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