FINDING FAITH AGAIN

I’m lying in darkness,
In bed with my husband, Hopelessness,
This endless despair cuts my heart,
And nothing numbs the pain anymore.

Doing some crazy shit
Like dreaming of slitting my throat
Lengthwise along the jugular
To make damn sure
Every last drop of congealed blood is squeezed out.
Finding myself passed out
On the floor of the bus,
Not even remembering what day it was.

Answering myself more than once or twice
My vice gives me GREAT advice
“Try doing that again.
Take another drink.
It worked for you before,
And maybe things will even turn out differently this time.”

Yeah right,
What kind of insane shit thinking is that?
Obviously, something ain’t adding up
Because I’ve lost, am losing, or stand to lose
Everything that matters to me:
Money.
My home.
My possessions.
Gainful Employment.

To say nothing of what should matter to me:
My sanity.
My integrity.
My morals.
My friends and family.
The men I loved.
My LIFE.

I mean, obviously something in my thinking
Is stinking to high heaven to begin with
When my priorities are so skewed
That I put money and things over you.
But damn, I don’t know
How to untangle this web I’ve woven.
How to wake up from this nightmare I haven’t woken up from in I don’t know how long.
How to figure out what I’ve done wrong
And how I can set those wrongs to right.

Damn, I’m in for the fight of my life.

Another person said, yes you are.
But admitting that is the first step.
Now, you have to see how the old ways haven’t worked.
You tried it yourself before.
And look where and what it got you.
No money.
No home.
No possessions.
No gainful employment.

You stand to lose everything still,
If you keep stumbling down the same dark road you’ve been tripping down.
But look what you still have despite everything.
Morals, loose as they are.
Integrity, shot as it is.
Friends and family, distrustful as they are.
Your life, though you may feel like dying.

And love.
Yes, despite everything you put yourself and others through,
You still have love all around you.
And, whether you believe it or not, there’s love above you, too.

Doing it your way didn’t work before,
So now, maybe it’s time for a little something more.
There are plenty of shoulders to lean on
Of those who’ve been exactly where you’ve been
And of the Almighty, who’s seen just about everything there is to see.
You’re not unique, and that’s the beauty of it.
Have a little faith,
He does, and they do, in you.

I’m in for the fight of my life.
But I need to have faith.
Have a little faith,
He does, and they do, in me.

(3-2-2009)

WILL I SEE YOU SOON?

I thought I caught a glimpse
Of something a while back.
A side of you I never saw before,
A feeling I never expected.

It knocked a small crack in my preconceptions,
Put a little foot in the door of my heart.
Who knew what you could start?

You got me started
Thinking about what-could-be's,
Please,Let me see you again soon.
Meantime, I sit here waiting,
Anticipating That one heart-stopping moment
Wondering if my heart will stop,
Skip,
Or if that moment, that feeling
Will skip on by as if it never happened.

(3-1-2009)

POSERS AND LOSERS NOT WANTED AD

Wanted: one good man who knows a woman's worth

Hip hop, gangster, and DJ posers and losers
Need not apply for the post of "significant other.

"As Paula Cole sang, "Where have all the cowboys gone?"
Where did mamas & papas go wrong
In raising MEN?

Most applicants I've noticed
Only want a token white chick
With a J-Lo ass, worth one good screw.
Puhleeze, I'll pass.

To them, beauty is only skin and va-jay-jay deep
.They never bother to look beneath.
I have a mind, a heart, a soul,
That make my size-18 ass look petite.

My mind, they'll never be able to wrap theirs around
Because they can't grasp the finer points in life.
My heart, they'll never have because, like the grinch, theirs is two sizes too small
(Along with another part of their anatomy).
My soul, too expansive for their feeble existence
Because they're not even as two-dimensional as a cardboard cutout.

So you see, while I may be advertising for a man,
YOU are the reason why you will never see my ad on Craiglist.

(2-20-2008)

FORGIVENESS

"What if..."
In my opinion, the two most destructive words
In the language of the human heart.

"What if" this?
"What if" that?
Mind going a million miles an hour
Down a million different paths
With a million different possibilities,
You get lost.

"What if..."
Mulitply that by two,
And you get "What could have been."

"What could have been?"
Spending so much time mired in memories that never happened,
You can't dig yourself out.
They say, "If you have one foot in the past,
And one foot in the future,
Then you're pissing all over today."

Life is too short.
For regrets.
For resentments.
For dislikes.
For hatred.
For heartbreak.
For pity
Especially of self.

Forgive yourself.
Forgive myself.
Then, let's forgive each other.

(12-16-2008)

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

I know that it’s wrong.
You are poison
Without meaning to be.
But still you draw me in
With a white-hot flame of desire.
Every fiber of my being on fire,
Wanting to hold you,
Wanting to kiss you,
Wanting to toy with you,
Wanting to….

Draw you down
Draw you in…
Into my mouth
Into my body
Draw your likeness, your forbidden fruit, on my heart
While I tear myself apart.
The only time I will give in to temptation.

The only memory of you to hold onto,
This forbidden fruit we both took a bite of
In our little Garden of Eden
The taste of it,
The taste of you,
Manna, passionfruit in my sex, in my mouth,
The aftertaste,
Bile roiling in the back of my throat,
Roiling with the bitterness that this can’t go on,
The knowledge that this is wrong.

I know that it’s wrong.
You are poison
Without meaning to be.
But still you draw me in
With a white-hot flame of desire.
Every fiber of my being on fire,
Wanting to hold you,
Wanting to kiss you,
Wanting to toy with you,
Wanting to….

(12-12-2008)

PERSERVERENCE

His face is hidden from view.
Echoes of pained breathing,
The only sounds that fill the room.

Another man complains on a cellphone outside,
Waking up someone at an extended-stay apartment on the other end.
I complain of nerve flareups in my wrists
As I write, perservering, presing on to finish my poem
While I watch him in painful, silent, serene, meditation.

Everyday, watching him dragging his weary body out of bed.
Everyday, getting his reserves from a Power greater than himself
When he doesn't have enough to do battle himself
Inside and out.

The colorless spector of Death bleeds his face white,
But he finds just enough S-O-N-light
To chase away his shadows
Without a word of reproach
Without a word of regret,
But always with outstretched hands for others.

I look at my hands,
Nerve endings on fire
And realize I don't have shit on him in the way of perserverence.

(12-9-2008)

EMPATHY

I wish I could crack that shell of yours,
Wedge a piece of myself into the opening,
pour a bit of my heart into the hole,
Have it take root,
And make you understand, at least a little bit, how I feel.

(11-21-2008)

CHILLED

Chilled on an early October morning,
Lost in thought,
Icicles hang on my breath.
Smile frozen in place,
Heated by memories of your ice-blue eyes,
Your gravelly voice warms my heart.

(12-11-2008)

THE MATING HABITS OF MAN-PIGEONS

Manpigeon!
Fluff your ruff!
Strut your stuff!

Mating dance in circles,
Then keep going around and around in circles,
Confused by rejection,
Before flying off to the next conquest.

It's amazing how alike men are across species.

(6-12-2008)

SHANGHAI

Shanghai my heart
With no hope of rescue.
Shanghai my heart
Shackle me in chains before you.
Shanghai my heart
Make me walk your plank.
Shanghai my heart
And never give it back.

(8-16-2007)

HONEY

Hon...
A little drop of honey.
The sweetest thing you ever said to me,
Or a stray blob from a punctured honeycomb?

(7-17-2007)

HOLES

Sick to my stomach.
Sick to my heart.
Holes in my memory,
Falling apart.
Hate hitting rock bottom
When there's no bottom to fall on.
I'm feeling despondent of late.
Nowhere am I being cut a break.
Freefalling,
Boxed in, I want to give in
To the sickness in my heart
And not remember my addiction,
My memory as full of holes
As yesterday's moldy Swiss cheese.

(7-14-2007)

UNTIL JUNE

Until June, when I next see you,
I can still visit you in my dreams,
Nurture the bond I nearly broke,
Be open and honest about my deepest, darkest fears
The way you wanted when we were together.
I take your hands gently in mine
Rest your head on my shoulder.
My rock.

(© 2007)

ROADKILL HAIKU

Little dots of fur.
The side of the road littered
With bunny pancakes.

(5-27-2006)

WILDFLOWER

Crash!

I can't gasp, all air crushed out of my lungs, by the force of my tears.

Grief, disbelief, at you being gone.
Not you, not so young.

Just the week before, you nagged me about crossing my eyes and dotting my t's.
Please.
Goddamn it don't bug me about the way I write the news!
Please,
Don't let it be you I'm hearing about on the news.
No word, no warning, except a headliner tease: crash!

I can't gasp, all air crushed out of my lungs, by the force of my tears.

Grief, disbelief, at you being gone.
Here one day, not here the next.
I'd give anything again to perfect the way I cross my eyes and dot my t's.
But all I have are my memories.

I curse
Why?!
I cry
On the heels of Easter Sunday, did God call you home?
Why?
I scream, in a broken record of cursing and crying, cursing and crying, cursing and crying.

I can't gasp, all air crushed out of my lungs, by the force of my tears.

Some say God needed another angel,
But we needed you here.
Your friends, your community, your little girls.
Our Santa Latina.

Why did God pick a bloom from the wildflowers?
The very flowers you took your two girls to see,
In a valley of barreness, rarely, spectacularly dotted in Easter yellow,
Rarely so full of life,
Always blooming, giving the gift of your your love.

And now, staring across the same barreness some time later,
I still can't gasp, all air crushed out of my lungs, by the force of my tears.

The petals fall off the flowers, like your petal fell the month before.
But some still cling tenaciously to life, vibrant Easter yellow life.
Like you in Heaven.

Our desert wildflower.

(10-06-2005)

** For my friend & co-worker, Polly Gonzalez.

ROOTBOUND

I wanted to grow,
But you kept pruning me.

I wanted to spread my roots,
Soak up new experiences and new opportunities,
But you kept me planted in the same container.

I wanted to blossom,
But you blocked my sunlight.

Finally, when I was sickly, yellowed, and withering,
You threw me away,
Container, roots, branches, wilted blossoms, and all.

(6-20-2005)
(rev. 12-6-2008)

THAI CURRY

Restless, empty
I keep moving, keep talking
So my feelings don't catch up with me.

Soothing strains of Celine Dion contrast
With spicy Thai curry,
I can't describe the chaos in my heart.

I love you.
I love you more than anyone before.
I fell for you
Heart first, flat on my face

I rein my wild horses in.
Better to bide my time until, and if, I'm surer of my footing.
I slipped and felt too many times before
To risk tripping again

But feelings still threaten to take the bridle bit and run.
And by the end of the night,
I have an overwhelming urge to put my arms around you
And kiss you until my senses stop spinning.

(6-2-2005)
(rev. 12-6-2008)

THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH

And at the end of my days,
God lamented
"How? When I laid the world at this blessed woman's feet, how could something like this happen?"

I simply say,

"That is a question best not asked mere mortals who can't comprehend.
You, more than anyone, should understand the best.
You made people like me.

All the accomplishments,
All the accolades in the world,
They're never enough.

And in the end, the endless search for what I couldn't have
Wore me to my bloody bones.
In the end, it was more than I could handle.

You did this to me."

(5-26-2005)
(rev. 12-5-2008)

A TOAST TO ST. VALENTINE

Here's to Valentine's Day
And the man who inspired it:
St. Valentine.

I find it ironic
That a holiday for lovers
So full of hearts and flowers
Was named for a martyr
Or two or three
Depending on the histories you read

But indulge me
In a little history of my favorite inspiration.
Setting: ancient Rome.
Time: the year of our Lord 270 or thereabouts.
Saint Valentine led a secret life.

A rebel, he went against the strict edict and belief of Emperor Claudius II:
"Single soldiers make better soldiers than married soldiers
Because they had less to lose on the homefront."
Claudius the Cruel cancelled all marriages and engagements.
I guess sexually-frustrated men make for better fighters
But I digress.

Valentine dared to marry soldiers on the sly
And when Claudius the Cruel found out Valentine's indiscretion,
He decreed
''It's stoning, beating, and beheading for thee.''

So, on the 14th of February,
Saint Valentine, he,
Still spreading the word of love for all to see,
Left a note for the daughter of the prison guard,
''Love from your Valentine''
Before he went off to die.

So, everyone raise your glass. RAISE YOUR GLASS!
Here's to taking Cupid's arrow and shoving it up his goddamned ass.

(2-17-2005)
(rev. 2-8-2006)
(rev. 3-11-2007)
A Toast to St. Valentine

Here's to Valentine's Day
And the man who inspired it:
St. Valentine.

I find it ironic
That a holiday for lovers
So full of hearts and flowers
Was named for a martyr
Or two or three
Depending on the histories you read

But indulge me
In a little history of my favorite inspiration.
Setting: ancient Rome.
Time: the year of our Lord 270 or thereabouts.
Saint Valentine led a secret life.

A rebel, he went against the strict edict and belief of Emperor Claudius II:
"Single soldiers make better soldiers than married soldiers
Because they had less to lose on the homefront."
Claudius the Cruel cancelled all marriages and engagements.
I guess sexually-frustrated men make for better fighters
But I digress.

Valentine dared to marry soldiers on the sly
And when Claudius the Cruel found out Valentine's indiscretion,
He decreed
''It's stoning, beating, and beheading for thee.''

So, on the 14th of February,
Saint Valentine, he,
Still spreading the word of love for all to see,
Left a note for the daughter of the prison guard,
''Love from your Valentine''
Before he went off to die.

So, everyone raise your glass. RAISE YOUR GLASS!
Here's to taking Cupid's arrow and shoving it up his goddamned ass.

(2-17-2005)
(rev. 1 - 2-8-2006)
(rev. 2 - 11-2007)
(rev. 3 - 12-5-2008)

SPITTING KITTY

Cowed.

The big, bad dog backs me into a corner.
Back arched, eyes wide, hair on end.
Hiss! Spit! Hiss!

He growls & yaps a friendly invitation:
''Come! Play with me!"

But I hear only the growl.
The fear factor kicks in.
I bare my claws and strike.

(11-22-2004)

SMALLTALK

Come here and make some smalltalk with me
The way you do with others.
Talk about sweet nothings
Or nothing at all.

Shoot the shit
Ask me how I am, too.
I mean, I take the time to ask you.

And at least talking about nothing
Makes me feel like I'm something.

(11-22-2004)

JUNK E-MAIL

Cheap web hosting york
Check out the best cummins coroutine bleach
Victory at last.
Backstop.
Absenteeism.
Debutante 945 biceps.
Pup!
Alert! Mortgage rates on the rise
The truth is brickbat checklist urbanite.
Cheap hosting, gasp!
Discounted breastwork fan guano.
Priority no wait obstetric blurb.
Boost your confidence and have the body you dream about.
Sent to me technion pinhole memo
Cheaper than enzte attenuate quiet.
Life is better now extricable dungeon
Carrion.
There is nothing as good as this belgium chenille.
Don't tell anyone alkaloid faber.
Inkling
Thanks for letting me know ethylene hippopotamus
It all worked out tolerable jaunty.

(11-22-2004)

HEARTLESS

Love me for me.
Notice me, loving and caring.
Notice a heart beating.
Don't see me as soulless, heartless.

See my heart on my sleeve.
Don't spit, fillet, and skewer it.
Don't stab it to pieces.

Don't let me see what I really mean to you.

(11-22-2004)

DRIFTWOOD

I won't sink.
You won't swim.
And this raft is going down.
Let's tie on another piece of driftwood.

(11-22-2004)

MISMATCH MADE IN HEAVEN

Too tall.
Too short.
Too goofy.
Too serious.
Too into sports.
Too could care less.
Too anti-Duran Duran.
Too much a groupie.

And the scary thing is I can picture myself with you.

(10-9-2004)

BUSH BASH

Bush bash
Antichrist
Fourth Reich
Twilight
Everything will be all right.

(8-27-2004)

REALIZATION

I see you sitting at a table
In a restaurant
Lonely male.
I see you staring into space
A faraway look
On your face.

I wonder what you're thinking
Maybe you're looking
And hoping
For a home of the spirit, the soul
A blessed union to
Make you whole.

To me, love is a sweet breath of life
A trip born of the
Sweetest high.
It's the lifeblood of two lovers bound.
Feeling, caress, and
Kisses abound.

You look my way, and our gazes lock.
It comes as something
Of a shock.
To see your look mirroring my own
With a feeling of
Coming home.

Never did anything feel so right
As this growing love
On this night.

(8-2-2004)
(rev. 11-30-2008)

HIPPIE AT HEART

Calypso keyboards, laid-back drumbeats, reggae
Mellow moods flowing
Flower-power, daisy-wearing people
Gathering in the plaza
Dancing
I keep thinking this is what Woodstock felt like.

(8-2-2004)

JUST HOLDING HANDS

The simple pleasure of fingers entwined,
Yours in mine,
Safe in my love for you.
All I ever wanted to do was lay my head on your shoulder.

(6-14-2004)

CLEAN SLATE

Your life, your slate
So full your chalk is worn to a nub.
So many words, so many writings,
Not much space is left on your slate.

But slowly, an unseen eraser slips,
Wiping away your words, your writings
Letter by letter.

You have more room to write on your chalkboard,
But you can't remember the letters
To write the words
That make up your writings.

Little by little, everything is erased.
Your slate is wiped clean.
The only difference here;
There is no starting over.

(6-8-2004)
(rev. 11-28-2008)

LIFE

Life
Is too fucking short.
The end.

(12-29-2003)

LONELY SATELLITE

One by one, they filter away,
Leaving behind nothing but a lonely satellite,
Drifting aimlessly in her own orbit.
A thin thread of gravity tethering her down
But it's dangerously at risk of snapping,
Leaving her even more adrift than she already is.

A lonely orbit
Never crisscrossing celestial paths with other spacebound neighbors.
Sometimes stationary, inertia,
Wanting gravity to pull her in,
But she can never get enough momentum
To attract those bodies nearest to her.

A Hailey's comet on a lonely 76-year journey
Going around and around the same path,
Always ending up where she started.

(10/24/2003)
(rev. 11-22-2008)
(rev. 11-28-2008)

SHUT THE FUCK UP

I love listening to poetry
I love being in the audience
I want their words to touch my life, to mean something to me.
But how can their words have a profound effect on the masses over the din of dinky, dimwitted dumbasses,
Who don’t know when to make like the Red Hot Chili Peppers and put a fucking sock in it?

And you don’t know what it takes to rein myself in and play the part of the perfect, attentive audience member as I take in snippets of conversation floating like free radicals around me.

“You see that show on the Fox News Channel?
O’Reilly? Hannity? Somebody?”

(…shut up…)

“I heard Al Gore gained 45 pounds.”

(…stuff it…)

“He works down on the railroad while she sits in unemployment.
They’re both screwed up.”

(…screw you and shut up…)

Whiiiiizzzzzz……blrrrrrrr….blleeennnndddddd….

(…turn the fucking capuccino machine OFF!…)

“Elvis is dead.”

(…drop dead and be quiet…)

“He hit something and hurt his kneecap. It’s all swollen up.”

(…shut up…)

“The worst part is that Damn Yankee.”

(…zip it…)

“The union, it’s too powerful. It makes me worry.”

(…oh really…)

“Dubya is a fucking Nazi.”

(…so are you, you fucker…)

“They murdered I don’t know how many people.”

(…and if you don’t shut up, I’m going to kill you…)

“Of course, it’s just because they’re rich. They think they can screw people.”

(…screw you…)

“My father was born in 1891.”

(…I have to bite my tongue…)

“No, no no, *this* one.
When you do that, you gotta go across the street.”

(…I shuffle my feet…I stare daggers… I cross and uncross my legs…I stare daggers…)

All you gotta do is just go up there and exhale.

(…All right, I will!…)

WOULD YOU MIND SO TERRIBLY SHUTTING THE FUCK UP?
I’M TRYING TO LISTEN BUT NOT TO YOU!

(8/26/2003)
(rev. 11-25-2008)

* I wrote this with being a group performance piece in mind. It's from the perspective of an audience member trying to listen to good poetry in a noisy atmosphere. The conversations snippets are actual snippets I've heard over the years in various coffee houses I hang out at. Oh, and I threw in the crowning glory: the sound of a capuccino machine/coffee steamer going off right in the middle of a reading.

Elemental

I look at you.
I want to know what it feels like to be a woman.
I want to hold you like a baby to my breast,
Suckling, elemental, instinctive.

You grab me.
I come against a wall of masculinity, caught in an embrace.
The perfect, sineous lines of your chest not quite hidden by your stretched polo shirt.
Pressed against you, I am struck dumb.
Incoherent.
Except for one thought.
One primal, elemental, gut reaction centered somewhere between my heart and my Venus apex..

Man.
Woman.

I feel the elemental pull between

Man.
Woman.

You tell me you want me,
And I fall for it hook, line, and sinker.
And I’m falling, falling to be part of a harmonious whole.
A consummation of the spirit.
A merging of souls.
A meeting of minds.
A meeting of minds.
A merging of souls.
A consummation of the spirit.

You pour over me like honey rain,
Drenching me with your ecstasy.
I breathe you in.
I take you into my heart.
I fold you into my soul.
And you move me in ways I hadn’t felt since time began.
You say “I’m warm.” sheathed in a glove of hope, desire, longing.
And lingering sensation… so lingering…

I look at your hand,
Look at your hand in mine,
But not quite steal a glance at your sleeping face
Or the rest of you.
I’m almost afraid if I stare too long,
You’ll wake up,
And the moment will be gone.

(8/26/2003)
(rev. 11-25-2008)

THE RIVER CORONA (MINNEAPOLIS RAMBLINGS)

Too many coronas with limes
Down the stairs, step by slow, deliberate step like I'm sober,
But I'm not.

I'm drunk as a skunk
I feel the love
High on life, I feel alive
It's great to be alive!

I feel the vibe of fellow poets inside
Breaking Writer's Block Dam,
Letting the words flow forth
From my mind, my heart
Drift down the River Corona
To my pen, my paper, my mouth.

Minneapolis!
My salvation!
My recreation!
My rebirth!

8-15-2003
(rev. 8-2-2004)
(rev 2. - 11-25-2008)

MARY MAGDALENE AT SANTA MONICA BEACH

“When we wore a heart of stone,
We wandered to the see,
Hoping to find some comfort there,
Yearning to be free.”

I dreamed about you again last night.
We talked.
We loved.
And then I woke up.
Feelings lingered like waves lapping on the shore in the outgoing tide.
I can’t let go of my reality just yet in the twilight of pre-dawn.

An ephemeral but touchable reality.
You must have met me halfway in my dreams last night.
Afterall, you once said that I was your soulmate, and you were mine.
And you were right.
And maybe we’re still connected,
The bond frayed at times but never severed.
Because no sooner did you cross my mind,
Than I find you again and again and again…
But I never took the opportunity to renew the tie
Or at least say I’m sorry for how things ended.
Now it’s too late; the tide has washed out.

Fast-forward to today.
In California on Thanksgiving,
Eating Chinese lunch, reading my fortune cookie.
It says, “Flowers of true friendship never fade.”
But what about flowers of true love, I wonder?
Like the roses you bought me.
I still have one pressed in my favorite book, Darkened with time and exposure,
But a little of the timeless red still shows through.

After lunch, I drive aimlessly,
Somehow winding up on Santa Monica Beach,
Standing at the water’s edge.
A feeling washes over me,
Drawing me home with the tide like I belong here,
“Because I’m drawn to the rhythm, drawn to the rhythm of the sea.”

Something draws me here anyway.
My heart’s been empty during that time.
The tide of your love swept out to sea,
Leaving me high and dry with regret
And longing for the swell of love that washed away.
I think of the sins of my past
But being here brings me a little peace, a little closure.
Ic an confess these things to you, if only in spirit.

My heart bared, I dig my toes into the sand.
I feel salty ocean water wash them clean
Like Mary Magdalene’s tears.
They wash away the sings of my past.
I start to think I can start over.
Finally.

“When we wore a heart of stone,
We wandered to the sea,
Hoping to find some comfort there,
Yearning to feel free.”

(7-21-2003)
(rev. 11-21-2008)

BASS-SEEKING MISSILE

WHOOMPAH..WHOOMPAH..WHOOMPAH!!!

+++++++BOOM!+++++++

The sound breaks the sound barrier and my eardrums.
It’s not the first time some offending big audio dynamite has blown my ear out, no!
But it is the last time, yes…..

I take out my secret weapon.
I aim my bass-seeking missile___and fire.
Homing in, it seeks out the deep, throbbing bass vibrations
Of way-loud subwoofers.
It zeroes in on the sound, so loud it rattles your teeth.
It digs so deep.

WHOOMPAH..WHOOMPAH..WHOOMPAH!!!

+++++++BOOM!!!+++++++

Silence…..is golden.

(7-1-2003)
(rev. 11-20-2008)

HIGH OCTANE

I thrive on a high-octane life.
Always on the go, always on the run.
I ride on two of my four wheels,
Spinning, burning rubber
On the way to the next sto.p in my life.

I pause long enough to put five dollars of gas in my tank before speeding off again.
I don’t need a full tank.
The fumes are more than enough to live on.

And by some miracle of God,
I never run out of gas
Despite the fact I always sit on empty.

(4-13-2003)
(rev. 11-19-2008)

MUDDIED MOONSTONES

I'm muddied.
Dirt cakes my spirit,
Shutting out the sunshine from my soul.
My life is storm gray.

A wise man asked me if I was okay.
Across thousands of miles, he felt my aura.
He spoke of sadness and longing.
A wistful hopefulness
In muted shades of moonstone blue and rose gold.

My soul is opalescent inside,
Shining, shimmering, multifaceted.
So many sides that so few see.

My spirit shows little bits
Of yellow, pink, red, and sky blue,
But they are dulled, muted by my inhibitions.
Misunderstood of my own volition.

(4-7-2003)
(rev. 11-19-2008)

LESS THAN HUMAN

To err is human, they say.
But I say, "Strive for perfection!"
"Make no mistakes!"
Anything less
Is less than human.

People depend on me
To keep my head screwed on straight,
But I can't keep my head.
I am less than human.

I should be assimilated into part of a greater collective.
Borg, android, robot.
No room, no chance for error,
No feeling.

Because being less than human
Is better than a lifetime
Of feeling less than human.

(12-4-2002)
(11-18-2008)

WORDS

Words are meaningless when you
Try to describe the
Sweetest fire in the whole world.

(12-4-2002)

FLAME

I burn with a red yearning
To join with Beloved
In one unifying flame.

(12-4-2002)

WHISPER A GODDESS' SYMPHONY

Whisper a goddess' symphony.
We chant and live,
Worship her like water,
A moment to dream by.
Recall, a languid, moonlight goddess.
Watch, see her soar above the mist of rain.
Only She is near.

(11-6-2002)

* This was my first foray into the world of Magnetic Poetry, courtesy of a starter kit I got at Slam Nationals in Minneapolis in 2001.

BLOOM

I see you,
And I bloom just a little,
A four o' clock under partial sun..

I'm happy to see you just over my horizon.
My petals tremble in anticipation.

You're sunlight,
But I still sit in partial shade,
Unsure just how far the sun will rise over my corner of the garden.

I want you to rise,
But I'm not sure how far I want you to rise,
Until I know just how much you want to warm me.
And only then would I open to you fully.

(10-25-2002)

BATHROOM STALL BLUES

This one is for all the social outcasts of the world.

I want to pour out my feelings.
Empty my head of all these feelings
Rattling in my space
Like the tail of the rattlensnake
That bit and poisoned me.
These festering feelings
Rattling in my space
About how lonely I am
Among all these strangers at work
Not to mention useless
In my Dilbert, sensory-deprived cubicle.

I slip into further seclusion
When I can't take anymore isolation.
I go to the one place I feel still alone but safe.
I slip into the stall, twisting the bolt in place.

At least the goddess on my porcelain altar understands me.
She takes me in, holds me,
Wipes away my tears with toilet paper.
And gives me the friendship I need
When no one else will give me the time of day.

Like all the times I offered to get lunch,
I thought, "Maybe they'll remember my thoughtfulness the next time they go out."
But there they go again,
Walking out on their way to the deli.
And again, I sit in my Dilbert, sensory-deprived cubicle
Contemplating reuters.com
And the headline that Charlton Heston has Alzheimer's disease.
How quickly they forget.

And at the party, people wave at me, yelling,
"Come on over for a group picture!"
I happily think, "Yes!"
Only to be told sorry, you're not wanted in this portrait.

So I take refuge again,
And I hear people talking about buying houses.
They say "All my friends live in the same neighborhood."
And I keep thinking like a skip on a record over and over in my mind
That my friends don't live in my neighborhood.
My friends don't live in my neighborhood.
My friends don't live in my neighborhood.

I sit here wallowing in shallow pools
Of tears and self-pity
Inside this bathroom stall.
I don't want anyone to see the tears
Streaming down my face like Niagra Falls.
I don't want anyone to see how I feel
Even though I want someone to ask
"Are you okay? You look a little down today."

How many of you felt like you had no choice
Like you had no choice
But to slit your wrists
When society backed you into a corner
When society backed you into a corner
With nowhere to turn to
With nowhere to turn to
I know I do...at times.

You know sometimes I think
The shelter I take refuge in could be my crypt,
Forever sheltering me from the pain I'm in.
As I curl fetal position in my porcelain coffin,
Safe and secure.

Then...outside my door...
Another voice speaks in semi-muffled bits of conversation
"Screw it. It's something you have to live with."

And a small part of me thinks "You know, she's right."
I'm torn, contradictions, depression,
Locking myself in this self-imposed cage,
This...this prison,
But I need to get out.
I want to get out.
I cant' always rely on the safety of this stall.
Because it's a crutch
It's a crutch for my crippled psyche.

I have to break out.
I have to break out.
At some point I have to say,
"Fuck off, you societal monkey!
Get off my back,
And take your fucking albatross with you!"

(8-22-2002)

FINGERNAILS

All my life, I suffered through
The worries of fitting in with "the crowd."
Cheerleaders small-town old money blueblood family offspring and other assorted beautiful people thrown in the mix.
I wanted to be one of
"The Beautiful People"
"The Beautiful People"
And I wanted to be beautiful.
But the Cheerleaders small-town old money blueblood family offspring and other assorted beautiful people thrown in the mix.
Said I wasn't beautiful,
And my fingernails were too short.

Their fingernails scarred and scratched me, But several years of fruitless searching,
Several years of fruitless cultivating the perfect manicure
Left me with one realization:

If God meant for me to have long fingernails,
Fake fingernails wouldn't keep falling off,
And my real nails wouldn't keep chipping under the pressures of reality.

Painting pictures on nails.
Sticking simulated stones on nails.
French-manicured and polished,
French-manicured and fake.
Women grow them and nurture them, shape and buff them
Like they were shaping their own image to fit a pre-shaped mold,
A preconceived notoion of what a woman should be,
About what "beautiful" is.
They fit themselves into something they're not,
And if they still dont' like the way they look,
Then fuck it!
And just slap on a set of acrylics.

Well, you know what?
Fuck you!
I'm tired of long, pretty red fingernails.
Cutting my fingernails reminds me of burning bras.
I get rid of them, snip them off,
And boy, do I feel liberated!

I don't have to worry about
Breaking a nail typing on the keyboard of my computer at work
Or daintily putting my hands in the dishwater
Like I was softening my hands in a bowl of Madge's Palmolive dishsoap,
Afraid to chip my prized, quarter-inch pinkie nail on the crusted tofu lasagna sticking to my dirty dinner plate.

Why do we have to fit into a mold,
A preconceived notion of what a woman should be?
Pretty hair
Pretty nails
Pretty face
Perfect hair
Perfect nails
Perfect face.

Why do we have to be pretty?
Why do we have to be perfect?
Why can't we keep our nails short?
Why can't we just be...women?

(8-16-2002)

WINTER

I remember wanting to die
On a sunny, winter day.
My heart as cold
As my breath condensing outside.

(8-15-2002)

PAW OF REASSURANCE

Small paws paw my hand
As if to say, there, there now,
Everything is okay.

(1-29-2002)

WHAT I SEE WHEN i SEE HER WRAPPED IN A VEIL

Flowers of lace fraom her face.
She's wrapped in royal blue with a royal bearance.
I look past her coverings to eyes full of quiet dignity.

I'm not holier than thou, she seems to say.
I'm better for myself.
I don't need to bare my skin,
To paint my face,
To know I'm a woman.

I'm content to wear the veil of my people.
It wraps me in comfort.
The comfort of heritage.
The comfort of faith.
The comfort of knowing who I am.

Why should I unveil who I am?

(3-29-2002)

RED

In the shadow of red heart balloons,
Everyone sees roses.
But I, dressed in pink, see red,
And it isn't a rose.

(2-15-2002)

GUARDIAN

You stand like a guardian
Outside my window,
Shielding my private beliefs.

(2-2-2002)

VENUS FLYTRAP

We're a venus flytrap,
Embracing the hapless fly.
We make malformed allegiances
Between two people no more alike than night and day
Because we won't settle for anything better.

(1-29-2002)

DESECRATION

When the body's been violated,
And the soul's been desecrated,
There's nothing left to rebuild,
Nothing left to recreate.

(1-29-2002)

ALONE AGAIN ON A FRIDAY NIGHT

Alone again.
Here I am, sitting alone again on a Friday night,
Wondering what the hell to do with my life
Besides write poetry about being alone again on a Friday night.

(1-29-2002)

CORD OF COMMUNION

So, we've come to this point.
You say we're better off as friends.
I say, you're right.

But still, you're in my blood.
You are the blood that pumps through my veins
And into the heart that loved you.

"It's as if I had a string somewhere under my left rib, thightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in a corresponding corner of your frame."

How can I excise something so much a part of me?
something that I feel inside with every breath,
Every beat of my heart?
How can I leave a piece of myself
Behind on some distant shore?

And I cry (inwardly):

"If that boisterous channel and 200 miles of land come broad between us, I'm afraid that cord of communion should be snapt. And...I should take to bleeding inwardly." *

But no.
I hold myself back.
My dreams of us were only hopes and wishes
Manifest on a plane of unrequited love.

It will hurt,
But I have to cut the cord and bleed
Because it's for the best.

* (quotes excerpted from "Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte).

(1-25-2002)
(rev. 2-15-2002)

PRETTY WOMAN (WHO LOVES YOU)

Subtlety is my specialty
When trying to get you to notice me.
But I'm tired of subtlety
In the face of a blind man.

Makeup and hairstyles aren't my thing,
But I'll curl my hair,
Hoping it will frame something right for you.
I'll paint my eyes
Hoping they'll help you see me better.

I prefer plain t-shirts and jeans,
But I'll primp, preen, and push up my diminuitive 36-A's,
Shove them in your face and shout
"HEY!"
"Look at me!"
"I'm a woman!"

I won't hesitate to use my feminine wiles
My
Feminine attributes
To get your preliminary attention,
Your preliminary affections.

But once I have you in my grasp,
I hope you can see
Beneath the paint,
Beneath the primp
Beneath the pretty woman
To see a heart so true
A heart that beats for you
To see a woman who loves you

(12-21-2001)
(rev. 2-15-2002)
(rev. 2 - 11-14-2008)

ANY DAY COULD BE THE DAY YOU DIE

Any day could be the day you die.

You could step out in the street
And wind up sitting in someone's back seat,
Covered by a white sheet,
Red blood, and broken glass after saying hello to the windshield.

You could board a plane
Heading from New York to L.A.
But the trip just seems to fall fatally short of your expectations.

You say you want to check out of this life
But at the last minute, you decide there is one grain of sand worth living for,
But that sand just slipped through the hourglass, my sister.
There's no taking that bullet back.

You could be in the prime of your life.
Then one day...
BAM!
Metasticizing masses creep into your colon.
Not today, not tomorrow, but somewhere down the line,
You'll die.

They also say things come in threes
In January, they did for me.
January first, Happy New Year, uncle dear.
January eighth, heart attacks were the order of the day.
But nothing drove home the fragility of life more
Than my dad's birthday, January 24th.
News that the Crone of Crohn's disease came calling for a former colleague.
Married for three months,
27 years old, never lived to see 28.

Any day could be the day you die.

(12-14-2001)

AWAKENING

I cry
For it's beautiful.
I die
For it's beautiful.

The rebirth of my soul
When I felt love in its purest form.
the one, tear-defined moment
When my heart opened to everything.

I cried
For it's beautiful.
I died
For it's beautiful.

(12-14-2001)

DROWNING

What can i do?
Each time I see you,
I think about the loving, lustful, always secret feelings
I drown myself, my mind, my spirit, my very being in.

My beating heart wants to jump out of my skin
For wanting to be with you.
I feel it so badly, it's an aching in my ribs,
So badly I can taste it on my tongue
Like I taste you in my dreams.

And from my dreams,
I wonder how it feels to hold you.
Is your skin soft?
Your kiss tender?

How would your body fit, pressed against mine?
Feeling you behind me, in front of me,
Wanting to feel you one with me.
Your hand cupping the back of my head,
Eyes penetrating like we're drowning in each other.

And would drowning be so bad?
Merging, flowing, breathing in each other's water
As I swim in the sapphire sea of your eyes,
And you in the emerald ocean of mine.

I drown, always, for you.

(12-7-2001)

HOLE IN THE AMERICAN SKYLINE

Press "power" on the remote.
Time to turn on the TV.
Turn to channel 20.
I swore I saw CNN,
But instead, I see something so unbelievable.

I look.
I look again.
Something ain't quite right.
Something doesn't feel right.
I'm watching a stereotypical Hollywood movie
With cookie-cutter action scenes,
Planes into buildings
And those kinds of things.
But it ain't what it seems.

Straight from the pages of a "Die-Hard" script,
I see the images playing on the TV screen.
I hear the words play over and over
Like a skip on a record in my mind:

"Both buildings have just collapsed."
"Both buildings have just collapsed."
"Both buildings have just collapsed."

Hollywood's into this escapism realism,
But there ain't no escaping this reality,
This tragedy,
This travesty.
Who says that life doesn't imitate art?

There is a hole in the American skyline.
Dust fills it.
Smoke and fire fill it.
Screams of pain and death and disbelief fill it
But the hole is still there, gaping, yawning.

It left us naked, standing in
Piles of mangled, molten steel,
Cracked concrete, broken glass,
Shattered dreams, shattered security

But still, somehow unshattered as a people.

(12-21-2001)
(rev. 12-30-2001)
(rev. 11-11-2008)

LOVE SLIPS

Tiptoeing through the tulips.
Love slips.
A dance of first dates
Of new relationships.
I worry I might slip up
And step on your feet.
Left feet
Crushing your toes.
You hold me a short distance from you
Not sure if you should boogie woogie (breakdance)
Or hold me close in a slow waltz.

(9-28-2001)

TOUCH THE SKY

When I touch the sky,

Nothing bothers me here.

I'm alone, but not lonely,

With the wind and the trees for company.

They speak to me,

Telling me of things,

Of good things to come.

Whispers of yesterday,

Today, tomorrow,

And tomorrow still...

Tomorrow is still.

They say,

I have to be patient.

Like time marching through nature,

Everything has its own pace.

Has its own heartbeat.

Has its own life.

I can't force something before its time.

To do so would break the natural order of things.

I need to slow down.

Savor the moment.

Smell the sweet mountain air.

I need to appreciate moments like these,

And only then will my heart's desire come.

(8-3-2001)

FORGOTTEN

News from today's headlines

Another murder, another robbery, another crime.

But one thing to this day,

Still disturbconfounds me in a most confounding way.

Why?

How?

Why?

How could you forget a child?

A six month old baby

In a car

In sticky, sweltering heat

Alone

A child locked in a car

Alone for 5-1/2 hours

A child locked in a car

Alone and sweating, gasping

A child locked in a car

Alone and dying

A child locked in a car

Alone and dead.

This is inconceivable.

To a parent, to me, this is inconceivable.

My parents never would have left me alone at home,

Much less alone in a car.

As a suckling baby, my mother held me close to her breast.

And my father, daddy's little girl was always held near to his heart.

I was their lifeblood,

Their cord of communion,

Their reason for being.

And since I am part of them,

The lifeline continues.

As a mother myself, I feel the cord of communion

Between me and my children

Stretch thin

When I am not with them.

The bond between my parents, me, my children, is strong.

But these two parents,

These two people who brought this tiny, little life into the world,

How could they forget?

How could they forget their lifeblood?

How could they forget their reason for being

In a hot car

On a hot day

When they dropped their four year old off at daycare only minutes before?

The four year old sat in the same back seat as the baby!

How could they forget?

Is their bond not strong?

Enough?

A Michigan mother went into a salon because she wanted a new do.

But she didn't want her two kids in there, too.

So, she locked them in the car

While she took her time inside.

3-1/2 hours to be exact,

And when she got back,

She found her children expired,

Police surrounding

The car on fire inside.

Now she finds herself locked in,

Booked on two counts of Murder II

Over a hairstyle?

How could she forget?

Is the bond not strong?

Enough?

Or in the case of Dallas Nelson

Nine month old baby boy

Strapped in the back of his parents' SUV

In hot weather

About 105 degrees.

Pulled out alive,

But pulled off life support two days later and died.

The mother thought her friend got the baby out of the car.

The friend thought the mother got the baby out of the car.

Tragic mistake in this case,

But the end result is still the same.

Another child dies because mommy and daddy left him behind.

Is the bond not strong?

Enough?

(7-6-2001)

(rev. 8-14-2002)

SWEET BUTTERFLY

Your butterfly lands softly on my small, white, delicate flower.

Your wings flutter with a soft caress

Against my pink-tipped petals.

I look at your delicate, yellow butterfly

Sticking your tongue in

Sucking, lapping the sweet nectar

From my flower's fragrant well,

Savoring each sweet drop

Like it was manna from the Gods.

(6-21-2001)

QUIET SOULS

I find comfort walking among the dead.

The rolling green hills, rows of tombstones,

Quiet souls rest here.

The perfect peace, tranquility, the absolute stillness.

Hearing nothing but the sound...

The sound of ghostly footsteps keeping pace with mine.

Some fear to walk where angels sleep,

But I find no such fear in my heart.

Only peace.

Why should I be afraid

When quiet souls take me in their arms?

* For my uncle, Terry Brown, who died New Year's Day, 2001.

(5-21-2001)

SONGWIND

Leaves blows across on the breeze

To the sound of wind whistling through the trees

With a sweet, lilting melody.

I imagine myself growing light, white feather wings

And taking flight to the song

Of Mother Earth, of Mother Nature.

Sunlight bathing me as I rise

On warm columns of air so high.

The music of my heart

Merging, with love, as one with the sky.

(4-21-2001)

CHANCE

A chance meeting

A chance greeting

A chance connection

A chance affection

And I wonder, will I ever see you again?

(4-21-2001)

LA LA LAND

I think I'll stay here

And kick back awhile

In la-la land.

There are a lot of good daydreams

Playing on the silver screen

In la-la land.

(3-30-2001)