Hunger Pains..Hunger Pains in Free Verse More Like This
and I dreamt and I dreamt and I dreamt of you.
I was filled to overflowing with promise wrapped in malachite colored wishes.
You were deliciously mine in that cloud of imaginings you arrived upon.
And I loved you there,
under brilliant Technicolor rainbows
covering bittersweet chocolate rivers.
Soft and supple; the shafts of golden light pouring in from the dark tantalized.
You were defined, clarified, delineated.
I was enlightened.
Luminous, you asked me to dance among the willows, sweet grass and wildflowers.
and we danced and we danced and I laughed silent until breathless-
and in my loss of breath, that moment of strangled sleep drenched death,
my eyes opened to save me.
Lungs filled and dark eyes opened, I felt a borrowed bed under my hip, the same under my breast.
GoneHave ever felt bone weary?Gone in Philosophical More Like This
A different type of tired, it's one that takes root inside your body.
It snakes like tree roots, twisting and turning inside of you infiltrating every muscle, bone and sinew.
Once it has completed its enveloping trip through your body, it then turns focus to your mind.
A once sharp thing, is dulled and filled with numbness.
The simple thing becomes complex; memories become harder to grasp.
It then insists on completing its mission by haunting your soul, sinking its teeth into the last remaining thing that defines who you are. The thing that makes you you.
Weary is a joy stealer.
Weary is a heart breaker.
Weary leaves no room for happiness.
Weary robs you of peace.
Weary gradually seizes your dreams, and leaves nightmares in ashes behind.
Weary is like an incubus intent on complete and under destruction of body, mind and soul.
And who remains when weary has staked its claim? What remains?
Friendship's Songmy sky is waiting for youFriendship's Song in Free Verse More Like This
a billion stars shining bright
blanketed upon an endless unfurling velvet night
my eyes are searching for you
anticipating that sunny fate-filled day
two fine friends will meet, a million words to say
my seas remain open to you
mysterious and calm wave upon wave
a thousand memories waiting to be made and saved
my land exists to comfort you
peace and rest linger for your claiming
a hundred empty moments seem to be remaining
my land, my seas, my eyes, my sky
combine to shape a hopeful invitation
tied to a single heartbeat's unsteady vibration
My safe place to landCome and rest awhile, I invite.My safe place to land in Emotional More Like This
Sit, enjoy and learn about the place I love.
Listen, as I describe the place my heart cries out to, "I am home."
Here, where the birch and the pine
reach high in the crisp blue sky, crowding the road.
Where the clouds are lazy
in the winter winds one moment
and tempestuous the next.
Look and you will see in your mind's eye
places steeped in Native legends
lands filled with mystery,
trod by feet thousands of years ago.
Names as familiar as the eyes in the mirror
call out as I pass:
The Devil's River
I reach the place where I am half-way between the equator and the North Pole.
I am home.
Frozen waters lay next to gentle lapping waves.
A world of white open to explore.
Images beckon of days gone by,
where a little brown haired girl
ran free in fields and beaches
barefoot, dirty and filled with joy.
A place with all seasons and enough days to enjoy each.
Long lazy sweltering summer days,
skin brown and kissed by the su
I ownI ownI own in Free Verse More Like This
to escape inside myself,
to soar into the endless ether-
the vibrant oxygen free place
from which I was
to drown a little
in my quiet blood, my silent bones-
concealed for the moment
from haunted beautiful eyes
that refuse to see (I am)
of desolate men and places
solitude bleeds into silence
the hard fist of loneliness begins to crush
struggle to even breathe my air,
the essence of
not hi n g.
PawprintsI want it to snow.Pawprints in Free Verse More Like This
Or, I want the snow to melt.
So I can look out the window
And not see paw prints.
Because I miss you.
The untidy black and white pedigree,
That no one else wanted to take in.
Whoever said 'an old dog
Can't learn new tricks' - they lied.
In two manic but short years,
You took over our house
And our hearts.
I want it to snow.
Or, I want the snow to melt.
So I can look out the window
And not see paw prints.
Because I miss you .
Analysis of a break...I was the last person to feel my heart break.Analysis of a break... in Free Verse More Like This
In addition, I cannot say it was a sudden cracking,
It began gradually as a slow, strange numbness,
That I observed inching slowly - creeping in.
I watched it - in the fashion of a third person,
With a methodical and near scientific analysis;
Mentally stepping away from the scenario
And becoming just a casual observer.
It was all okay as long as I could think
That it was not happening to me - not really.
A degree of disassociation to the entire matter,
As I finally understood how this all worked;
That I would never be as important in your life,
As I dared hope or think that I might be,
Or as important as you truly were to me in mine.
I was the last person to feel my heart break.
For the brief time we were allotted in unity
I can say a last and conclusive thank you
To end this failed experiment of you and I,
And then I can say goodbye.
OrpheusDarkness encompassed me; high-vaulting fireOrpheus in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Leapt and burnt the vision from my gaze
But though I could not see, I strummed my lyre
Until the music swept away the haze
And I could stumble onwards through the mire.
Now I strum no more. What use are lays?
Save to remind me of my lost desire
That I betrayed--let silence fill my days!
For I, whose song once moved the gods to weep
No longer can make melodies from woe--
No dissonance expresses pain so deep
And no music can be as beautiful
As that which I have lost. Let others come
And fill the void with noise--I will not strum.
EurydiceHis voice enveloped me, and I becameEurydice in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Myself again--I heard it in the song:
A mordent on a note he held too long;
A stutter in his voice. I heard my name
In these and felt a happiness the same
As when I saw him first. Oh, I had longed
To hear him sing again, but this last song--
It was so beautiful. And it remains
The best of human works, though none shall hear
Its sorrowed notes; the lyre's meand'ring tune
Through vast arpeggios and Death's expanse
Except the dead. It will not disappear
'Till all the world's destroyed, and hell's exhumed--
Such music must be worth a backwards glance.
Morning Walk in AutumnThe marsh is half frozen,Morning Walk in Autumn in Free Verse More Like This
splays of ice scattered
over leaves and mud.
Reed tops coated in frost
bowing to the cold.
I walk over the creaking bridge
and think of autumn,
clutching in my stiff hand
three fallen branches
and dead leaves--
a brittle bouquet
for my vase--
their stillness says
I died to make all things new.
Brain WaspsBrain WaspsBrain Wasps in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I am on the verge of tears. Why is this so hard? I think furiously, twirling the cylinder of Chapstick around in my fingers. I shut my eyes tight and try again.
I reach out to set the Chapstick on the nightstand beside my bed, but seconds after I release the tube I have to grab it again. Wrong, the brain wasps tell me, you have to get it just right.
I briefly consider hurling the thing across the room, but I know that I’ll just have to get out of bed to pick it up again. I am trapped in my own compulsions.
I know it’s stupid, and that’s part of what’s bothering me so much. Why can’t I just put the Chapstick down? It’s a simple mindless task, but as I look at the clock it’s taken me a full five minutes. As soon as I put it down, I have this need to pick it back up again and move it, almost as if two pieces of a puzzle don’t fit quite right with each other and I have to try again. And again. And again. And again until i
The Death of VenusIf there lived in the world a manThe Death of Venus in Free Verse More Like This
as rugged and as strong as I,
who could forbear with me yet go against,
who took to the black woods and the silver hills
who savored salt and the lay of fur
with fingertips of dirt and weather,
whose lips rolled words like smoke, like fog-
I would creep into his arms in the prologue of the night,
air sweet with the scent of new-cut hay,
alive with the nightjar's call.
i have you bookmarked -vii. Sometimes breakfast, lunch and dinner were like art; food was flung from each corner, creating a futile canvas on every wall. I played a scale of musical doors as they slammed one by one. I'm sure I broke a fewi have you bookmarked - in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
vocalchords too. He was always right beside me, yet so far.
But we mingled together. When his hand gripped mine with his feathery touch, it seemed okay to pretend. Maybe my mind still needed to develop, needed watering. Or maybe together we just made feelings obsolete.
iv. And we did.
We sat on park benches blowing smoke kisses and watched movies, that only seemed good because everything else on TV was crap.
Bubblegum. Pot. Gallons of ice-cream. We fed two pigeons and named them Ben and Jerry. We danced to Genesis, even though we both knew that they were possibly the most overplayed band in the world-universe-all-shopping-centers-in-London-ever.
At night we slipped between the park gates and sat by the lake. It felt like the moon was right ne
This Is Why We Can't Be In LoveThe day we first met, she was naked. The empty gallery had turned the A/C off and she said, "it's hot, too hot for clothes," and she stripped down to skin. She was pink and raw from sunburn, shiny plasma peeking out of translucent cracks in her epidermis.This Is Why We Can't Be In Love in Short Stories More Like This
"How many times have you done this today?" I asked her. "Also, hello."
I know I flushed pinker than her, fully clothed in my capris and navy fingerless gloves even though it was already July-- burning for her, because she didn't seem to notice her own skin.
She smiled, asked, "Am I beautiful?"
"I don't even know you."
"Okay," she said.
"I have to go," I said.
* * *
She was still naked, our second encounter. I was eating a blizzard in the Dairy Queen and she was sitting at the counter with the tall stools. I tried to avert my eyes, to focus on whatever was outside the window in the parking lot, but she caught my gaze in hers and trapped me. As I watched her, she grinned and twirled, bare feet on the linoleum floor,
unlearn the constellationsI may carry my voiceunlearn the constellations in Free Verse More Like This
on white-crested wingtips
but I refuse to take the names of birds.
My throat is not a desert
with smoldered star limbs
in place of sand, not a stone
for you to overturn and mark
with gentle cloud prints
or leave in the mud
to be perforated by bright moss.
My song is not made
to be thundered like a body
on the wind, to be bellowed
by the jagged mouths
of some distant, forgotten jungle.
It is made to slide along the edges
of twenty burning suns and rise
like a halo of newfound breath
from the crevice which splits
earth and sea. To break open
like the young, wet-winged dove
born of a glorious mud
which cracks mountains with its beak.
My song is this:
your mouth pressed against my heart
and my heart unfurling like a fist,
like a tree which tries to speak
but finds itself without a tongue. It is
a sky for you to stand in. A cold, unknown
world which opens its mouth in peals of
thunder and cries teach me,
teach me how to sing
as if I were some heavy-handed god