Saturday, March 31, 2012

Silent 3/30/2012

Looking beyond the mirror
into forbidden space

where darkness reigns.
The scene of taboo emotions
forbidden to reveal them-selves
gain strength from ignorance.
Nails scraping, chipping, scratching
to get out of imposed confinement
unleash tumultuous disgorging
of life’s inequity in raging torrents.
Silenced by well-meaning behavior,
bloodied glass fractures reveled
release pooling onto floor…
screaming undulations fall silent.


art class 3/29/2012

Scared at a young age into not expressing themselves,

the scar becomes a self-imposed expression.

A continuation heaped on by family or others

who think art, writing, dance, any self-expression

is a waste of time… it becomes true, becomes reality.

How cruel to slap a sensitive soul into not complying

with their inner creativity by degrading emerging

attempts to capture beauty, distress, joy… any emotion,

and thoughts, experiences, life to visual or auditory format.



Censored 3/28/2012

Cut lines

Again and again –
Adapt, modify,
Ruin the original…
Total mediocrity.
Actors lines
Make connections
A drama within
As student actors
Grumble and moan
About their director
Chopping the musical
To a safe drabness…


Absorbed 3/27/2012

Continual gray without benefit of rainbow…

even a miniature prism would delight dull eyes.

Where was the sun?

Where was the light to shine through hanging

drops on every Japanese Maple leaf bud?

Orbs of petulant gray increase surface tension

till they drop what little gleam they held

into darkness of soil’s soul… absorbed.


Smolder 3/26/2012

Beyond thinking up anything new…

life was drained physically and mentally.
Primal bloodletting by family determined
to exorcise any and all creative demons.
Soul shriveled to mechanical movements;
lost to mimic shadows hiding strength in dark.
Exhibits in light were too noticeable;
ambitious efforts smoldered deep in ash,
a few embers burned desperate to reawaken…


Paint Fumes 3/25/2012

Fell off the ladder…
the short ladder I placed

at a risky angle against the wall.
No room to extend the legs…
just too much stuff to move.
Stepping down, skipped rungs,
splat on the floor – so sudden -
too stunned to comprehend.
Watching arm swell,
catching breath at last,
crawling to upright,
slow as a sloth - dust settles.
Laughing at the second near miss
because the ladder was caught
by the window ledge.
Luckily the walls were finished;
I reached my quota for paint fumes…


Posted a photo of the swollen arm bruises on Facebook…
one friend suggested getting some markers once the colors turn cool and drawing a tattoo.
I’m up for drawing a dragon!

Restored… 3/24/2012

Snoring while awake -

at least aware of her snore.

One eye opened to a bright room;

so it’s not the dead of night.

Morning had begun without her.

Winter storm cycle broken;

a spring dawn exhibiting actual sunrise

dismissing infernal gray mist.

Clouds open; eyes past dreams…

a list rotated into bleary mind’s view.

Already behind within moments

of leaving restorative dreamtime.


Present Tense 3/24/2012

Words reverberated
in her mind seeking
immediate release…
random what ifs blend
with less severe memories.
How does that work?
What triggers the brain
to let old images appear?
Here in the present…
past old times…
flashes of happy and sad
drift while recumbent
under night warmed covers.
Waiting for the energy
to get up following
sleep’s dreams slipping
between past into present tense.


Bills 3/23/2012

Unrolling a dollar at a time…

counting out a pile of pennies,

the exasperated clerk grew even more

impatient as a check book appeared.

Snapping the bills, dropping each coin

into the till, she counted out loud.

Pen poised the old lady full of patience

waited calmly for the balance.

Her pen danced in spurts across the check

face featuring a basket of kittens who

seemed to enjoy the rickety ball point pen

scratches ruffling up their fur. Tearing out

the check, handing it over with lopsided

smile… See you next month.

You can pay by mail, Mam…

or even direct deposit or online.

No thanks, closing her purse to new

fangled ideas…


Valuables 3/23/2012

Eccentric old biddy with wrought iron tastes;
her house out-shown the others on the tumble
down block. All had lost their former grandeur.
Stagnant decay laced with neglect prevailed
except for her house with gleaming windows,
painted exterior, flower boxes along with tidy lawn.
Being a life-long maid with eclectic taste the interior
was Zen simplistic; wall colors exemplified harmony,
sparse furnishing were comfortable, lighting soft,
belongings were worn but clean… nothing extraneous.
Anyone who broke in left disappointed as there
was nothing of value to steal…


Honestly 3/22/2012

you kept a tally?
A mental list of
who does that?
Well, you obviously do…
real neighbors pitch in.
In time of need,
they become extended family
but you…
you said,
We’re even now.
Even for something I never
asked you to do…
Honestly, you’ll never get it.


Wednesday, March 21, 2012

And you know 3/21/2012

Flimsy but decorative

cobwebs slipped fromalabaster;

slick surface with porcelain sheen…

a transparent glaze revealing

blue vein lace beneath paleskin.

Delicate features waxed calm;

infinite calm of placidemotions

trapped so as not to disturb beauty.

Icy beauty espousing coldness

where all the colors blur and fade

with wishes for a second of silence

to heal personal thoughts because

this body is always tired as it sinks

caught in an endless web of responsibilities.

Responsibilities that slip away from cooling

shell as pills formalize night’s dreams…

and you know the facade has to ascend.


Coin Flip 3/21/2012

Was the end in sight?
No crystal ball was available…
not that magic could foretell
when one’s time was up.
Family resilience on paternal side;
heart problems plagued the other.
Health and disease tied together
in an unraveling aging bow…
could as easily flip a coin for the result.

Dot 3/20/2012

Green dot left upon the art table.
Perfect circle in green,
a machine punched perfection
resting on the stained off white surface.
Where were its comrades?
Silent, unmoving, alone…
a center of student attraction,
What’s that for?


Move 3/20/2012

You gotta be sincere…

scrawled on the white board.

What are you today?

Totally happy,

totally sad or angry,

in-between it all.

Ramp up the response;

side step doneness;

move boredom out of the way

or just write on yourself

that’s what kids do.


The Dare 3/20/2012

Gosh, get it right dude…

really, Z’s?

WhyZz notzz

Why never?


My ears are dying from your zzzzzzzzzzzz

Laterzz talkzz aboutzz itzz,

said checking the wall clock.


Flicker 3/20/2012





gone global…

stupid to sublime.

Ignore surroundings

for basking glow

of electronicity;

generation addicted

to monitor flicker


TV’s glare…


Vivid 3/20/2012

She fell off the table in her mind.

It was rudimentary…

told not to climb on furniture;

told not to bounce on the bed;

told not and not and no, no, no.

She did the entire not and no inside -

pure rebellion within a vivid imagination.

Rules and rules and rules added their weight

without finding an out-of-mind refuge;

imaginative actions never surfaced in compliant

reality much to detriment of her developing spirit.


It is… 3/20/2012

My ears are crying;
you know you failed…
that belongs in the garbage.
I could tell you all about the why
but you know what…
you have seen it before.
At least, this chair is real…
it has dimension;
it is visible and useful
without looking for compliments.


Very True 3/19/2012

Spirit is beautiful
wrapped in cocoons of beauty and function.

Unless undisciplined habits convert the housing:
swelling with too much food consumption,
shrinking with imbalance of various inversions,
gravity, time and aging ache for a balance remodel.
Consumed so much time caregiving others,
physical edges were lost infused with self-neglect.
Now it's a different sort of expression trying to regain
what slipped through the hour glass of carelessness.


K.I.S.S. 3/18/2012

Here's another glimpse at the inner crazy
of my world. Typed a poem this morning…
company came and I put the PC to sleep.
It ate the poem; do you believe that?
Seriously??? When will the madness end?
I wish that I had an app that would show me
where missing items go - electronic or physical.
Sometimes simple things are the loveliest.
Pen to notebook paper- keep it simple sir -
unless I forget the notebook somewhere.
ahhhhhhhh don't know why I didn't save it before I got up

Lost Poem 3/17/2012

Lost a poem during night’s repose…
was sure I’d pull the fragments together in the morning.

Drifting back to dreams, mental notes were made
instead of forcing myself upright to clasp pen to pad.
Dawn’s whisper cracked eyes to the world but the words
vanished; stuck between dream sequences, nothing
seemed to squeeze them back into conscious mind.
Started my day suffering slight disappointment…
all because the displaced poem transformed itself
into a mist of ordinary things that are quickly forgotten.


Poet Richard Wilbur born in New York City (1921 - He came from a long line of editors, andthought he might become a journalist, but World War II changed his plans. Heserved in the infantry, read Edgar Allan Poe in the trenches, and wrote poemsabout the war, but he didn't write about the battles and the experience ofbeing on the front lines. Instead, he wrote about the quiet, lonely moments,like evenings spent peeling potatoes in the Army kitchen.

He said: "I would feel dead if I didn't have theability periodically to put my world in order with a poem. I think to beinarticulate is a great suffering, and is especially so to anyone who has a certainknack for poetry."

Spoon Search 3/16/2012

Pausing to visualize the where-a-bouts…
why didn’t we label the boxes?

Standing with eyes closed to the confusion,
all that was needed was a few spoons.
Being too lazy to rinse them, well…
that would be too exhausted to rinse them.
Chaos was well established; no wonder
couples divorce during a house remodel.
Tripping on taped cardboard that protected
the floor earlier had sent curse words bouncing.
Everything familiar so dislocated, out of place,
hidden in unlabeled boxes stacked all over.
Eyes open to new cabinets, new appliances,
new tile floor… forgetting the spoon search,
Sumi-e ink met mulberry paper in a creative rush…


"You have tosystematically create confusion, it sets creativity free. Everything that iscontradictory creates life."
- Salvador Dali

Recess Over 3/15/2012

Reluctant to leave dreams behind, digital alarm
clock blinks toward 8am while crated dogs
rustle in morning light waiting for food.
Rolling upwards into dawn’s awkward glow,
legs dangle avoiding the sting of a cold wood floor.
Mental to-do-list pushes last segment of sleep
aside; recess is over with a final yawn…


First Tie for Everything 3/14/2012

Not using my time well...
my thoughts are as soggy
as the wind maligned downpour.
Mine is an internal downpour
of random nothingness; visions
of reticulated ridiculousness
stream past blink less staring eyes.
Voices increase thru the course
of the time out; movie dialogue
breaks through disturbing
a cute pair of little sparrows
playing the longest damned
hopscotch I've ever seen…
napping sitting up – a first for me.

remember I make this stuff up - I did not fall asleep
sitting up. Well at least not today

Wash Off 3/13/2012

Smell of humanity tainted with indolence
was impossible to wash off…
working in social services had seemed
a good way to be part of change.
The mistaken premise that someone could;
that was the assumption – could with a should.
Some did aspire to reach beyond environment,
beyond family contusions, beyond poverty’s lathering…
the smell of discouragement was impossible to wash off.


How Are You? 3/12/2012

Such a simple question… asked
out of social politeness rather than actual interest.
Trapped with an expanding diatribe, she was
frozen to the spot unable to slip away
in the direction of the tempting coffee aroma.
After all, it was just a typical greeting;
listening to miniscule details of every issue
without rolling eyes, checking the time,
or screaming indifference made sainthood probable.
Too nice was an outside layer; sympathetic ear
was a disguise; she only came for the refreshments
not for gathering other’s composted trivial lives.

Please remember I have a vivid imagination and much of my writing is from that not personal experince or personality, etc...

Something Living 3/11/2012

Midnight found her struggling to pull leg
warmers onto chilled cramping calves under
achingly cold layers of blankets; where
were those blasted cats when you needed them.
The long pink flannel nightgown did little
to hold the warmth with its ugly ruffles at cuff and collar.
Not that she ever wore anything revealing but still
she hated pink and the ruffles… but a thrift store
inexpensive find is a thrift store find even pink flannel.
Rolling back and forth to self-tuck in, she felt as naked
and barren as the leafless maples under their sheets of ice.
Calling softly, the three cats responded curling behind
bent knees, resting on chest/hip saddle, and leaning against
her stomach; whispering thanks for their comforting breath
nearby and something living to lie with…


Inspiration for this poem was "ThreeDog Night" by Faith Shearin, from Moving the Piano. © Stephen F. AustinUniversity Press, 2011 – especially the last stanza.

“Your hands and feet were cold
and the trees were cold: naked,

traced in ice. You might take a dog
to bed or two or three, anything to lie
down with life, feel it breathing nearby.”

Socks 3/10/2012

I want to do impractical things…
break the monotony – self imposed -
that paints my world a safe blah beige.
Wrinkled complexion must mean some
wisdom has come into this mind filled
with nebulous silent restrictions…
a mind too safe, just too predictable
housed in echoes from past decades.
Isn't that weird? Worn reactions,
tacky fibrillations become truth.
I’m so sick of practical; think I’ll start
breaking small rules first…
from henceforth – I will no longer
match my socks!


Destination Goodwill 3/9/2012

Procrastination via a swelled head…
doing Sunday chores swimming in a sinus headache;
sometimes I so dislike doing laundry.
Are you sure I can't throw it in a pile and burn it?
I’d just buy new! Damn it, don’t have replacement funds
but my dream of burning laundry lives on.
Actually, it’s the clothes I dislike…
I own such a conglomeration of size, stained, paint
spattered, ill fitting, style less excuse for a wardrobe.
I know I’m a jeans and T-shirt /sweatshirt guru; I never was
a woman who followed style, masked myself in make-up,
left a trail of overly scented air, removed natural body hair,
spent money on spa or salon... no, not even a hint of keeping
up with latest fad has crossed my mind so a “What Not to Wear”
appearance is out of the question. I didn't realize it was so nice outside…
just loaded my car with clean clothing - destination Goodwill.
Then I’ll check the free “closet” at the food co-op…


Counting Down 3/8/2012

Curmudgeon within sulked;

petulant thoughts circulated

mixing with chirping spring songs.

Dismal winter disappeared

a minute more every day…

stupid sunlight perforated clouds.

Soon the squalls would halt; dank

muck would dry out; sensitive eyes

would sting from torrential brightness.

Curtains closed tight; blinds lowered;

window shades concealed habitual

apathy to approaching summer warmth.

Dailey “x” crossed off long light days

counting down to bleak winter’s return.


Doodling 3/7/2012

Lines go no where
dragging across margins
in circles or other forms;
lax and derelict in nature,
they wander without purpose…
zig zags, swirls and whorls
alongside pertinent information.
Some twist from diligent meander to
contain meaningful time and purpose:
phone numbers, addresses, names
squeeze between dancing ink lines.
Flair pens doodle better than ball point…


Exuberance 3/6/2012

How one can remain quiet
among other’s chaos…
voices rise and fall, mostly rise,
trying to be heard over one another.
Blasts of sentences, structured and non,
combine with physical reactions of
pounding tables or stomping feet.
Impossible focus amongst raucous overload,
The student’s exuberance makes me antsy;
I can’t wait for this class to end…


Morning Blend

Rising to the surface,
real life was waiting;
leaving sleep behind,
rain pounded skylights.
Another soggy day…
another dark storm
slapped the landscape.
Stretching, sighing, sitting up…
peculiar dreams mingle
with wafting coffee aroma.
A cup of energy called
Morning Blend stimulatesneurons.
The first sip pushes caffeine
withdrawal back into dreams
stained in alternative directions.

pleased that words are again tumbling out of sleep.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

To the Top 3/4/2012

She was a fake…
borrowing other’s words,
flaunting them as trademarked,
usurping thoughts too,
anything to better her unoriginal mind set.
Flirting with contention,
ignoring rolled eyes,
she gouged her way from underdog
to top bitch…


Rest of the Story 3/3/2012

Can you see the appeal of being a writer?
A romantic notion - writing a novel…
writers create worlds from their imagination.
Worlds that contain only people of their choosing;
worlds of controlled events and experiences…
all the good and bad stuff directed with temperance.
Does the romance and excitement wear off?
Aiming at three hundred plus pages, how many
unfinished novels sit in drawers across the country.
Will the story defeat or cause the writer to face blank
pages and persevere into the reality of imaginary worlds.
The stark reality of having to write the rest of story…


Mailbox 3/2/2012

Howling upon departure,
sadness envelopes sleep

till snoring interrupted
by key in lock releasing
tapping toenails that
accentuate skittering paws
rushing to greet with
barks and a prancing hello.
Honestly you two, I just
went to the mailbox…

Scrawling 3/1/2012

That she could do…
Optimum scrawler
Worthy of a degree
PHD in unrecognizable handwriting
Words came so fast
Matching a squalls deposit
Flooding street drains
Horizontal wind whipped
Dashing thoughts to opaqueness
Stream of consciousness
Without a second rewrite
Pages left for her children to sort
Through in case something valuable
Was misplaced within the scrawl box…


February 29th 2/29/201

Finally leap year…

finally a chance to celebrate her divorce.

Four years was a long time to wait to light

a candle; drink some sipping chocolate;

renew her vow to never trust again.

Well, that didn’t need to wait four years

since circumstances justified lack of faith

in all human beings all the time.

To avoid abuse, that was her ultimate goal;

to avoid her rescue nature, that hadn’t changed.

Cuddling dim hope that her debt to karma was

well served over a life of leaped years…


Let Go 2/29/2012

Too ready to blame herself,

she apologized even to her cat.

Locked into unworthy, she shouldered

a weighted bag of self-servitude.

Waddling... tottering, she was

on the brink of old fashioned calamity.

Advantage – everyone else;

game point – never hers… wearing

unnamed guilt dragged shoulders down.

Magnetic appeal to users, she was chosen

to display their depravity – just another

emotional burden added to the pile.

Moving wouldn’t help; she tried that.

Aimless, thumbing a recreation calendar,

her eyes stuck to Aikido – confidence builder…


Ballet of Foolishness 2/29/2012

No matter… whatever –

dull perceptions greeted her.

Deciding to challenge numbness,

she walked through each icy puddle;

stuck her tongue out to catch snow rain;

cut across the street ignoring the cross walk.

Freedom from routine – that’s what she needed.

Over analyzing every move was draining.

Rethinking the crosswalk – too dangerous;

the snow was probably contaminated;

her wet feet were freezing…

she’d probably get a cold.

So much for foolishness…

withdrawing into herself,

blighted freedom prevailed.

No matter – whatever…


Flakenstein 2/28/2012

Fat flakes assaulted her personage…
No way to dodge the frozen concoction –
rain with thick mutating white globs.
Mixed precipitation exhibiting unclear
thinking on Mother Nature’s part.
Indecision in her Universe of possibilities…


Monday? 2/27/2012

It's been a very unusual and strange week…
perhaps so much so that I can't even make light

of it considering… it’s only Monday.
Do you see where I’m going, I don’t…
Really... I mean ,does it have to make sense?
Do you need it to make sense? More of a sit
back right now, take a deep breath and shake it
off kind of beginning of the week…


After All 2/26/2012

Gust of mind rattles loose dusted
decades uncovering neglected effluence…
that damn loop of self-criticism slithers
in spasmodic bursts of mental vocalisms.
Idle ignorance doesn’t assist eradication
of deposits located in recessed memories.
No expectations or assumptions can retain
freedom from steep ravines of darkness.
Since her eyes were sharpened by time
and experience, she knew internal dark
mumbling hastened her shrinking from success -
after all, success was more frightening than failure.


Excuses 2/25/2012

Living alone feels great; not a luxury she would diminish.
Perusing an article about secret single behavior…
what’s so secret about odd habits with or without sharing space?
Living alone for more years than married, her eccentricities
had changed from quirky to quirkier but that was part of aging.
Could she imagine sharing a space with someone full time?
Had she become too
quirky to cohabitate?

She would needto be with someone who has lived alone.
Commiserating acceptance would help each other re-socialize
perhaps helping to blend or ban bad habits – togetherness.
Living alone feels great or is that just a routine answer?


Rubbish… 2/24/2012

Complete blather,
her mind wouldn’t shut up.
Over and over the loop circled;
wolves attacking Achilles tendon
tearing a deeper rutted limp.
Hating life’s routine upon routine…
compulsive redundancy…
she washed her hands again.


Frog’s Voice 2/23/2012

Frog’s voice carries in high wind.
Tucked into tree bark shelter,
he hollers – is this an alluring voice?
Waiting for a lover’s response, his silence
is overwhelming as the wind carries on.


Stocking the Freezer 2/22/2012

Ok. I just need photos and some darts.
So hard to choose which friend you'd least like to kill.
Attention-getting food for thought or staving off hunger…
I had nothing else to do but think random abomination;
I was chillin’ toasting up a frozen chicken fillet - mind went off.
Sometimes, I just have to go there - sounds brilliant or psycho
sticking to that vision and clawing a way right to the end to get it.
Which friend would you least like to kill and stock the freezer with?

Together Again 2/21/2012

Poetry was her partner in getting through the world.
The fissures in her broken heart had healed somewhat;
even though glued with nurture some pieces were missing
allowing bottled emotions to escape through tiny cracks.
Words carrying present grief and sadness were able to seep
out through these slight repair flaws into verse...
after all nothing is perfect when you put it all together again.

Keanu 2/20/2012

Last night my mom gave me a tiny owl.

Petite, the size of my fist, he was cute

and fluffy with big golden eyes.

He said we knew each other before.

Yes, he could speak; Keanu is my name.

We took a nap together.

Memories glided into that snooze

across sunrays back into moonbeams.

Morning light brought realization

of dreams within dreams…


Burial Plan 2/19/2012

A cat lady agreed to sign…

then realized –
what a minute!
The fine print…
to be buried with a cat.
As a lifelong cat adopter,
it made sense to share a coffin
but upon a second look…
it now clearly read
a live cat – your choice.

You already signed…
It’s not revocable.


Doors 2/18/2012

Hesitant, holding tight to nothing…
what was important?
Fingers curled reaching for what?
Time, it is that time;
begging makes little difference.
Mantra of please… once more,
promise of never asking again,
circles into whirlpool of a flush.
Remembering that stupid phrase,
when one door closes another opens
the doors slammed and were locked.


Lost Shade 2/17/2012

Trees with X’s and arrows…

orange paint signals the end.
Arborist decision to remove
from further seasons…
ice storm damage speeds
natural process of decay.
Life cycle shortened by an orange
symbol sprayed on bark…
this summer’s sun will burn ,
its heat will melt asphalt,
neighbors will mourn lost shade…


No One Speaks 2/17/2012

Scraping screams off walls,
sanding roughed scratches,
smoothing untold discomfort,
painting cheerful colors
to encompass decomposed emotion.
Embedded torment stains surroundings.
Now invisible sealed under another layer
because no one speaks of death…


No Face 2/17/2012

Floating, obscuring view…

backside to the ground,
backbone to the floor,
ceiling to sky - unable to turn.
Grasping at door jams,
snagging tree tops,
tipping and wobbling,
ignorant to what was behind.
Nothing graced her upward gaze.
Light to dark…
basking in stars light,
drifting over and further
from anything know;
released the past
to empty scape…
no future in sight.
Night to day counting ceiling tiles…


Deep Fried 2/17/2012

Determined to sing

[most considered badly]
or loudly hum off key
[most considered that awful too]…
volume wavers catching
on nervous vocal cords.
Sounding breached silence.
Continual vibrations resound in skull;
drifting in and out, reality drips steadily.
Drip, drip, dripping…
loudly avoiding fear with a musical regime;
constant song and hum forms a coating
of crumbled resonance deep fried…


Please… 2-17-2012

Found the sane in sanity
but balanced on the brink
tempting the gods of fate.
In and out, the dance of death
comes faster to some… nothing
within or without slows it down.
Boundaries set can’t stop the drain;
breath gasps, heart clots,
cerebellum lost… pull the plug.
Pull the plug, please…


Imaginary Reality 2/17/2012

Gone were the days of nonstop mysteries,

detective tales, fantasy selections…
no longer keeping up with favorite authors,
life became fiction – imaginary scenes
projected into natural surroundings.
Characters so real she could feel their touch,
recognize their voices awake or asleep,
comment on invisible visible experiences.
Dreams to daydreams, life was a fictionalized
passage keeping past in the past, ignoring
the present without a thought to the future…
she existed in the now of unraveled fiction.


Allies 2/16/2012

Growing up without fences, I was
free to wander woods and fields
with my tuff Tom cat Mouser.
That cat was all testosterone so Velvet
his original moniker soon proved
too wussie a name… especially once
his black velvet nose exhibited scars.
A tuxedo rugged form, my closest ally…

Invisible fences held me tight…
disapproving looks graced the innuendo
of good girls don’t, a long list of don’t
were aimed in my direction; many left
my extreme naïveté clueless but a few
sharp barbs left permanent scars: exposing
skin, wearing make-up, shaving legs.
Unsure and frumpy, cats my closest allies…


On and On - Old Story 2/15/2012

hot and steamy albeit guilt laden…
low self-esteem affair
so naive for being 21
trusting his smooth talking
he was charming
friends were getting married
wanting to believe in love
alone and depressed,
a married lover right after college.

left silently crying many a night
wishing I never married…
he was charming
wanting to believe in love
ignored how manipulative he was
pretty sure he was cheating
alone and sad
there was nothing in marriage
not even a lover’s prowess
on and on - old story


Getting Ready 2/14/2012

Today should be interesting…

a day at work,

a Monday…

the first day of this week.

Be good and keep smiling,

that’s what I told myself

looking in the mirror this morning.

It’s not unusual, the talking that is…

Be good and keep smiling,

which is kind of weird because

normally I just cuss allot as I get ready for work.


Lines 2/14/2012


Cracked plaster in need of repair…

fissure fractures mask deeper decay.

Smashing out the wall board,

piecing, taping, spackling the square,

the patch looks healthy and whole;

this temporary cheat of a fix

never matches the remaining section.

Demarcation of old and new is visible

to any eye roving over the blank surface.

No amount of cover makeup can hide lines…


Big Stick 2/13/2012

I n

I need a stick.

A big one...

preferably with thorns,

lots of sharp pointy thorns.

Oh, I’ll need a glass of water too.

If you need to ask why…

cause beating sense into people

makes me very thirsty. 

Did you see my mouth?

It was hanging open…

shocked into sludge,

I’ve got to study Judge Judy more.

Memorize her snappy

retorts to inane people

of which there are too many…

I need a stick.

Signs 2/12/2012

Looking for signs...
she had pulled on the mystic underwear
or tried wearing glasses of relativity
or simply relied on candle light and pendulum.
Always scanning her horizon for white buffalo,
magical creatures, a totem animal…
she desired to inherit her substance,
verify her direction,
remove the misery
rather than drift among mortal beings
encased in their own problems.
Blood with gravity plus a pumping heart
emptied her substance into
a dank forest floor.
Meaning faded as time ran out.
Steady rain kept the birds quiet…


OK 2/11/2012

Ok, , maybe that freaky looking albino squirrel
that kept hopping into my dreams wasn't freaky
or albino at all, MAYBE, it was a spirit squirrel
letting me know that…
what was its point?
Was it signaling what was going to happen within 24 hours?
It stood out in the foliage; it was a colorful scene.
How could one miss its white fur against emerald green?
How could it be a spirit squirrel prophet?
So many questions upon dawn’s breaking,
at least until I leave for work today and spirit squirrel
with its hallowed light fades without voice or vision.