock its cries;
I want to bite something while it screams.
This sharp-clawed thing has a dragon’s wings.
I know what kind of meal it needs.
It wants to tear my heart
out of me;
It wants to taste the flavor of that meat.
I want to bite something and make it bleed.
I want to swallow blood and vomit fire.
I want to destroy
what I can’t acquire:
the balance of my spirit at peace.
I want to feel flesh cut under my teeth;
I want to rage until I am spent.
Blood and tears have the same salt taste;
This is the hue of my Mean Reds
a darker color than Holly meant.
June 15, 2020 § Leave a comment
because you have had them before
colorful feathers out of reach
and the bird in hand
understands the feeling.
There is room for more
but while you are chasing
what left you empty-handed
the one you have
The open sky offers her
a warmer hold.
April 18, 2020 § Leave a comment
In the easement between
God’s will, and the plans of devils,
where the roots and leaves of time
mingle without season,
a girl can pass.
Girls belong neither to the apple
nor to the garden;
we are not made of clay,
that mud of Eden,
though we inherit the stride
of our mothers who answered betrayal
with a step that crushes serpent’s heads.
Even angels cannot walk with us
without bearing burdens,
not while we are only girls:
the blush of knowledge new in our cheeks,
the breath of creation in our chests.
The power of girls
passing between —
we lose it when we lose
pieces of ourselves
to the odd devils of changing age.
December 21, 2019 § Leave a comment
Do you remember what you came here for:
Green tea & Rock and Roll,
The convictions of a monkey’s mind,
Liberty for All?
What conspiracy theories?
Speak, I’m listening ~
the maddening musings of a misunderstood mind,
the babbling of a not very tortured soul,
Powered by paranoia,
Fluff, flowers, and verbosity;
Your life can be used as a bad example to others.
Where the rivers meet,
All the lights are blinding;
The trees are singing water.
Between a rock and a hard place
a Sanctuary of darkness;
in this other corner of the web.
Let me tell you about my boat
Because for some reason, you want to know me
I’m innocent, by standards.
I am your Painted Whore.
If you let me… I will change your world
One day I’ll be famous… I hope
Time to move on.
My assault on the world begins now
The reluctant nomad
on Journeys through writing
Making love to language
Scratched into the door,
a Chronicle of a life measured out in coffee spoons.
Peace found here ~
Sometimes you have it, sometimes you don’t
July 10, 2019 § Leave a comment
Instead of stone, I will be paper
Conscientiously, with simple folds
remembering what I have already learned
Several times over.
I am folding a thousand cranes.
I am seeking calm in valley and mountain
and traveling toward the understanding of
where patterns fall and rest,
the solace of geometry.
Restraint is not control, and control is not peace
In this exercise there is no place
For scissor cuts, for the force of blades
on something that will not take
the shape of my wishes.
I have stopped counting
the ones behind me and those ahead.
At my peril, I will be paper;
Within me, enfolded, the breath of my patience.
June 9, 2019 § Leave a comment
Is firefly light, flashing over water
and a hope for something
than my own reflection, there.
May 2, 2019 § Leave a comment
Now is the time for all good cats
to rise up from their afternoon naps
and shed the bulky, cold weather coats
leaving them on their keepers’ laps.
January 21, 2019 § Leave a comment
There are things I can love safely
and I pour myself into to them
desperate for a new shape.
I see myself doing it,
tipping my pieces out
and saying, “At least this–”
Because my whole life, it has been
the pebbles that save me
pebbles in a vase, raising the water
so I can drink.
I put a shape inside a shape,
culmination of acquisitions
Because when you pile up seeds
you can make a mountain
No special faith required
just one after the other until there is enough.
And I believe that, almost,
I have faith in that promise.
Every day could have three things, safe to love.
Five minutes to learn a language;
A phone app game motivates a walk;
And a poem, why not?
It’s a holding pattern, yes,
It’s also a shape
A form my life can take
So I can address my need.
October 10, 2018 § Leave a comment
In satin pools of blood, reflection drowned.
She saw her face within the shining eye
of he who stank of cemetery ground,
who drained her to her death but not to die.
The looking glass is blank when she slides by,
never again her image to be found.
To darkness and to endless desire bound,
she creeps beneath the haunt of the cold sky.
Mirroring a mirror, unknowingly,
The pale glide of that celestial body,
Nightly rising with sickle dripping white,
the pulse of day changed to a pallid flow
of stolen life for a dead satellite,
that immortal older than she below.
August 30, 2018 § Leave a comment
This warm presence nearby
trusts me enough to
at my side.
Placid, even breaths
measure the stretches of our time
On the crest of slumber, I hear
a soothing sound, as steady as waves.
When I, too, sink into the deep
our dreams will mingle like
sand and tide,
the tangled track of our waking days
Washed blank when spirits
meet and part
and bodies rest, touching.
August 27, 2005