anxiety aphrodisia

enough said
over fed

took me away
to a place
new
where soft were the
lips
shrewd was the glue
that held us
kept us
made us unable
to get this

tomorrow is new
anew
and the best
of times
we thought were
long gone
are knocking
and cleverly
mixing
with imagined
dreams
and gin
and tonic

your warm car
over there
in the shadows
of a park
the battery is
dead
we have to walk

lessons learned
i think not

because you and
i
are coming back
through the door
through the smoke
for more
more

and yet again,

more.

behind the scenes

wasted
wasting away
barely bloomed
and already falling

moisture kiss
condensation brought
from nowhere
left crystalline
drops on petals

awakened
opened
lily of the valley
scent
wafts

so fast
too fast

perhaps to be plucked
stolen
ravaged

left crumpled
on dry soil
no hope for
reattachment

a cliche
a final
soliloquy
"loved you"
trapped
metaphorically speaking
dead flower

becomes


nothing.

hurt with a side of best intentions

he wants to send a letter
what could it say?
thanks for breaking me
thanks for giving me hope
then running away
thanks for not being strong enough
thanks for ignoring your intuition
thank you ever so much
for flashing those blues to me
in the first place

thanks for going home
and above all
thanks for calling me
one final time
and saying,
"I know."

***I wrote this a loooong time ago, found it in my drafts.

runsong

I've got no more want
for the finer things in your head
or to forgive you
in the warmth of my bed.

I'll cry and I'll scream
I'll curse just to be mean.
Yet it's all these deep feelings
that you will never see.

It's my falling tears
and all the hateful glares
that tell you to hurt me
then try to care

Pay close attention
look me in the eyes
Turn down your radio
and tell me not to cry.

Turn down your radio
I can't hear myself think
Don't break these walls down
Perhaps after another drink
I lay my head down
attempt to get some sleep

Don't dare wake me
while I'm trying to dream.

*********************

I wrote this simple little song ten years ago. It popped into my head recently, so I decided to document it.

I hope.

I do so hope your visit is going well
that planes and trains
have brought you a heart
that beats louder than
mine.
One that perhaps
is a bit more free
and more capable of thumping
in a controlled manner.
I do so hope that you're
sharing breakfast
and laughing over stories
of yesterday and tomorrow
and babies and kittens.
I do so hope that you had
at least one night of drinking
that ended with the two of you writhing
on a motel bed.
I do so hope
No really, I do.

suprasternal notch

Amidst a forested landscape
worn thin by trodding feet
and vacant prayer,
I found him
gingerly sleeping at the base of an oak.
He presumed he would slumber this way forever,
expected his palm curled around
an emerging root
would seize in that manner.
The wooden vein would fuse
and twist with his
sturdy hand.
Willingly, he planned to feed his bones
and spirit
to keep this monument ever green.
Yet, I found him
and my mere heartbeat
caused hazel eyes to blink,
hand to leave root.
He begged for a kiss, just one touch on red lips
and I acquiesced.
In that soul kiss,
he pulled and he grasped
at hair tendrils and neck
as though I was his rescue,
savior from a forever of
tree form.

"You must sleep."
I whispered.
"The sun is rising
and my journey has just begun."

His root hand,
traced the base of my throat
and he fell back,
back to his tree
and returned to his dreams.

I'm doing that fun thing...

where I neglect all of my friends
and myself.
And I stop answering the phone
and I don't pay attention at work.
It doesn't matter what I eat,
what I drink
what I smoke.
It doesn't matter that I'm
losing my voice.
Bleh.
I hate when I get like this.
It's almost like getting so drunk that you black out,
(which I've never done),
then having to clean up all the messes
you made while you were on your
drunken rampage.
Except I'm just neglecting
and I'll have to pull the
various weeds and clean
the dust
that collected
while I was being selfish.

one last sigh

This bit of blue litters my white so.
Stark cold autumn eve is crying all over
my insides.
I'm dying
to go home. Home being nameless and faceless.
(Something feels like home and I've never even
been there.)
No decisions need be made, the path is
waiting for my bare feet.
(It's all visible, from my mind balcony.)

Alas, this is not the case. I am faced with
jungle like thickets and blackberry brambles.
They will need endless cutting. It's a job
that will
(inevitably)
spill blood.
Wouldn't you like to lie with me?
In the archaic sense?

is the sun setting on this corner of the internet?

My blog audience has grown. People really are concerned about me and my randomly acidic mind. I asked for it, I lamented that no one visited or cared what I had to say. Now that you're here and listening, I sometimes feel as though I censor myself.

It's hard enough for me to come to terms with my insides and displaying them for all the world to see...well I'm lame and fear judgement. Actually, I experienced judgement and it stung.

I think I will keep trucking...but I'm not sure how personal things will be. Who knows? I could just be babbling.

Anyway, maybe the sun is just setting on this chapter. We shall see.

xo,

~a

p.s. This is a picture of Lake Powell, one of the most amazing places I've ever been.

getting hit on by a young angry english man at a charity event I snuck into. yes, I'm classy.

"Hello."
"Hello."
"I'm Dan."
"I'm Amy."
"You look like Marilyn Monroe."
"What?"
"You look like Marilyn Monroe except with red hair. And you're prettier."
"okay. Why are you here?"
"I don't know. I fucking hate Sacramento. Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"You look like a fucking movie star. Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Actually, I'm married."
"Where's your husband?"
"At home. Why are you so angry?"
"You're angry too."
(At this point, a man I know who happens to own a strip club in Sacramento seems to think I need rescue. He saunters over, hands me a glass of wine and proceeds to grab my hand and drag me away. We'll say his name is Joe.)
"Joe! What the fuck?", Dan yells.
(5 minutes later, at the bar, Dan returns.)
"So what? He wins?"
"I wasn't aware we were playing for anything."
"You're here for money aren't you."
"No, I'm here for fun."
"You're wearing a fucking fur. You're here for money. Stop looking at me like that."
"Where the hell did you come from? Really?"
"What does he have that I don't? I mean, look at him. I fucking hate that guy."
"Then you don't really know him."
"You're smart aren't you? Want to dance?"
(We danced, he got moody, I eventually had to be rescued again. The end.)

secret drummer

He is enigmatic
famous in his day
but gone now
to what?
producing and writing
occasional background singing
genius lost
keeping to himself.
But occasionally,
every once in awhile
he talks to me.
No one knows.
But he does.
Hopefully, he never sees this.

cafes, byways, and highways

I have flown from bus stop to rest stop
to dark highway to gravel road,
from your mouth
to my grave and back again.
Lies in my back pocket, promises
clutched in hand.
Ribbons to once-was
worn in my hair.
Back to the front and around to the
shore, clockwise and frontwise
never quite getting free with my notions.
Picking up along the way, such scavengers
as lust and greed
love and need.
Leaving behind a trail of myopic bread crumbs.
Morsels of mistakes.
Truthfully,
no matter where my soul is
my not so discreet looks and thoughts
are cast in your far away direction.
I just want a good cup of coffee
and an artful exchange.

guitar times.

Casting notes into the air
the most clumsy guitar player
this river city has ever seen
is locked in her cave.
But it serves as a distraction I tell you
This genius mind,
Miss 155,
learns four or five chords a day
but the brain power doesn't translate
to finger power
and I can't hold the damn strings down
or switch fast enough.
It's frustrating
and oh so therapeutic.
Give me awhile,
I'll play for you.
Perhaps I'll even sing.

writer's block

In one of my more emotional times, words are escaping me. The little bastards. Nothing will come out...I'm just sitting here, pent up and frustrated.

sacrosanct angel

He's found
another
sacrosanct angel.

She is fiery
and without remorse.
Her every predestined
movement
in his direction
seems to be
cloud like
fluid like,
as though she floats
her way into his soul.

Ethereal, whimsical,
all of the above.
How can he
make her come home?
Buried in his twisted wet pillow,
he cries for her in
the night.
Cries for her creamy
skin that is
so soft and
atrocious.
Her heated shell,
that leaves his fingertips
blistered from just a
slight caress.

Yet another villainous
wicked
vicious
captivating
celestial being
has invaded his blood
muscle.

moth to a flame

She is sadness
personified.
Goodness of the heart,
but badness of the way.
Gone is the family
once held together
with green bills and smiles.
Tonight it's chardonnay
from a box,
ice cubes tinkling the
tumbler.
He can yell from upstairs all
he wants,
she still misses her daughter.
It was just them in the beginning
now her girl is miles away,
sleeping soundly in bed
dreaming of her own future children.
Her blues aren't allowed here.
Not allowed to even
see her own mother
on her own terms.
28 years ago in a one
room apartment
they laughed over Big Bird.
She cried as she held her girl
then.
Told herself the meth wasn't
worth losing this.
The man beating them wasn't
worth losing this.
She remembered those fateful words
that she spoke from a pay phone
on Central Avenue.
Mother and daughter,
hand in hand,
rushing traffic in the background,
"If you still want us, we're here.
Come pick us up."

obviously boys and girls, this is pure therapy - nothing too special to the outside eye, but it's just coming out how ever it wants.

amy cakes

Delicate wind floats from the west,
carrying soft scents of jasmine
and salt
from ocean 150 miles away.
Waves kissing sand find me,
even here in my bed; awake.
Head to the footboard.
Feet to the headboard.
A midnight breeze
is a welcome friend to the
sleepless weepless women
of this central region.
Teeth can clench,
lips can curl to mask pain
of so much amassed over
these wayward years.
Mouth can crave
the cupcake that was handfed
to it. The brilliant
little morsel that made
all so believable.
It's a recipe of flour, salt,
sugar, butter
something to make it rise and
wish. Something toothsome to frost
the cake with.
Candles burn not to bring in
another year, but to fend off
greedy digits, looking for a lick.
Sweet sweet whipped up icing
with a sea salt glaze.
So fine and choice on
tongue tip,
(but the after taste,
the film,
leaves something to be desired.)
Besides, the bed is no place
for a cupcake.

My friends Charlie and Jason...

They're both incredible poets. Much better than me....please be sure to check them out:

Charlie - http://dominickontherun.blogspot.com/

Jason - http://thejasontm.blogspot.com/

shelter

You don't quite realize
how often your nose
chances upon
the Autumn smell of
ripening apples.
Not until it reminds you of something
comfortable and dear,
and stops you in your tracks.

sidewalk ending

This old town sidewalk reeks of memories and yesterdays.
My stomach knots when I observe
so many people crossing this street
without pondering who was here before.

If I stop and squint
real quick,
just for a slight second,
I can see bird flight in cobblestone.
Ear to cement, I can hear
newly birthed babies crying for air.

I should have told you how to get here,
to my cobblestone;
the one with a forever blue tear
scorched to its surface.

heart stoppage

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night; it was total nightmare movie style. I shot up from a deep sleep, just sat up and looked around. I was convinced my heart had stopped. It was so bizarre...I literally clutched at my chest trying to feel my heart beat...and I couldn't. So I felt my pulse, it was there. I felt my chest - no heartbeat. I was half asleep and my heart seemed to have stopped, so naturally I had like a panic attack. I rolled over and threw my arms around Keith, he was still there, and he was breathing. Then I found my cat curled on my pillow, put my ear to his fur and heard his purring.

Then I felt my chest and I swear to you, no heartbeat.

I can feel it now just fine.

I'm convinced my heart stopped beating last night.

daddy issues

Cheeks pressed to cool dirt floors,
hope found in spiders webs
(cloaking the outside whores.)
Tomorrows promises cloud todays,
todays hurtful slaps and swallows
bury yesterday.

Oh yes, it's dark and seedy.
Smiles and laughter inside
the dank house
persuade even the greedy
to take a peek, take a shot,
it could be your lucky day.
Even with the tinge of rot
it's hard not to want to play.

There's no reason to this.
No rhyme for you to hang on.
No moment that's forgivable.
No time for it to be sing song.

Hug me, prince.
Ignore the precious youth,
(cast your eyes away from the door.)
No, the sun's not out today.
Why do you keep wanting more?
Let it go, let it go, green earth.
Keep all the kids from going under.
Fatherly kisses are overvalued,
the eyes of youth
find their own wonder.

Am I wrong?

It's strange to me that I have given the address to this blog to the most important people in my life.

So, does that mean those who check it regularly, are those who truly care for me?

Because not many people do....

mermaid

As if foamy wavelets lapping sand
unveiled shining shells and jewels;
she remembers me
from moons past.

magnolia in exile

Otherworldly magnolia in the desert;
fallen blue drops on white petals.

Don’t die on me.
We came this far, my archangelic blossom.
Let the sand scratch my pupils,
clearing my eyes means letting go for too long.
You can have my shade,
ravishing white,
I don’t need it.

Ultimately,
when the collapse (metamorphosis) happens
use my desiccated body (cocoon) as a shield
from the sand storm.

White against sand
is the loveliest sight I’ve ever seen.
Burn it to my lids,
my last look.


***I don't so much like the title. I'm not sure it's done, we'll see.

lush green lust

The jungle canopy
may as well leak mist and sweat
Every move is slow motion sticky.
This forest is a never silent sponge
filled with unforgiving cuts and gorges;
populated with bugs that kiss their way to your veins.
Sudden weepy rains;
clingy clothes,
sensuality spawned
from constantly feeling
the need to bathe.
Bathe in these blues, doll.
Huddle in this campfire canvas.
Steam the sheets,
gorge the kissing bugs.
It could be 1930,
we could be explorers.
Navigating the green in a heat induced state of awareness;
we deserve to be anything.

the insanity has begun...

My little sister is getting married tomorrow. As I sit here, looking at my big poofy bridesmaid dress; I'm a bit reflective. Not only do I realize this will probably be my last moment of peace for the next 48 hours, but I'm feeling a wee bit of nostalgia coming on.

I had invented a childhood in my head that was practically perfect. When I was 21 I began dating a guy who started pointing out to me that those times were in fact, far from perfect. He had a way of dredging from the settled sandy bottom, that which I'd chosen to forget...ugly tidbits that tainted the good. What an ass he was.

Anyway, as I toast my sister and her groom tomorrow, I will be thinking of those country days. The good times...escaping to the golden fields, playing hide and seek, family camping trips, days at the beach. The good times must prevail when all is said and done.

I hope so anyway.

heart squared

It's careless time in the city
iconic buildings creep their way
into consciousness
pretty young thangs
with dirty on the mind
traipse about with lust and
dollar signs filling those
big inflated pupils.

beat beat
pained little heart
waiting for a new reality
let me in little heart
we could dance all night long
sing songs of tomorrow
guzzle life in the form of
a drink or two
end up on hot hot sheets
still spewing the intricacies
of what's wrong in this damn ugly world.
(between grope sessions of course.)

kissy kiss little heart
daylight brings the cold hard knock of
truth.
last night was a chimera
you don't know me
you don't have the drive
12 hours of rough dreams and
hard loving
is just about all anyone can stand.

mockingbird

Twitter away little bird
from your perch

outside our window.

Ah, lovely how the sun shines
on your expectant little beak.
Pant away, little twitterer
here is a crumb and a kiss.

The windows sparkle
oh so clear
peer in at lovers
twitter twitter
entwined
twittering
love of the soul.

Allow your thoughts to wander

twitter, twitter mockingbird

would you like to play?

The field is green
the fruit is ripe
and there is plenty of room
in this cage.

here she is

My camera is not the best...but there she is.

Supposedly, the full moon is 12% bigger tonight.

I need to see it for myself.

Unfortunately, the city lights and various buildings are keeping it from me.

This will o' wish is sneaking out. I'll report back.

save her, savior

The scene is moonlit,
the house is desolate.
You’re a midnight explorer.

There…

Her back against the wall,
she sits amidst
sheer pink organza.
A party dress, (so carefully purchased),
surrounds her now.

Hardwood floors are no place for a lady;
the tears say she doesn’t care.
Self imposed sentence,
she wore her best dress
and she’s waiting, waiting
there.

You keyhole peeper
you want to be her.
Well, maybe just hold her
maybe just see her.

Click the lock.
(don’t knock)
Grab the door, get on that floor.
Enchant the party dress prisoner.
Take her hair in your hands
lift her eyes, scream in her ears

wake her
wake her
wake her
wake her.


**I am pretty much sure that this poem is awful. But hey, sometimes what I think is terrible, other people identify with.

This ain't no wine induced haze.

It's time for a night of artistic introspection
I'm wondering why my mind is withering.
Why so unappreciated?
Why is my mind the last thing on anyone's list?
If I had my way,
I would read minds
they're fascinating tidbits
of celestial proportions.

Every brain is racing,
every pair of eyes has potential behind them.

I want to shed my pre conceived notions of every soul I meet.
Why can't I do that?

There are so many layers of thick glossy paint over this girl.
I tell you, I need to take a bath in acetone.

No, this isn't a poem.
It's a ramble. A preamble.

funniest thing

A couple weeks ago, I made up with Momma. We talked, she cried; then said how very much she loved and missed me.

Haven't heard from her since.

wisdom

The spirit has escaped
to a dimly lit smoky cage.
Eye liner running,
she is huddled in a booth
with a clinking drink
and a desperately burning cigarette.

She can be found
in far off desert
crawling atop miles around sand
dark sky and stars lovingly
lighting her way.

Her fingers are
clawing, clinging
to mossy forest floor
as silent trees soak in her
cries and she collapses against an oak.
Her tears are absorbed by earth bark
and settle for the night.

Picture her
standing on busy city block
staring straight and true.
Her blues are red
and she has been delivered
to your doorstep.

far away thoughts of a California dreamer

Every word
I cling

Every imagined touch
I shiver

Every time I falter
my fingers reach
for yours.

Every kiss I send to the stars
Every tear I savor
Every nerve ending enticed
Every drink of wine
Every cigarette smoked
Every scintillation of hope
Every bite of food I can’t swallow
Every tortured breath
Every wish for ocean air abandon

Every forever thought
and dream

You are present
raw and real.

I want your words hot in my ears
I want them rushed and deliberate
with bright eyes in mine
as you say them for all to hear.

Inhale the dark,
see me here,
feel that I crave and hurt.

This is all I can give you right now.

so

So?
It hurts.
So what?

I could take this topsy turvy heart
and flick it in the gutter for you
if it would make it easier.
You know, do it myself.

I want to be easy.

So,
what about that other girl?
Yeah, she was pretty salacious
and hey,
I'm taken anyway.

So,
these words shouldn't be so pained.
It must be that knight on a white horse
thing you told me about.

So,
let me make a heaping breakfast
complete with spicy bloody mary
and
erode
last
night
away.

Alone on a Saturday night.

Doesn't that title sound like sadness? The man's band is playing a gig tonight and I decided not to go. I turned down three other invites to do various Saturday night type things because I wanted to spend the evening home alone. I picked up some greek food, put on my snugglies and settled down to read.

I can't concentrate. My brain is not working, so I decide to turn on the television. Ugh, I can't even focus on that.

My dear friend Drake is awaiting a response to not one, but TWO long and past baring emails he sent to me...but I can't muster up the words and I'm incapable of matching or even thinking about what he has told me. I can think about it, but I just don't know what to say. It's not about him of course, it's me.

So where is this great mind wandering to? Where has she gone?

Today, I went to lunch and the restaurant was next to a cat rescue. I gingerly entered this cat refuge and suddenly found myself in this huge room with probably 30 felines wandering about. All of them wanting love and all of them needing homes. (One day, I will be a crazy cat lady.)

I sit amongst all these felines and they're playing with me and I'm giving them love when this tiny blur of black and white pounces into my lap and curls there like he belongs. I look down and there is this darling little face looking up at me and I notice immediately he only has one eye...but I can feel his strong purr against my belly and damn it, I want to bring this cat home.

I talked to the people who worked there, I was ready - this little angel boy was coming home with me. Then The Man stepped in, "We need to think about this...yada yada...."....and I had to go home, Sherman-less. (Yes, the kittens name is Sherman.) Don't get me wrong, that was probably the responsible thing to do and all.

Tonight, all I can think about is that damn cat. I want him to live in my house. One step closer to becoming crazy cat lady? I think so.

16

So tonight, I was cleaning out the garage and found this little gem. I wrote this when I was 16. Get that? 16! Yikes, that was 14 years ago.

It is amusing, sorta cute, and makes absolutely no sense. Go figure.

I'm everything but afraid
Crawling through irresistable darkness
Jesus right behind me
You're so convenient
And my magic finger
That murder song on the radio
Your vision, not mine
The next time around
You'll be somewhere else
Packing my pink bubble gum
Popping my bubbles
Pinching my seat
Who could be happier?

on my watch

I've earned my dark nights
with quiet whirring of metal fan blades
and acrid smoke in the air.

Sitting in this chair and staring
at window fading sky is just
where a bad girl belongs.

Ticking of clocks and
clangs of far off bells
tell hours passing that I'm still
here on my throne.

Barely blinking
softly registering wheels that
crunch by on hot asphalt.

This is where I deserve to be
unmoving, untouched and unkempt.

Lights are behind these blues
and they're flashing and waiting
composing a mind patterned landing strip
for you to aim for.

It's night and I'm still here.
Yes, even at night I'm still

here.

watching

The days of fledgling thoughts
stopped by mental droughts,
the clinking of dinner glasses
and the imperceptible gleam of interest
in your eyes.

A post meal,
solitary forest walk confesses
the complexity of your desire
to know more and see everything.

I'm on the edge of that stream
(yes, this way)
watching you crush fallen
red hued leaves.

Twilight calmly steals my view.

The collapse stops my heart.

****************************************



I know I haven't been writing much lately. Mentally, I've been in a bit of a slump. Seems the days are getting shorter and the breeze blows in just as the sun sets. The changing of seasons is almost imperceptible in this neck of the woods, but I feel it coming. Soon I'll be crunching my own dry red leaves underfoot and my soft soft sweaters will emerge from their bin under the bed....Autumn means weekend trips to Apple Hill, wine tasting in the foothills and spooky preparations to frighten munchkins who show up at my doorstep on All Hallows Eve.

piano player

I feel like
I should be able to play the piano.
My fingers hover over the keys
as if they know what to do.
Yet when they pound them
in the order brain tells them to,
nothing is produced
but a senseless cacophony.

small town lights

In these years
I've cried the softest tears,
under wrinkled beds
with lifetimes overhead.

In sun baked stone
I've carved the mark of home
and hoped for a solid stand
with his fingers in my hand.

There is
a wind in the trees.
There is a
wind bearing memories.

Step back to Summer Fair,
sugar ribbon in my hair.
Laugh as you pulled away,
nothing could stop that day.

Kissed over blinking lights,
eyes close to blind goodbye.
Curfew was midnight then.
I thought I'd found a friend

in you.

Small towns can never be forgiving.
Seems everyone else does your living.
I've been stolen for too long
But coming back, coming back again

it's wrong.

country life beckons

My hair is straight as a board and I'm always trying to put a curl in it...they never stay. I wish I had big wavy locks.

I also yearn for the country life. Yet I can't help but think; if I was sitting on my far away porch listening to crickets and frogs, would I wish they were cars and people?

wow, all bad

Tonight is just one of those nights when it's all bad. I don't know if it's hormones or what, but I am having a time of it.

Spoke in depth with Lauren about her brother and even if I don't directly feel it, it's like an earthquake is brewing in my psyche. If there are any telepaths around, their inner richter scale is probably spewing erratic lines all over their third eye. Sorry about that.

I'm the queen of composure. I'm together. Everything is fine. Light a white candle anointed with olive oil and lavender, take two chamomile pills, burn some sage and meditate to the Goddess.

But it's so not. I swear, if I had more time, I would create a blog of my life. Every entry could be another year, though some of the hours I've endured could take the place of a year easily.

I don't mean to be all "poor me" about it, but without knowing me, you probably don't realize what I've been through. My experiences are nothing compared to others out there I'm sure, but they're all I know and for that, I am sorry.

World turns, life goes on. I do love being here on this lovely planet, but this whole gift of emotion that's been bestowed upon us humanoids can be quite horrid. Trust me, I would rather not be a robot, but I'd much prefer to bottle the Christmas morning feeling and gulp it down when ever times get rough.

Anyway, soon Laurenien and I are going to adventure to New Orleans for some old time witchy fun, (soon meaning in the next year.) She claims to love me the most, but I love her the most times infinity!

love it

I love this and I hate it at the same time.

Sorry to be so cryptic and generic, but I'm too tired for details and I wouldn't want to bore you with them anyway.

If I could save everyone I love, I would. There is nothing harder than watching them slip from your grasp and being unsure about whether you did everything you could.

goodnight.

indoctrinated

In the darkest hour
of your most desperate need.
When crisp lilies wilt, touched by the breath
rushing from mouths here to feast
on your crushed bloody heart,
(which had the best intentions)
but now lies low and pliant;
with no ambition.

Here is where my fingers
begin to dance
through your hair
and my eyes are in yours.
Yes, this is the part
where I steal you away
and guard you for my own.
No need for air
or strings,
that when followed,
lead to real world lives and supposed cures.
Just us and this cavity of ours,
in candlelit embraces
and no thought of past dances
or triumphs even.

There will be no more heroic deed than this.
For every gift I bestow,
and for every day you're displaced,
for every acquisition we make;
You and I,
one step closer to deification.
Turning away knocks on doors,
sending back letters; we're shaking our fists
and retreating to the womb.
It's just us. We're not them.

*This poem is actually about a past relationship...told from his perspective of course. Toward the end, I found out he was insane - literally.

from bar to sea at midnight

Laugh your way through anything.
Sip a drink,
sigh in time.
It's touching to watch you
study the world with your fingertips.
Inhaling it effortlessly
like the white smoke from your cigarette.

I have more time for you
always.

If it were silent
save for an ocean breeze,
lapping waves
and your whisper;
the deepest sleep could find me
tranquil, yet alive.

secrets

Today my mind wandered 20 years back. The fact I can say, "I remember 20 years ago..." astounds me and somehow doesn't compute - but I digress.

On this particular day I was swimming lazily in the pool of a family friend. They lived in the country, so aside from my splashing the only noises were the scratching of junebugs and the occasional whisp of a page turn when my father, who lay on a chaise lounge in the sun, advanced further into his book. I would dive; deep, deep, deep into the pool and try to touch the drain or attempt to stay seated on the concrete bottom for as long as I possibly could.

Suddenly, I felt a pain in my ear. I shot to the surface and cried out loudly, more from the shock of being hurt when I felt so carefree and relaxed than the physical discomfort. My Father jogged to the waters edge and worriedly asked me if I was ok.

"I'm ok Dad. My ear just hurt."
He looked concerned, then said,
"Well your nose has been runny from allergies, it's probably your sinuses bugging you. Try not to dive so deep."
I treaded water and looked up at him,
"Don't you have allergies Daddy? Do you think I got them from you?"

My Dad's face shifted, it was just for an instant; it tightened perhaps and his eyes looked over me instead of at me. His recovery was near flawless as he came back, steady gaze ready for anything, eyes filled with love.

"It's possible sweetie, it's possible."

He returned to his seat then and stretched out, eyes closed in the sun. I dove back into the cool blue, but only halfway down this time.

firefly

I want to see fireflies. I've never had the opportunity, and when I brought this up at dinner the other night, I was told that fireflies are actually ugly little things. One man actually told me that when he was a boy, he used to smash them and paint his face with their glowing insides.

This seems like the most terrible thing in the world to me.

My desire is not to see them up close or to handle them. I merely want to sit quiet in the dark and watch their lights flicker and float against the blackness.

sad night.

I'm having a sad night. I lost my familiar. It's not a surprise, I had a feeling she was gone, but there had been glimmers of hope the last few weeks. Possibilities that I was wrong.
Funny how attached we become to furry little friends. Funny how we dream about them even when they're long gone.

Here is a poem I wrote a few weeks ago. It's completely unrelated to tonight, but I thought I'd post it anyway. It's not done, I'm going to polish it up a little more.


Mossy Want

It’s my dark digging capacity
that finds you running every night;
like soft forest flowers in my green nook
waiting for me to come home and love them.
Age old qustions of want
and lust and grabbing,
spat on by our existence today.
Binding river rot that stops you from kissing me

You’re there, I’m here and we’re not alone.
Flourescent buzzing cuts my water escape.
You should be here.

fixin' for a vixen

I'm shameless. I love being a girl. I used to be the anti-female, I was even mistaken for a boy until I was 15. Half my life I went unnoticed as a woman and even further, barely acknowledged myself as such. Baggy jeans and t-shirts were my uniform for years.
Then one day, I cut my hair in a bob. I looked like a flapper from the 20's. I painted on thick eyeliner and wore dresses for the first time, (albeit with combat boots, but true change takes a spell.) I was a pixie punk with a vendetta against the world and I lived it to its fullest.
Now my hair is long and I'm older, not necesarily wiser. I've been making up for lost time.
I love being a woman. Love bottles of potions and my closet full of costumes. I play dress up every day.

casting glances, showing skin
and throwing my head back with laughter
so my curls fall just right
on the small of my back
and you watch where they touch my spine

Come get me.

My family situation can only be described as ghastly. The word ghastly makes me think of old silent movies with thickly eyelined blond starlets opening their dark lips to scream - yet all you hear is that intensified pounding of the piano and the reel running in the background.

There was never a child more attached to her mother than me. She would pack me off to slumber parties, I'm sure hoping for a night away from her clingy little girl thing, but the midnight calls always arrived. "Come get me. I'm scared."
When I turned 18 I forced myself to the city and mom stood in the driveway sobbing as my ride carted me off. Strange role reversal...and from that moment on, it continued that way.

I've stopped calling her back.

Each day widens the miles between us. So many unforgiveables...so much easier to ignore and move on then patch up and deal. Perhaps I'm weak, but inside I'm just tired...it took me 12 years to realize how completely self-serving she is. Now I want to nurture and intensify the good ones in my life. I'm so fortunate, I have friends across the globe...some understand certain aspects of me, some understand all of me. I love that. Love the good human soul, want to drink it like lemonade in river city heat.

I don't much feel like writing any poems today. They're better at night anyway.

everyone thinks I'm crying

It seems I woke up with a wicked allergic reaction to something in the river air. no clue what it is. I've always had minor allergies, but this is ridiculous. Even after medication my face is a swollen red balloon and my eyes are red and watery. I feel disgusting.

However, it has been interesting to watch the reaction of my co-workers when they see me. You can tell they think I've been crying. I am not going to offer up the fact that I have silly little allergies. The times I have cried in public, I've been in no shape to care what people thought and frankly, tried to hide it. Today I will cry for the world and carefully watch what they say and do. If I were a mind reader, I'd just love to know the assumptions of my sadness they come up with.

I'm going to cry all damned day. Do you think anyone will ask what's wrong? Up to this point, they have just looked away and flashed their eyes over my shoulder to avoid seeing these stained baby blues.

oh, by the way - this is my blog.


imagined

i’ve imagined this
tranquil day by the sea
perched on rock wall outcroppings
drinking warm red wine and touching fingertips
i want to give this to you

past the drawn line
beyond the spoken word
scared of cryptic glances and too many words
anxious panting in my ribs
i’m frantic
and still

i saw this
white sun sheets holding me
safety in numbers
you’re there, sweet breath in my scalp
warmth from your simmering mind
thumbs on the small of my back

i’ve lost this
it was undeserving and cold
concealed by a dead end
lapping waves touch me now
alive soft mist and bird cries
kiss my ears