Tuesday, September 24, 2013


it would seem to me that this is the time

while wrapped in the sinewy vines.

tangled in the intricate web

of emotions that are suffocatingly loud.

it would seem that these are the moments

when the words would trickle and fall.

down, over and upon me

as if there were no end to the way.

that I could describe these feelings

or find comfort in words.

it’s like pulling teeth tonight

or a rabbit from a hat.

it would take magic to make the words

flow freely from my pen.

it might just be exhaustion

or all of this magnificent change.

a life readjusted and realigned

a world turned upside down.

it might be that all of my comforts

are stored away for now.

the things that I’ve become accustomed

to always having around.

so when tired and weary overtake me

I also become timid and small.

my voice gets very quiet

and I very simply go still.

clinging frantically to consciousness

yet desperately needing sleep.

wanting so badly to let go

yet fearing what will overcome.

I’m about to release a torrent of tears

and then sleep the sleep of the dead.

letting go all that has me twisted within

and struggling to find the words.

let the lifelessness fall upon me

as if I could disappear.






Monday, September 23, 2013

~with grace~

where do you find the grace

to let words silently slip away.

to take the proverbial high road

and let them go unsaid.

I am a Scorpio and so infused

with a wicked venomous tongue.

poised to strike at the intruder

who has come into my realm.

double edged and sharp as a knife

I wield a steely pen.

I know how to use it for evil

though I try so hard to do good.

I don’t know how not to react

the sting of the piercing of flesh.

not even just when it is mine

I will defend you to the death.

when injured I will tear into you

and slowly wear you down.

piece by piece I will devour

any lingering wounds.

I cut from the inside as I know you

you told me all of your lies.

I listened intently as I always do

I love even stronger than I hate.

it’s not a thing that I am proud of

please don’t get me wrong.

it’s a warning of sorts that my wicked nature

is not always mine to control.

I don’t take pleasure in staring

at this side of me in the glass.

that mocking grin and evil smile

always staring back.

it seems that few else ever see her though

that she makes her attack under veil.

hiding hidden attacks and suicide bombs

in a package of pretty words.

they always come back to haunt me

while I lie awake at night.

and regret and sorrow cover me

like a heavy leaden cloak.

the evil doesn’t live at the heart of me

defining who I am.

that is why I am telling you this

I want to learn to live with grace.


Sunday, September 22, 2013

Mourning Rhyme

I try to steer away from rhyme when I write, in fact I will intentionally throw a word into a line and throw off the rhythm just to avoid it. I write with a very definite rhythm though, a pace, almost musical and I can't deny that. So this morning, while mourning, I just let all the rhymes do their thing and they got busy for this one.

I know you wish for me to disappear
but I am still here
stained in the ink
of that tiny wink
in the time that it took
and the single exhale of the last look
it was destined somehow to be
that you and me
would simply pass on the way
be tossed away
on the side of some dusty road
you have been lightened of this load
but I still carry with me
in a knapsack so no one sees
the words that you said
so many times as I bled
the sound of your voice
I cannot drown out the noise
it creeps up my spine
and I am hopelessly entwined
in a memory of nothing
or was it something
you would only commit to no
but those words still echo
the truth that rang out
in those 12 hours of doubt
when you said is it real?
when you said, I feel
but gone and distant
those words now haunt
the site of the wound stings
and the pain that it consistently brings
the damage done to my heart
the resulting works of art
the cost of bearing it all
when the result is just to fall
at the feet of mistakes made
in the eye of the devil jade
the jealous contempt of loss
and the inability to toss
this all into the raging sea
it has simply become a part of me~

Saturday, September 21, 2013

The Demons of The Night

some days it is somewhat gentle

in announcing its presence

some days it is more like an assault

a smack in the face, punch in the gut

I don’t sleep well ~ never have

but on nights such as these

it’s akin to being under siege

from some outside entity

the enemy that lies in wait

patiently anticipating the moment he will strike

when defenses are down

eyes closed, all tucked in

when slumber’s peaceful arms

wrap themselves around me

when I let go clenched teeth and fists

and succumb to her peace

that’s when the demon

under cloak of darkness

unleashes his wrath

and leads his minions into my room

it’s a full body assault

awakening with a force

that tears me from the safety

and the comfort of my dreams

it is a bright light

a spotlight in my eyes

exposing everything

I’ve safely tucked away

and now I sit, awake

with everything laid bare

naked and covered in tears

I am alone ~

the demons have disappeared

their evil has been done

in the wake of the assault

I weep ~

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

nothing but you

will you wake from the place where you have fallen

so sadly and desperately to sleep~

will you breathe life into lungs

that lay flat against your chest~

when the question falls upon your ears

will you speak an answer or just pretend~

when the lie falls from your lips

will the lines in your face remain straight~

does anyone know the color of your eyes

behind that carefully crafted mask you wear~

does anyone know the sound of your voice

or is the ventriloquist still busy at his task~

is there any part of you that is recognizable

the first page, the last, the ones in between~

is the title yours, the author you, did you edit

these words that flow from you so easily~

do the ink stains on your fingertips

masquerade as blood in your veins~

do you tap your foot to mimic

the sound of a beating pulse~

are there pieces of you left in the rubble

that litters every surface of this place~

are there relics that will ever be recovered

when all of this is clean and swept away~

there is nothing left to hide behind

in a barren empty room~

there is nothing against these blank white walls

but you~


The Game ~ Evolve

sleep was like some sort of game last night

a kind of “catch me if you can”.

from this pain in my head and the crick in my neck

I’m not very good at this game.

I know somewhere I heard a voice saying,

“tag, it’s your turn to play”.

but the sleep that should have been my reward

was not going to have its day.

I kept seeing over and over

things becoming very dark.

shadows playing with light

like a strobe light, stop and start.

there were figures whose form floated eerily

over me where I lay.

and sounds that were not exactly soothing

with far too much to say.

I kept drifting off slowly and then with a twitch

becoming conscious again.

and then there was that blinding question

what the hell am I doing?

this adventure that looms before me

though mystical as it seems.

could also be seen as folly

running off chasing dreams.

into the smoky mountains

where the trees have been known to sing.

I want to hear them talk to me

maybe they have the answers I need.

I’m chasing something that has no name

trying to find one for myself.

I’m tired of the one I’ve been called by.

it’s time to become someone else.

perhaps be defined by the leaves on the trees

and then as they fall to the ground.

with season’s change and life as it moves

evolve~ that has a nice sound.

my aching head is still foggy

and the words are falling out of my mouth.

spilling themselves all over me

but I can clearly make them out.

fear, unsure, unsteady, afraid,

timid, lonely and scared.

it’s almost like taking roll call

the familiar players all there.

the game is about to begin again

are you ready? count to three.

cover your eyes with both hands

and then go seek among the trees~





Tuesday, September 17, 2013


The things we cling to
like bits of frayed string.
The lifelines, the lifeguards
with the red cross on their chest.
The grasping for something unknown
but drawing and empty hand.
The staring for hours at this screen
for words that speak my name.
The pain that is unbearable
I can’t even drink it away.
The regret and tearing myself to shreds
for even trying in the first place.
The days spent disconnected
simply passing time.
The waiting for what comes next
while life is passing by.
The endless waste of years
circling the clock.
The life that I have taken for granted
with careless disregard.
The loss of hope, the loss of faith
of every piece of me.
The things I’ll never touch again
I let them slip away.
The constant wish for something more
other than what I have.
The feeling that it’s never enough
that I am never enough.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Excerpts 7

The Excerpts series are poems that are written directly from dreams. If I can remember them clearly enough to write them I feel there is a significance to that. Whether or not there is dialogue is the deciding component in them becoming part of the series because generally the dialogue, which is always minimal, is where the message is for me. Really they are just stories, things that I dream into being.

"Yes, dear"
As we moved through the house
we passed and open bedroom door.
There were many characters moving about this place
but these three caught my eye.
They lay together across the bed
in middle of the light of day.
But it may have been night, hard to tell
there was no telling time in this place.
He was a dark shock of wavy hair
face down on the pillow.
She in a mask, to keep out the light
golden hair and manicured toes.
Between them a child lay fast asleep
like a wall dividing them.
She cried, “this light will not let me sleep”
he mumbled, “yes dear, I know”.
I encountered them often during my stay
always together as three.
Moving about the daily routine
the function and conformity.
You could see her staring wistfully
across the street from the front yard.
As he performed some mechanical task
she painted pictures in her mind.
The child always oblivious, just happy
that they were all there.
And maybe that was the reason
like being caught in a snare.
In the kitchen I heard them again
she, speaking in hushed tones.
“This ache in me is gnawing
chewing away at my bones.”
I was unsure that the words
were even loud enough to hear.
As if on cue, he answered her though,
in that monotone voice, “yes, dear”.
She met me eye to eye
more than once throughout my stay.
In this strange little house with too many rooms
and so many stories to tell.
I couldn’t understand why they were here
this oddly made family of three.
Her eyes kept pleading to tell me
was she simply waiting for me?
Waiting for me to ask
waiting for me to hear?
Or did she just need someone to listen
without the reply, “yes, dear”.