Originally written probably sometime in the seventh grade by yaoyufang


									Originally written: probably sometime in the seventh grade. Edited much since then.

                           So You Don‘t Believe in Dragons?

                            So, you don‘t believe in dragons?
                         Well, I‘m here to say you‘re wrong—
                         I‘ve seen them roaming in their packs,
                               A hundred thousand strong!

                           So, you don‘t believe in dragons?
                           Well, I must admit I‘m miffed—
                             Haven‘t you ever seen them?
                           Shiny scales, so carefully spiffed!

                           So, you don‘t believe in dragons?
                           Well, you‘re life must be a bore—
                              To never look up at the sky
                           And see flames burst as they soar!

                          So, you don‘t believe in dragons?
                       Well, you haven‘t heard the tales of old—
                        Of how they barbecued brave knights,
                           Hoarded silver, bronze and gold!

                           So, you don‘t believe in dragons?
                          Well, that‘s an ironic thing to do—
                              Considering the funny fact,
                     They don‘t believe in disbelievers such as you!

                           So, you don‘t believe in dragons?
                           Well, if you think you‘re right—
                          Then you shouldn‘t look behind you,
                             While that dragon is in sight!
Written: Probably sometime in seventh or eighth (Most likely 7th) grade
This version as of: 5-3-04

                              I Hear My Angel‘s Trumpet

                              I hear my Angel‘s trumpet
                                 I feel peace draw near
                              Do not cry, once I am gone,
                               My Savior‘s voice I hear!

                             There is no need for weeping
                             For I have but gone to sleep
                            Do not be sad for me, dear one,
                            Where I‘m going, no one weeps.

                               I hear my Angel‘s trumpet
                                  Hear it clear and loud
                              Hear it ringing from on high
                                 Way up, by that cloud;

                              Contentment now, no less
                                   My only word
                            For where I‘m being taken now
                                 Sadness isn‘t heard.

                              I hear my Angel‘s trumpet
                              Calling me to fly up there
                            Hold my hand now, dear friend,
                             But for me don‘t be scared…

                                For in the heights of glory
                            High atop that mountain summit
                            Is Heaven, where I‘m going now
                            That I hear my Angel‘s trumpet.
Written: 7-28-02, This version: 5-3-04

                            Untitled Frustration, Untold Pain

                              Is there no way for me to say
                               What is inside of me today?

                          If I thought I could help you by lying
                              I‘d know I wasn‘t really trying

                               To come up with a solution
                                To the endless pollution

                              That has stopped my brain
                         And run my thoughts against the grain

                              I cannot name the frustration
                                Can make no gesticulation

                            And as it builds, the untold pain
                            Building pressure, on my brain

                           I can‘t understand what‘s so tight
                           Why to my eyes it‘s endless night

                         If God can‘t help me through this time
                          I know for sure I‘ll lose this rhyme—

                    All the rest, if I cannot think—more than that—
                        Oh, God… grant me a new thinking cap.
Written: 2-23-04 Typed: 5-3-04

                                   Invisible Tears

                             Can‘t you see my crying?
                           See the tears run down my face
                              Can‘t you hear me lying
                            Truth gone without a trace?

                                I smile and I laugh
                              Can‘t you see me cry?
                             Why can‘t you understand
                             What‘s hidden by my sigh?

                             I drop so many hints and tips
                                Yet you remain so blind
                          It‘s all or nothing, no in-between
                         Can‘t you see I‘m trying to be kind?

                           It would kill me to be half there
                               And yet again, half not
                        I wish you‘d see my invisible tears…
                            On the other hand, maybe not.

Written: 2-24-04 This Version: 5-3-04

                                   Stuck in Time

                            If I could tell you what I think
                               You‘d prob‘ly laugh at me
                           But that‘s okay, I know I‘m right
                                 You don‘t have to see
                           It just seems like that every time
                                 I start to find someone
                             Someone else takes him away
                    Like I‘m too dumb to know what‘s going on...
                              And there‘s nothing I can do
                             And there‘s nothing I can say
                        Can‘t take you back, can‘t let you go
                                I‘m stuck in time today.
Written: probably the summer before seventh grade, This Version: 5-3-04

                         ―I Wonder What This Button Does?‖

                              The last that I can remember
                         If pointing at Dad‘s weird machine
                            And wondering if the red button
                         Would do something really obscene.
                           I wondered what that button does
                            And now I‘m afraid that I know
                        Our world seems to be strangely crazy
                            I admit, it‘s my fault, this is so.
                           The rooster, he caws at midnight,
                        The crow, he cock-a-doodles at dawn;
                         The people lie out on the blue grass
                       While on them sit the chairs for the lawn!
                            Fiddlers fiddle the green-grass,
                         The pigs run the Kentucky Derb-y!
                         The boats float atop on the wet land
                        While the cars race about on dry sea…
                              I know that as long as I live
                        One mistake I will never make twice
                         I will never just punch a red button
                         To see if what it does might be nice
                          ‗I wonder what that button does?‘
                             Words I‘ll hate forever more!
                        They‘ve brought me naught but terror
                                  And confusion galore!
                               For the sun is in the west,
                                    But it‘s seven a.m.
                              And I have the funny feeling
                                It‘ll set in the east again!
                        My words are getting straightened out,
                                My world is going sane!
                              Can anybody start this mess,
                                So opposites will reign?
                          If no one hears my desperate plea
                                   I know I will go –…
                                 My life isn‘t opposites,
                                It‘s just gone so strange!
                                 At midnight everybody
                                Seems to be eating lunch
                          At noon day we‘re all fast-asleep,
                          I complain that I missed brunch…
                             The sun is pink with polka dots
                               The sky—well its not blue;
                                I will never ever wonder
                           What another button does, it‘s true!
                          But look! There‘s a pretty pink one,
                       It says ―to start press the button begin…‖
                             Oh no, oh great, I pushed it in,
                                  Here we go again….!

Written: before seventh grade, probably the summer before
Typed: 5-3-04

                                      Susie Lou

                                Susie Lou, Susie Lou,
                            They say she has… an attitude!

                         Poor Susie Lou! No one likes her…
                               She punches and kicks,
                                  Hisses and spits!

                             Poor Susie Lou, Susie Lou
                             No wonder no one likes her!
                                Susie Lou, she has…
                                    An attitude!

Written: summer before seventh grade Typed: 5-3-04

                                  Mismatched Outfit

                              Whenever people look at me
                         I see them laugh and shake their heads
                        Sometimes it kind of makes me wonder
                       If I woke up on the wrong side of the bed
                        They say my gloves were meant for feet
                             They say my hat is just obscene
                        They say my pants don‘t look like pants
                           And then they ask me just to leave.
                         They say they‘re sorry for my sweater,
                                  If you can imagine that;
                            They say the arms are way to long
                       (I wonder if it‘s my long lost goofy hat?)
                               Whenever people look at me
                                   They kindly turn away
                              I simply can‘t imagine why—
                      Is it because my shoes and blue and suede?

Written in 7th grade, typed 10-10-04

                                         I Act

                            I act to keep my world in line
                          To keep from breaking down to cry
                         When it all becomes too much to bear
                           And when no one seems to care
                              It‘s a way to lose my fears
                          When everything looks really drear

                              I act just as a general rule
                          To keep from breaking every rule
                         When anger courses through my veins
                         And when my stores of patience wane

                              I act when I want none to see
                         How awful the world can look to me
                             I act to hide my true emotions
                       For it changes me, like drinking a potion,
                                 Suddenly I‘m looking on
                        As my body takes over until the dawn

                           Sometimes I fake it, yes, it‘s true
                         And though it helps me when I‘m blue
                          Sometimes I don‘t know how to be
                          For that‘s what acting‘s done to me

                        When I act to hide my pure frustration
                              Anger and my desperation
                            The person I might really be
                           Sometimes I simply cannot see
                              So this warning I give you
                     Thought acting ―fine‖ helps when you‘re blue
                         Don‘t be someone you might regret
                            Don‘t this warning soon forget
                         Although it hurts, always remember
                      The side you‘ve hidden, that‘s surrendered

                          Take it from someone who knows
                            After a while the acting shows
                            Be careful how you handle this
                       For your true self you don‘t want to miss
                         Though I still act to hide the real me
                        For ―me‖ I don‘t want the world to see

                         For with myself I‘ve made this pact:
                         The two-word pact, which is ―I act.‖

Written 3-3-03, typed 10-10-04
                                The Clown Who Cried
                        Or, ‗Death of the Spirit by Suffocation‘

                        She made the children laugh each day
                         Always something good she‘d say,
                           Or a smile ready for a friend—
                         The laughter never seemed to end.

                             She could act out mad or sad
                           But everyone knew that she had
                           Deserved the title Circus Clown
                         For she laughed all through the town

                           A happy, vibrant Clown was she
                       A laughing trickster the world could see
                       At sadness Clown would laugh and scoff
                          But at home her make up came off.

                         Her tears ran through it as she cried
                      For her heart within her once again died—
                              Tired of the endless cheer,
                       Make-believing her world wasn‘t drear.

                            Yet at the circus of the school
                        She would do what was deemed cool
                        To be honestly happy she truly tried…
                       But still she was The Clown Who Cried.
Written and typed 10-10-04

                                       Cloud Dream

                                 Let‘s start with an image
                                 Could castle, in the air…
                             But careful, not to breathe to hard
                               Or *poof* it won‘t be there.

                               Watch the cloud door open
                               In that turret on the sky…
                             See who‘s waiting for me there,
                                With his arms open wide.

                                Look, you see me running
                                Jumping cloud to cloud…
                              A rainbow bridge bears me up,
                                But it‘s a long way down.

                              I finally reach the moat of rain
                                Swing across upon a star…
                                I see his smile, ever nearer,
                                 Drawing me in from afar.

                                 I reach the steps
                            I‘m weary from the trip…
                        He beckons, he holds out his hand—
                              And that is when I slip.

                              Let‘s end with an image
                         Cloud dream turned to nightmare…
                         Forgot myself and wished too hard,
                             Now *poof* it isn‘t there.

Written: Eighth Grade Typed: 10-31-03 (Could do with some revision, I suppose)

                                         My Heart

                    My heart knows nothing of rhyme or reason
                      It only wants its turn to thrive in season
                         But you have cut that season short
                            Frostbite kills all my retorts
                           What can I say, what can I do
                 When what I had was what I lost—and that was you?
              I knew we couldn‘t last forever
             I knew we couldn‘t stay together
       Our worlds collided, but are light years apart
But when you went from me, did you have to take my heart?
                My heart knows its blunder
            I'm gone, from you been sundered
             But this I‘m doing with my brain
              My heart, it only knows its pain
                I hate having to say adieu—
           But there's nothing else that I can do
           They say if you love him, let him go
        You‘ve got one chance before I cry ‗no!‘
       My heart is heavy and weighted with dread
           I hate this feeling, I‘d rather be dead
      Right now I‘m not letting my world fall apart
      But when you go, try to go easy—on my heart.

                    Moon and God

                       The moon
                      Is a teardrop
                         Of God
                           It is
                      A symbol of
                       God‘s true
                    Truly great love
                       The moon
                           It is
                      The pupil of
                       God‘s eye
                   With this eye He
                         Sees us
                   Teardrop or moon
                           It is
                      A symbol of
                         All the
                    Perfectness that
                         The one
                  Universe can hold in.
                   This is the moon.

       When the star-freckled face
         Of the sky and the night
           And blanket the light
             put out the lamp
               Tell us, sleep
       Foretold in the wolf‘s howl
            In the lion‘s growl
       In the shudder of the breeze
            In a child‘s sneeze
       In the spaces between stars
    In the glare of headlights on cars
        Catches up with the world
            Isolates it from all
              Of the numbers
         So none answer the call
      Of those who cry in the night
             Cry out in fright
            Against the sadness
              In the darkness

             Secret of Ages

  When the moon from sky seems torn
 And when no bird-song warms the morn
 And when the stars rain down like tears
And when the world seems choked by fears
     That is when people must know
 Through darkness, first, a soul must go
  Until such time as the world may end
     Nothing‘s sweeter than a friend
    But when a friend becomes not so
     Learn to laugh, enjoy the show
     For when good is found in bad
    The one who finds it won‘t be sad
     For when light is found in dark
      The truth has never been so stark
       Because the justice of the love
       Of God is sweeter than a dove
     To find this love in unlikely places
           Is the secret of the ages
     From burning ash raise up new life
      And surely one can end all strife

             Light in Darkness

            Trembling grasses
        Beneath sword-slashed sky
           Foaming mountains
        Crashing to water as waves
            Hair, billowing out
           Like a shivering sail
           A girl clings to light
            The last sun‘s ray
          A hope that shimmers
              Midst turmoil

UNTITLED #1 written 2-8-05, typed 2-28-05

         There‘s a hole in my soul
          There‘s a rent in the sky
         There‘s a rip in the ground
         There‘s water in your eye

          And the wild wins howl
            Their lonely tunes
      As they go on their lonely ways
      And the sun is fire on the moons

            Every star in the sky
          Is a pinprick in my heart
             Every musical note
             Is the end of a start

        And the wild winds howl
             Their angry tunes
      As they go on their angry ways
      And the sun is fire on the moons
         There‘s a blue sea rising
         And it‘s not so surprising
          The raindrops are glass
 Reflecting the echoes of a song gone past

        And the wild winds howl
           Their defiant tunes
     As they go on their defiant ways
     And the sun is fire on the moons

     And the sun is fire on the moons

UNTITLED #2 written 2-8-05, typed 2-28-05

              A tear, a tear
           A raindrop, a shard
            A glass, a glass
           Broken, falls hard

             A drop, a drop
            A pooling, so red
            Reflection, shines,
            A rainbow thread

            A smile, a smile
            A shine, up there
           The sky, inside-out
             The truth, bare

             Falling, falling,
             An apple, a pair
            A rip, an abrasion
            And small, a tear

           The wind, the wind
            So blue, it blew,
            Away down far
            From me to you
     The Beginning

     This is a journey
  Through many lives,
   So be careful if you
    Have a prying eye.
  These secrets are not
   Always mine to tell
 I just write them down
 Which is just as well…
    So as you journey,
    Through the night,
At the end of the tunnel—
      Seek the light

When the World Was New

      Another age
      Another time
    Another sweetly
     Scented rhyme
      Filled the air
     In days of old
     Before the fire
   Of spirit grew cold
 Where went the brave?
 Where fled the truth?
 Where is the greatness
That colored our youth?
  Up ahead in the dim
 Unknown, unexplored
Mindless hunger awaits
That we used to deplore
    But now what?
With nothing good ahead
   Should we revive
Ancient heroes instead?
    And then, as in
    The days of old
   We will ride forth
  Those who are bold
 Those who have valor
  Those who are true
Like the giants that were
         When the world was new.

                THE LIGHT

            Have you ever noticed
      How on a cold, rainy morning,
       Sometimes a lonely sunbeam
     Breaks through the dark, shining?
             It becomes a beacon,
       If only for a fragment of time
         It leaves a perfect imprint;
       New pattern in an old rhyme.
    And even if it never sunned again—
      As we all sat late into the night,
   Keeping watch over grim existence—
   We‘d still remember the has-been light.

               THIS IS WHY

         The hypnotizing empty page
            The pen half full of ink
      A brain of teeming masterpieces
              If only I could think
           But the nature of my art
          Is twisted, slightly strange
     For the only things to write about
     Are those without a proper name.
       Try to catch the primal scream
             Universe‘s infant cry
            To reach a distant star
          Bring it down into the sky
       Then you‘ll maybe understand
      The depth of pain hidden inside
             Of a beast so terrible
         All the worse because of lies
         That infest the world around
    Must somehow bleed the poison out
       Or feed the beast to stifle snarls
        And then forget to write about
    All the things that must not be shared
            Even just to empty air
So much for seeing, wishing—who was there?
           Purify, and then it‘s fair.

      Tiny specs of dust upon
     A rose-red wooden chair
  Look closely, now, quickly too
 Before it‘s mixed with empty air
     Magnify, bend over near
    And then you‘ll see as I see
   That every atom, every mote
 Is a person, culture, world alone
   A doorway, in our own afloat
  Peer beneath the shadows now
    Step behind a beam of light
Search for more than first appears
    Lift the veil of all the night
Uncover what you‘ve never known
   Lift up the roof of all the sky
 Expose fraudulent ‗impossible‘
          As all it is—a lie.

          THE ENEMY

       We expect insanity
     To come from far away
          At night, apart
      Not in broad of day
       We expect enemies
      From obvious places
      For obvious reasons
     To have obvious faces
           But the truth
         Is that the night
             Is a block
        Against our sight
     Because here it comes
        In broad daylight
       A contradiction—
        By what right?—
       And yet the enemy
          Is already here
        A surprise attack
       Whispers in the ear
    From the daughter
       Of the voice
The enemy‘s within us all…
    We have no choice.


 When the stars burn black
       In a boiling sky
  When the sun is put out
 And there‘s no more ‗I‘
   When the rolling hills
  Buckle under the strain
When the mountains collapse
  As you call out a name
     Air turned to sulfur
        Water to mud
 Trees crack on the trunk
       Music to blood
    And under and over
       A chant goes on
        Maybe a laugh
        Maybe a song
  It excites and it curdles
    The universe is dust
      An alien longing,
    A lust—for what?—
     No one can hear it
     Or me, how I yell,
      Trapped in the pit
    Of unspeakable hell
 It‘s the end of the world
    The end of my time
     Everybody lives on
    Is it all in my mind?


    A glass rose figurine
      In a paper case
       Petals of gold
       In a shroud of lace
  When the sun shines down
        It glitters like fire
  But when the night comes
         It‘s proven a liar
            Fire changes
          To milky white
      Silver luminescence
         Bottled up night
     But with the first ray
        Of artificial light
   It‘s deadened, disgraced
      In pain—no respite
     At the first deep gong
      Of an ages old bell
The rose shatters and breaks—
 Comes the cry, ―All is well.‖


   The clock struck nine
   And the cloud, a chord
   The mirror, it cracked
  And the gods were bored

       The dice did roll
   And the spots did spin
  But the beginning was lost
     In the whining wind

    The clock struck ten
   And the cloud, a chord
  The mouse, it squeaked
  And the gods were bored

     Up out of the dust
    And the rain and mud
     There comes a man
      So end the good!

  The clock struck eleven
   And the cloud, a chord
   The flower, withered
  And the gods were bored
     The clock struck twelve
     And the world did roast
     The man laughed dead
     And gave up the ghost

     The clock struck one
    And the cloud, a chord
      The hunger passed
   And the gods stayed bored.


   Look at this heart, right here,
       Bright red and perfect,
     Pumping in tune with life
          So tiny, no defect.
    I could almost reach out—
       Could almost brush—
  The surface: with my finger…
           A gentle touch.
            But no! See!
        It crumbles, a crease
       Right down the center
Sickening, but sweet, sweet release
             Can I fix it?
           Where to start…
   Doctors! Nurses! Band aids!
 Tape—to mend this paper heart.


    Tiny stain on paper‘s edge
      Twisting shapes of red
        Not soaked in yet

         Like a miniature
      Of something-or-other
        Ideas, half-formed
     Brushed away, no bother
         And then slowly
        The life drains out
      Rapid changes begin
   To harden, a permanent pout

              Days later
         The sheet is found
        But no longer clean
       It‘s thrown out, down

        But the silent echo
        Of the furious cry
     Of a life not-quite-―real‖
        Rings into the sky

Inkblot, frozen, rusty-blood colored
    Others see it and are bored
  But what‘s in it is the memory
          Of a life ignored.


           Darkness falls
        The stars are dead
             A lie is told
          Blood runs red
        Fangs of nightfall
       Sink deep into earth
   For all the world‘s insanity
         What is it worth?
        Sweet intoxication
    Imitation-champagne air
 Look quickly! Peripheral vision
   Never mind, it‘s not there
     Mirage of expectations
         Love of secrecy
       Is it truly to die for?
      Hate of all that‘s seen
    So much for regeneration
     Give up on all you need
Fight or die, the laws of the night
And all that‘s left, a simple creed:
 ―Hang on, hold on, don‘t let go
  Despite what they may say—
Half-mirror world of sin and dark
            Ends with the sun‘s first ray.‖
          But what of those who‘s soul is cut
         And what of those of whom they say,
           ―Cursed one whose soul is split,
            Half to night and half to day‖?

              STAND YOUR GROUND

          If in this land there be anything fair
         In the name of all splendor and good
        I cry to you rise, get up and march on
   And follow the path that you all know you should

   In the name of the brave and the true and the bold
        For everything pure that we all hold dear
    I beg of you stand, stand up, stand your ground
          For the loved ones of all, far and near

     In the name of the wise and all we hold close
      In the memory of good needlessly wronged
     For the sake of the future and memory of past
    And all present comforts that after we‘ve longed

        If anything in you responds to my plea
         If any of you would dare listen to me
     The dark of the night could be all swept away
  Till we‘re left with the peace and the beauty of day

   We must fight, my brethren! Rise from your rest
    Prove yourselves worthy of your ancestry best
   Boast not of your hunger, your pain and your woe
    Get up and you‘ll see the true face of your foe

Too long have we slumbered! Too long have we feared!
    But now does the day of our triumph draw near!
  In the name of all goodness, for Truth and for Light
Together stand tall, and throw off the yoke of the night!


            Smoke and mirrors make danger
             Where truly was naught but air
The silver mantle of moonlight, though,
Could make even the foulest smell fair

        Take care! Take care!
     Be wary and on your guard!
  Watch your feet but never look down,
    For the road is long and hard.

     Many are signs false and true
 But worse are the road signs gone bad
Never put faith in your dreams, my friend
  Or else you and yours have been had

        Take care! Take care!
     Be wary and on your guard!
  Watch your feet but never look down,
    For the road is long and hard.

    Where rocks ought to be many
         And are few instead
   Tread carefully over the potholes
  They might be filled with quicksand

        Take care! Take care!
     Be wary and on your guard!
  Watch your feet but never look down,
    For the road is long and hard.

  But always make sure of your vision
      Don‘t lose a drop of its light
    It will guide you and keep you
     And lead you through alright.

        Take care! Take care!
     Be wary and on your guard!
  Watch your feet but never look down,
     For the road is long and hard
     For the road is long and hard


       In mystery a shadow lies
   Reflection of a half-hoped dream
  Not quite realized, not wholly there
  This shadow‘s thicker than it seems
     What moves under cover of blackness?
      Who hides in the mist and the cloud?
      Some evil, a wolf in sheep‘s clothing
   Or goodness too fearful of making a sound?

       Beware! Good watchers, all allies,
        I say, over there, watch your step!
    The light in your eyes may be deceive you
            Better if you had not wept.

       Nor laugh too loud, in the darkness
          Mirth as with sadness is doom
      But be watchful and always be careful
      For everywhere the danger does loom.

    And yet through the night shines a token
 Through the thickest of clouds come the smile
Of a rainbow‘s fair face and a star‘s eye-twinkle,
 See! There was hope in the land all the while.

Despair not when the rain falls thick on the ground
    Turn not aside form misfortune and pain
       Where there is shadow, light is also
      It‘s the light that lets you see the rain.


            When days have darkened
              And night has fallen
                And all that‘s left
                Is a dusty coffin,
             Then carve in the stone
              Or write in the pulp:
               ‗She was the mime
             that wouldn‘t shut up.‘

                 UNTITLED #3

   It rained and was cold on the road that day
   But a man cared not and walked on his way

   The ditch and the gutter didn‘t look too nice
   And all the dead things were covered in lice
But the man held his nose and just walked on
  Ignoring cries and the light of the dawn

The road it was hard and the way was rough
But the men kept pushing and he was tough

He held a different dream in his mind‘s eye
   He looked for it at the top of the sky

    And he‘ll never know if it does exist
  But he keeps looking and shaking his fist

 It rained and was cold on the road that day
But a man cared not and walked on his way.

              UNTITLED #4
         Open, close. Blink, blink
                  So simple
                    So fast
         Dark eyelashes fluttering
            Is it so hard to keep
           Them open, fluttering,
                    In time
              To the slowing,
              Quick rush of air
            But something blurs
             The eye and sticks
          The eyelash to the other
         And something tight keeps
                    The air
                    A sob?
                    A tear?
         Closing, shutting, down—
                  And cold,
         …unacknowledged rest…
           At last.
   But an internal time—


          I am so small
          Staring up—
             Up there
     How presumptuous
    I do not own the stars
           Is that what
      Innocence is, then?
    Naïve presumptuous-
          Perhaps I am
         The worse off
        I‘m not like that
             That way
            I‘m worse
I steal other people‘s dreams
       They keep theirs
          But I join in,
          An imposter.
       Why am I always
          Not inspiring
             But for a
            Short time
     It is part of the soul
       But I don‘t know
       How to incubate
         And survive it
      Throughout all the
           Sterile cold.

      UNTITLED #5

      Hope is a seed
  The smallest, as you see
      But it can grow
           Into the tallest tree
     With green, leafy branches
   And sunlight filtering through
Warm, comforting, to make you believe
   All your dreams will come true
       Don‘t keep it locked up
           In a box on a shelf
        Unable to see daylight
          There, it can‘t help
             But blow it out
    From the palm of your hand
            Like a dandelion
          Like grains of sand
          Pandora‘s problem
Was not that she disobeyed the gods—
   Curiosity is natural, they know,
        But she closed the box
   With all the hopeless problems
    We haven‘t a prayer of fixing
   Let the hope go—give it wings
        It‘s not like it‘s selling
            Tied up in a box
         Infamous for the bad
  A convenient scapegoat, is it not?
  But perhaps the blame is mislaid
       Perhaps those that hid it
      In the dark to begin with
         Are the real culprits.

            UNTITLED #6

          A rustle of pages
          Fills the dusty air
       A cough, quickly hushed
       You just had to be there

       Be there to see the shelves
           Tall, narrow cliffs
  Jealously guarding the truth of ages
        Trembling with the rifts

    Between them and the stories
        And opinions the hold
   Guardians of the past and future
   The never-weres, hiding the cold
                And the might-be‘s
                Sunning in the light
            A perfect bubble-stop of time
             A room of books at night.

                   UNTILTED #7

           They say the stars are beautiful
               And sure, it‘s obvious
  To the dreamers and the poets and the astronauts‘
           But they don‘t to me, unless—

      Yes, it‘s the spaces inbetween that count,
              Because once you‘re there
             Where you arrive, at the star
       It‘s routine, even with just the bare—

     Facts and ―new exciting‖ undiscoverables,
             But the journey to and from
           In the dark where light is myth
Makes where you‘re going and whence you‘ve come—

     Unimportant, for it‘s the being that matters
            Pure energy, a soul in free-fall
             But I doubt I truly understand
    It‘s perfect, and so best left alone—that‘s all.

                   UNTITLED #8

         Don‘t you love a good collage?
          The well-done ones, of course
          A theme, even of randomness
              Makes them to bois-
              terous, and yet silent
             Although some are sad
              They draw in the eye
          And somehow, it‘s rarely bad
        They can represent so many things
         All symbolic and hodge-podge
     Though sometimes hard to make sense of,
         Don‘t you love a good collage?

                   UNTITLED #9

           A heart in an outstretched hand
    A gift, and offering?
 To pull it back—or a test?
Are others‘ hearts softening?

     A sign from beyond?
 Or an image of such worth
  That the wings of angels
Left it imprinted on the Earth?

     Perhaps it originated
Form the depths of a humanity
And unless you know its story
   It‘s not worth anything.

      UNTITLED #10

      A damning blaze
        A fiery rain
      Streaking down
        Pain, blame

      Burn the forests
       Rack the night
  Search for a hiding place
   From the dawn‘s light

     The darkness swells
     Metaphysical wave
     Too many innocents
        To save, save

    And the smoke above
       Roils and rolls
     And thunder cracks
      The high scaffold

      Then all at once
     The veil does lift
       Eyes open up
    Dream over, that‘s it
             UNTITLED #11

      Flashing through my mind‘s eye
    Flowery and crude, reflects the sky
   It‘s all in the timing and night‘s heat
  A pulsing heart where opposites meet
   Never enough and always too much
     It‘s at the core and center of stuff
     Contains everything and nothing
The sum of All, and still an extra something

             UNTITLED #12

            ―Let me help‖—
           A mantra, a curse
             Trying to keep
          Away from the hearse

         Do journeys ever end?
         Are they worth keeping
          If the soul is betrayed
     And dormant evil stops sleeping?

          Always possibilities
          Is rest, or is passion?
        Has imagination no end,
      And the heart no compassion?

          Too many questions
     Are they answers themselves?
       Can we be sure of angels
   When thunder drowns out the bells?

            Curses may keep
         But blessings wear away
When we‘ve asked all the questions
      What‘s left to say?


      The roar of the swells
      And the salt of the sea
      Do they frighten you?
      Perhaps that‘s the key

       Or a cold raging sky
          Dark at midday
       Squint, look around,
       Is this the right way?

      Or the road too soft
  Where there ought to be rocks
       Or even the thief
     With silent picklocks

     Do they frighten you?
   Do they give you a chill?
      Or are you excited,
  Hunter closing in for the kill?

       Perhaps it‘s the key
      To understanding you
      The fears and hates—
       Cursed desires too

 But when you look in the mirror
  Do you know what you see?
       My friend, my foe,
   You‘re looking back at me.

         UNTITLED #13

   Is any revenge ever whole?
      Any victory ever true?
    Is any triumph all enough
When faced with the yawning blue?
          Will I burst?
         My life too full
      Or will I wilt, empty—
        A saddened fool?

        Perhaps the balance
        Of letting out and in
     Is what keeps me together
Krazy glue patches of grace, over sin

      And the world goes on
     All around, mean or kind
 The novas and rushing black holes
        Are all in my mind

          The battle, the war,
      The revenge and the death
       Is any feat great enough?
 It‘ll end with the very next breath

          UNTITLED #14

            I look back
      To search for the giants
         I seek behind me
       The cunning pirates

           I look back
         And see the glory
  Of triumphs and of blazing falls
  Whether they be truth or story

            I look back
     And out goes my heart
          Wishing to ride
    With the best, from the start

           I look back
        And my spirit fails
       They giants are gone
       What‘s left, only tales

         I look forward
        And what do I see?
          No heroes ahead
         No greatness to be.

          UNTITLED #15

        Tears are flowing
       From sightless eyes
    Useless ears are straining
While numb fingers brush the skies

       A memory of darkness
        And a hinting of light
Are all that pierce the mindless years
 Through deep and desperate plight

     When the world was young
     And some good remained
  In paradise, a nightmare erupted
    Whom it visits now is pained

      A solitude, a hazy dusk
       What evil is at work?
   Surrounded by all that is good
   Someone in misery does lurk.

          UNTITLED #16

            I hear a wind
         Whisper in my ear
       The lights of the city
         Are burning clear
         But superimposed
         On the image I see
      A shadow of brilliance
        A mountain of trees
             In my mind
           An echo rings
      Of things once known—
      And memories it brings
        A reflection of past
      And what might yet be
       Ghosts around the edges
        Of the waves in the sea
       A touch, as soft as dreams
           Brushes my cheek
       And the mist-world fades
          And leaves me weak
         What has transpired?
         Where has time gone?
       A foul stench fills the air
          I‘ve tarried too long
            Here in the mind
       With all things kept safe
   Rebound again to the mortal world
     Yet lingers a memory of faith
The bane and the curse of the mist-world
     Followed hope, following me,
Trapped with me here, another‘s past evil
  Could be a future we mortals yet see.

            UNTITLED #17

             Lightning winks
          Across a fair blue sky
      From a distance, the thunder
             Rumbles on high
              That the hunter
               Is the hunted
           Is an age old saying
              Much debated
       But what of the caterpillar,
              Would he cry,
       If he became a dark parody
             Of the butterfly?
          What of change? And
         How shall we master it,
      To keep from turning growth
            Into a stage, all lit
             All set for night
         For the crime of treason
            Beyond any hope
           Beyond any reason
            When we become
           That which we hate
           Have we any choice
             Or is it our fate?
                 Run, cry,
         When you see the signs
             Don‘t let escape
               Pass you by.
         When lightning winks
         Across a fair blue sky
        Not so distant, the thunder
         That rumbles on high.

             UNTITLED #18

           What does the heart
            Know of partings?
           In secret chambers,
       Memories are hearkening
            And yet we ask it
            This strange organ
        What to do and feel, and
         On emotion let it gorge
           Shall we meet gain?
      We cry, will it be the same?
         But the heart is wanton
        And soon forgets a name
       No prophecy can ring true
       From that seat of the soul
          Only desire and folly
     Leaving reason out in the cold
           And yet, even now
            Sanity is tempered
             By a temptation
             To forego ‗right‘
          For temporary elation
        And how can we be sure
       Another ever feels for us?
        The same as we for them
    For with blindness we are struck
    And yet now, here at last we are,
      We have come to the end—
With parting, due to ironic words of heart,
 You may know I‘ve loved you, friend.
         UNTITLED # 19

         I dreamt one night
       A strange little dream
       And as I settled down
            It came to me
       That I stood on a cliff
        Overlooking the sea
      And everywhere I turned
        As far as I could see
      Were people, thousands,
      Everywhere, all around
    On mountains and in valley
   In the sky and on the ground
And in many voices they spoke to me
         But only one face
          In all could I see
         And then I awoke
      With a start and a tremor
      To find I‘d been staring
     In an old shattered mirror.

         UNTITLED # 20

In the long dark watches of the night
          A voice cried aloud
 As darkness came to fade the light
       The voice echoed a cloud
 Whose thunder crashed and rolled
         In the unseen distance
         But the voice was bold
         And carried insistence
             It wasn‘t a cry
         That carried any word
    It was emotion—and a ―why‖
   That from this voice was heard
       It was feeling personified
       Acknowledging darkness
             Despair ratified
       And the world‘s hardness
           Exposed and small
            The infant‘s yell
     Comes as he tried to crawl
    An ear-splitting, tolling bell
 For the infant doesn‘t want to stay
     He wants to be on his way
The world is cold and cruel and hard
And now his path to Heaven is barred.

          UNTITLED # 21

            Staring at a star
   Distant, cold and burning bright
      Cold because of distance
       Or a memory of fright?

         It‘s said the stars
   Were angels, once upon a time
    Upon the earth they walked
      And sang their rhymes

   But the innocents they nurtured
    Turned against them, cruel,
           And man strove
        To dominate and rule

    Terrified, the heavenlies fled
     As their cries were mocked
   And the wrath of the Almighty
     Turned good earth to rock

       Insignificant, helpless,
          Alone and afraid,
       Man forgot the past—
    That he had once been saved.

         UNTITLED # 22
           A distant cry
      From a wretched shore
      Echoes in the hollows
     And grows more and more
          One note, but a
        Symphony of pitch
      All who hear it tremble
        Both poor and rich
        But the knowledge
                             Of from whence it comes
                                 Was lost long ago
                           When the blood of wars flowed
                                  But legend has it
                              Though no man can say
                                That the cry‘s owner
                               Has long passed away
                                 And this reflection
                                 So shrill in the air
                               Is this creature‘s only
                                     Earthly heir
                                 But if you had seen
                                  This thing of old
                            You‘d have thought it a man
                           Left alone too long in the cold

                                  UNTITLED # 23

                                     We are taught
                                  That light is warm
                                   That frost is cold
                                 And that bees swarm
                                      We are told
                                     Polite is good
                                 And all admonished
                               Till we act as we should
                                   Bareness is death
                              And wastelands are wrong
                                   This we all learn
                                    As we go along
                                  But if facts are true
                                Are they always right?
                                 The evil of darkness
                             Is disguised in dawn‘s light
                               Where minds go astray,
                                  and wits are weak,
                                   then into the day
                            does the death of dark creep?

                                    UNTITLED # 24
Written with this still fresh in mind: ―Tolkien is not hopeful about our age. The elves
 have left us, and we have not mourned to see them go.‖ –Professor Paul H. Kocher

                               Long strands of dreams
   Swaying in the wind
    Why did the perfect
      All have to end?
        A single leaf
      Blooms in a day
  The color of miracles
    With trees to sway
     A dance, a march
 A parade, so triumphous
  Until the last leaf falls
    All will be glorious
  A haunted, the hunted
         Look of one
  Who knows too much
   Enters the aging sun
         Until at last
  On a distant-near day
       A silent shiver
     And a giant sway
      Of balance send
      Perfection down
       Into the depths
  Of the ancient ground
   A memory, a dream
 Of all it was and has been
     Is all that remains
   In the minds of men

     UNTITLED # 25

 Why does death fascinate?
   Do we not understand
 Or know it only too well,
This echo of things so grand?

     The world of spirit
 Is not supposed to be real
But we all live and go there
   Even against our will

    Just because a thing
  Takes no physical form
 Should not close our hearts
     Or leave us forlorn
             We ought to strive
               To be there too
           But that‘s the difference
            Between me and you

           You will stay behind
             You remain blind
         While I answer the ―why?‖
          And reach out to the sky

     Until all the world has turned to dust
Each part must be played, so we do as we must.

              UNTITLED # 26

              Little ghosts flitting
           Around the edge of vision
              Almost but not quite
             Stepping into oblivion
                Can you see me?
                    I see you
           Floating by the backdrop
              Of the yawning blue
             A breath of the future
               Whispering away
            From the dawn of time
              To the end of things
                Brush of the past
                   Will it last?
            World fading, receding
          Into darkness, life bleeding
            As this existence fades
             Our world is changed
               Run far, get gone!
             Dare not to tarry long
        Your disbelief in things untrue
       Is what makes them target you…

              UNTITLED # 27

             Something tells me
           You don‘t see
      Something lets me know
        You want me to go
           Shall I leave?
        Or should you stay?
          Will you win, or
         Do I get my way?
         Petty and pointless
          Purposeless form
        There‘s nothing to it
         This idiotic poem.

         UNTITLED # 28

             Turn it off
           Turn it down
         Sit down, shut up
          Now now now!
            Unplug that
             Give me it
         Shut your mouth
             Sit sit sit!
              Put it up
             Set it there
              Put it out
         There there there!
          Oh no! a mess
        See what you did—
        To big for just one
            Kid kid kid!

UNTITLED # 29 (moment of weakness)

         Coughing spewing
          Choking hewing
            Trees falling
          Clouds laughing
            Dark calling
           Light is bright
            Now tainted
             With night
        But where
         No relief
        No escape
         No belief
          In pain
         That ends
        The torture
         So much
         For skies
      That don‘t laugh
           Or lie
           I wish
          I could
          I would
        I should—
         Too late.

        The Journey

    Sometimes, somehow
 The ending‘s not important
It‘s the journey not the threat
      Of a future torment

     Or even the hope
 Of yet-to-come liberation
   Is how you get there
   With all deliberation

       A cliché so old
    None listen anymore
  But still it‘s true the wait
Is better than what‘s in store

   Once you‘ve got there
    What will you find?
   Not one of the things
    You‘ve left behind

       Memories fade
     And trinkets are lost
If you don‘t love the journey
 How much greater the cost!
 Someday someway somewhere
        You will arrive
  Be proud the journey‘s worth
Is shown in how you did survive.


Comes with the smile of the sun
  With the feeling of warm,
         Green grass
       And blue skies
       And clear rains
    Washing away the lies
   Small shadows of doubt
     Are brushed away
      Victory for now!
     Victory for today!
   For this moment, hour,
       Passing breath
      We pass the test
     Even though later
     May bring regrets
     For now it is good
        And is certain
     Like the wonderful
         Of a story,
       Comes the cry:

           The Star

          Spy softly
    A star, faintly glowing
       Moon obscured
   With dark clouds flowing
      Sun hidden down
       Behind the earth
       Cringing before
    The night‘s wide girth
          But watch
         A star shows
        Faintly shining
                 There it goes!
                 Down, down!
                  Into the land
              As if thrown away
              By the Fates‘ hand
                It touches earth
            See the shadows fear!
            A new day is dawning
               Now hear, hear!
                  Never more
           Shall the night hold sway
           Never more will we long
               For break of day
              For day is always
                  With us here
            A spark kindled to fire
           Leaves no room for fear

               UNTITLED # 30

             Break out, up, away,
              Into your tomorrow
             Never close your eyes
            For joy is inside sorrow

                All the clouds
              Form your fantasies
              And every rainbow
               Is a testimony…

                  To the light
                   Of the sun
                  And how far
                  We can run
           When we spread our wings
              And the trees all sing
          Skimming across the ground
          Filled with the light‘s sound
  Shadow-wisp wingfeathers towards the sky
Wishing, hoping, dreaming, knowing, we will fly

            The flame of the moon
               Strikes down far
          Leaving upon your enemies
              A faint drawn scar

            But it is your mantle
              A saving blinder
         From the harshness of earth
            A telling reminder…

                  Of the light
                   Of the sun
                  And how far
                  We can run
          If we just spread our wings
          And when the trees all sing
       Skimming across a sea of sound
          Filled the joy of the clouds
  Shadow-wisp wingfeathers towards the sky
Wishing, hoping, dreaming, knowing, we can fly

              But all good things
               Come to an end
                And far away
               We will be sent

                 Until the bliss
               Is just a memory
            But our hearts will ring
             With the testimony…

                  Of the light
                  Of the sun
                  Of how far
                  We did run
          When we spread our wings
           And all the trees did sing
    We skimmed across the world of night
  Our souls filled with the dawn‘s first light
 Shadow-wisp wingfeathers towards the sky
Wishing, hoping, dreaming, knowing, we did fly

               Forbidden Secret

              Quick! Shut it fast
                 Make it fast!
          Tie it tight, bind it down,
       Bury it deep, deep in the ground
          Never let it loose!
        you would not choose
    To end your world this way
  Just thanks to a careless mistake

     Careful! Handle with care
   Never touch it with hands bare
   Don‘t look, please look away!
    You don‘t wish to die today

   What is it? Why do you ask?
   Don‘t you know what it took
   To protect you all these years
   To keep you from your fears?

        Look away, look away!
         Don‘t go astray today!
    It‘s nasty and horrid and bad
     It is fear and anger, it is sad

       What is it, you ask?
    To answer is a great task—
    Wait! I told you not to look!
      Yes… it is… a book.

    Of the Ending of the World

Carve from the shadow a reflection—
   When you strike it with a leaf
    It should sound like the echo
   Of a knife pulled from a sheath

   Wave it, an unflinching banner
    From the tops of the skies
   To the bottom-pit of the well
       It will sound like lies

    Bottle it in a single sun ray
     Stop it with a moonbeam
Encircle it in a shroud of silky grass
 Hide it at the bottom of a stream

   Wait, until it matures in poison
    Eons of patience in hiding
         Watch over it carefully
       Until the great wave is falling

       When the doom of water-wall
         Hangs of everything, all
      Then catch t up to a great height
          And let it fall—fall—

          And down! Into the Gift
       The doom-curse of this world
        It will stop time in a bubble
         And its banner be unfurled

        Thus the Great End will fail
          You will postpone it—
          But in return for this,
            What do you get?

       Are you sure you want this?
     The world unchanging, on forever
    Do you know what it is you achieve,
     You who think you are so clever?

     An endless wasteland of nightmare
      An empty, heartless, craven place
       When life is over, so is death—
     Is this the truth you could not face?

          A Lamentable Limerick

     There once was a land called Peru
         And in it an old man knew
             If he lived forever
             He couldn‘t better
    At doing anything he knew how to do

      Lamentable Limerick the Second

       There once was I boy I knew
Who wanted to know which way the wind blew
            So he dyed it all red
              But now instead
      Of nose he has a red ―ah-choo‖
   The Leprechaun

   The leprechaun
  Had a pot o‘ gold
     I did not care
      I had a cold
    I told him this
  He laughed at me
 So then I chased him
        Up a tree
  But then he cried
  For he was scared
  So I backed down
 And then he cheered
  He didn‘t like me
      Very much
     But I had had
  Just quite enough
     And so I took
   His pot of gold
  And left him with
  My sneezing cold.

   A Pointless Poem

   The wizard‘s hat
   Blew off his head
     He was upset
   But then he said:

 ―Let the wind blow!
  Glad is the sound
   Someday again
My hat will hit ground.‖

  But his optimism
  Was out of place
 For the hat and wind
    Were in a race

Who had more power?
  Who was swifter?
But who would be first
 To end in disaster?
       The wizard never saw
            His hat again
         For it flew forever
        In the wailing wind

    Tattered and ragged it was
    And the wind out of breath
  But the wizard weren‘t surprised
        He expected no less.

              The Duel

    A river flowed next to a fire
    Gushing and cool and blue
The fire, seeing this, burned brighter
   Attempting to lighten its hue

    The river, not to be outdone,
      Tripled its pace and size
       The fire, cunning-like,
 Threw out flames to reach the skies

    ‗I am River!‘ boasted the first
Through the powerful voice of a wave
 ‗I am Fire!‘ countered the second,
    Flaming with a hot-cold rage

   On and on all through the night
    While the stars shone on high
   This ridiculous battle continued
   Right until the dawn drew nigh

      But the rays of the sun
         Swept over a land
        Drowned by water
   And blackened by a fire‘s hand

 Never more was the voice of flame
    Nor the song of water known
An age had ended as opposites dueled
     And left bare earth alone.
             UNTITLED # 31

              A peculiar hell
            Prison with no bars
           No roof or walls, yet
          You cannot see the stars

            Amazing, this place
              A unique dream
              Brand new way
            To rip out old seams

              Bursting, trash
             Filth evaporates
            As the ancient scent

             The lies that lock
            The doors and slam
          The bolts, screwed tight
          Against a beating hand

               Thus, failing,
             Hope, spark, light
           Heads smile like skulls
           Watchers in the night

             A careful façade
             And all believe
           But are things always
              As they seem?


             They don their hats
             And scurrying rats
            Trip over themselves
             To ring dead bells
           They flaunt their cloaks
            And shivering spokes
            Of wagon-mockeries
      They drink from broken pottery
     Dark shadows of nature‘s nightmare
    Children hideous, share their wares
           As they take up tunes
              And fiery runes
            Of demented breath
            From beyond death
                Fill the air
             Look! Arriving!
            These so conniving
     Beings are welcomed, with an air
   They weren‘t here, but now are there
         Demons of a darker night
      Come to rend their awful plight
They have come down, now fail your sight!
Dressed as humans come the barrow-wights.

            UNTITLED # 32

          Moon‘s grinning face
        Shines down like a hole
       A forgotten place in the sky
       A view of a forgotten soul

             Shadows creep
         Where we don‘t watch
         Blind, drunken laziness
         Pulled out all the stops

         And if ever shall a bird
        Survive the strangling cold
       Their song shall not be heard
          Ever more by the road

           Dark things pass
           Memories of fear
       Grow closer, grow stronger
        They know you‘re near

           Will you feed them?
     Sticking your head in the mouth
   Of the great wolf with grinning teeth
           They call you down

          Fall! Never see again
         The shape of your folly
        Never look up at the moon
      But see cold skies run though

With the sword of vengeance and of death
 Draw now your last and painful breath


           A desperate plea
             A wailing cry
           Rises like steam
         To an unforgiving sky

          And yet everywhere
           Are smiling faces
         And a casual observer
           Can find no traces

          Of deep hard scars
         And old open wounds
          Tears of the heart
          Dripping on tombs

             But on and on
         The moon smiles down
           So many mirrors
         But no echo of frowns

        An entourage of puppets
         Strings pull and turn
         But who the master?
           People soon learn

          Behind the curtains
         And beyond the masks
            Is empty death
         And a fading laugh…


            Beyond the end
         Of sleep and dreams
        Lies hope and purpose
       And the meaning of things
      Before the edge
       Of truly awake
       A desire burns
     That none can slake

       On the very tip
        Of possibility
      Something hidden
     Can be sensed, seen

       The search for it
        Is for all time
        Yet itself lasts
        Just for a line

     For dreams despair
     When minds awake
      Practical, rational
      So much at stake

     But the search itself
   For as long as it may last
     Can surpass all odds
  Giving what the mind lacks


     A light mist hangs
  Between me and the world
     My thoughts unfold
  Then spring back in a curl

    A question mark spins
     Slowly in my mind
     Is everything a joke
         Or is it time?

   The clock rotates slowly
   Revolutions forward on
   But the secondhand back
      Going going gone

      Heart skips a beat
      Truth or imitation?
     An ending or a start?
        Asks imagination

        Sitting back now
       Interest, better wait
Watch the stream of consciousness
   And for once trust to fate.

     Another Untitled Poem

  There's a dragon in the mirror
      And a song in the air
   So put a smile in your heart
    And a flower in your hair

    Let the phoenix song rise--
      and give in to the cry
       melt into the breeze
   and know that you believe...

    Watch the roiling ashes
     As they burn in a soul
  Hear the pounding drums beat
  Out the two halves of a whole

    And watch the phoenix soar!
feel the pain but know there's more
  the rush of triumph - love - ache
   dearly bought, free-willed fate

 A thousand empty years filled
 Last reach of the realness-place
All things contained therein, love,
   And sadness, and your face.

    Watch the phoenix rising!
  from the ashes and the smoke
feel the song throughout, within--
and hold on to that golden hope...
  Another Untitled Poem the Second

            I shall sing a song
   a song of wonder and of laughter
       of the lulling rainy pattern
         of a winter afternoon.

          I shall play a melody
      simple, sweet, of innocence
    filled with the fragrant incense
        of a chapel prayer room

         I shall think a world
       invent its shining forms
     and all of it shall be adorned
       with a tribute to serenity

           I shall stand alone
        on the edge of all that is
     think of love and life and sin
         and hope I can forgive

      And I will ponder loveliness
      and happiness and loneliness
  and how they all are such the same
that all can spring from just one Name.

  Another Untitled Poem the Third

      Suppose you had a choice
         A difficult choice
        An impossible choice
     The right thing, the wrong
     The easy, weak or strong—

      Suppose you had a choice
    Your conscience or your heart
       One choice or the other
    Peace of mind or others‘ lives
      A soul or simple kindness
      Suppose you had a choice
        You couldn‘t decide
        You couldn‘t ignore
     A choice you couldn‘t make
       A scenario of pure fate

      Suppose you had a choice
        One thing or the other
         Mutually exclusive
  Too good things now cancelled out
    Two evils, both together now

      Suppose you had a choice
        An impossible choice
       What would you decide?
       The lesser of two evils or
  The sum of all the rights and more?

        We all have a choice
       Suppose we realize that
  An impossible un-decidable choice
  What will you choose now, today?
   The darker path or a lighter way?

      The Death of the Unicorn*

       Fair and noble creature
     Shining like a beacon bright
 White beam of hope for all oppressed
A wandering guardian through the night

        Deep and somber eyes
     Smoulder as at them I gaze
  A hunger, thirst, for justice fills me
  And a knowledge of what you gave

  Fading vision which gives me hope
      I know now your sacrifice
       And begin to understand
   The reason why you‘re given life

          A small, cold soul
   Alone, forsaken, but surrounded
                        By the hunting calls of demon-things
                       You sprang forth—your trumpet sounded

                             As the fatal end drew near
                             Your own purity the shield
                          Was willingly given to aid one lost
                           To save a soul in an empty field

                        The noble defenseless become defender
                       Unworthies made whole by your sacrifice
                         A noble death so others might live—
                         To save those lost, the unicorn died.

*Note the first: the unicorn is a symbol of Christ
 Note the second: some of Christ—a spark of divine goodness-lives on in each of us.

                                  What You Call Life

                                I can show you beauty
                               and I can show you pain
                              And if you wish to learn it
                            how to treat those two the same

                            I can show you fame and glory
                              show you poverty and death
                            or, given time, most everything
                                  nothing more or less

                             I can lift you up to greatness
                              cast you down into despair
                            Set you free or bring you down
                               caught in a tangled snare

                            Though you owe me everything
                             few praise me, most just hate
                               You curse me and belittle
                              and pray to so-called ―fate‖

                             For I am what you call Life
                                every mystery is mine
                           And were I not so briefly spent,
                           You could learn them all in time.
                                 The Vulcan‘s Vigil*

                            Swirling sands and drifting dust
                                   whirl around a figure
                          who stands tall, immovable, alone
                              amidst the raging desert noon
                        The heat a shield, oppressive blanket
                                but the figure never moves
                             robes stirred softly in the wind
                            eyes unblinking, eyes upraised,
                             never faltering, never fazed—
                              Until at last long day is done
                               thin air breathes more easily
                           tall form moving, turning around
                           waiting, waiting—comes a sound
                            The stars shine clearly, brightly
                            points of light in a velvet shroud
                              and the cry of a hunting beast
                           marks the start of its‘ nights feast
                               And the figure nods its head
                             while the pale star-cast shadow
                               imitates the man who stands
                        on the edge between life and wildland
                             Behind, the stars are ever weak
                           obscured by city lights and noises
                                but ahead the view is clear
                              so sky and memories are near
                               Driven by the desert‘s cycle
                         the figure is solid, strong and logical
                        but born to stars and friendships great
                          this soul seeks now a different fate

*…it is a long way from the sands of Gol to Veeger‘s heart.
―and Spock knelt in the sand, holding what he would not leave behind, and no one
seemed surprised.‖ (different, and yet not.)
t‘hy‘la: Kirk called at the same time Veeger made itself known. (book.)
Two sands, two worlds, two people: from choice to acceptance of choice. How cool is
that?? Rock on Carolyn Clowes for taking ST: TMP to the next level with your Saavik
                         The Most Dangerous Weapon Misused*

                                   exquisitely unveiled
                                     lovingly prepared
                                    dished out to each
                                      small doses—no
                                         harm done
                                  drops of terrible poison
                                        dripped one
                                         by one into
                                           your cup
                                      Lift, drink, smile
                                       how soon will
                                      the trouble start?
                                        Gone are all
                                        the fantasies
                                           of youth
                                         a bitter cup
                                        poisoned by

* ―The truth… it is a terrible and beautiful thing, and therefore should always be treated
with great caution.‖ (or something like that.)
―The truth is generally preferable to lies.‖
~ A.P.W.B.D.

                           You‘ve Stopped Believing In Belief

                                      Do you believe
                                     in things unseen?
                             The monster underneath the bed,
                             Invisible God above your head?
                                      Do you believe
                                       in logicality?
                2 + 2 makes four always
              except perhaps on holidays?
                     Do you believe
                       in dragons?
           Sphinxes, lobsters, barrow-wights,
            cats and creatures of the night?
                     Do you believe
                      in fairy tales?
                   That all can be true
                Can come true for you?
                     Do you believe
                     in pessimism?
               The dark side of the soul
               The futility of the whole?
                 What do you believe?
                     Tell the world
            But first be sure to tell yourself
          Before you make your own hard hell

Another Untitled Poem the… Whatever Number I‘m On Now

          When the heart and soul are broken
        whence comes the aid to heal their woe?
       when despair succeeds all conscious thought
          who can crush that triumphant foe?

               All the world is silent now
            darkness entombs, a final shroud
            but the silence echoes somberly
              all around -- round -- ound--

          From where does this despair arise?
          who guides the steps of blinded Fate
            as he walks in step with Death
             and follows till it is too late?

       Some poisonous wound this world does bear
             'gainst me or mine or all in all
         whatever the cause, where is the cure?
              what antidote to Adam's fall?

             Sitting alone in the quiet black
            ghostly limbs of trees enfold me
     all is grey and black and white
       but for memories once seen

Though no aid comes and hails me now
I have for help a thought of purest grace
      A flash of gold and song of fire
   a fleeting glimpse of Divinity's face

  And though the night is cold with fear
and naught but a thought is with me here
 that memory lives with greatness bright
 I've a Living Thought for aid this night.

         An Untitled Fragment

     Remember that I'm laughing
    As the rain keeps pouring down
     Remember that I'm laughing
    Though you think I've drowned
         For I've a secret power
      Of which you know naught
        I've finally discovered it
    Hidden deep inside my thoughts
      So even though it's raining
     And lightning strikes too near
     Remember that I'm laughing
      For there's nothing to fear...

         A Prayer and Petition

    Give me the words, Lord Jesus
     I beg you to speak through me
    Please make of me the prophet
    The world so desperately needs.

    Lord, I will proclaim Your Truth
     If you but help me see the way
       I will follow you, my Lord
     Just give me the words to say.
     I hold a candle, wick unlit
   Lord, help me burn faith's light
  Show me the path before my feet
Guide me and mine through the night.

   My God, your power overwhelms
     Give me the strength to stand
   Help me find the words, my Lord,
  To proclaim your Truth in this land.

When the shadows lengthen and darken
  And the light of stars is gone out
 Lord grant me the faith to love you
  And courage to cast off my doubt

      Lord you know me truly
 And my God, you know what I fear
  Open my eyes and my heart Lord
Your words, give me the grace to hear.

   Give me the words, Lord Jesus
    I beg you to speak through me
   Please make of me the prophet
   The world so desperately needs.

              A fragment

   Phoenix feathers and phoenix tears
to soothe your soul, and ease your fears
    Phoenix blood and phoenix song
to wash you clean, and make you strong
        Phoenix love and loyalty
    to mirror that of Christ the King.

  HERE I STAND (original version)

            and here i am
   standing at the edge of the world
   looking off the boundless cliff—
       go ahead, give it a whirl
            and here i am
   wondering now at the end of it all
                  is it possible that i
           will once again take this fall?
                    and here i stand
          waiting for what i do not know
     but knowing that if i wait long enough
                It will begin to snow
                    and there i'll be
     with the whiteness falling all about me
         and i will laugh and spin around
            fall away from the ground
                    until there i am
            spinning through the stars
     and i see the single teardrop of the sky
            And i know it isn't so far…
                        there i go
         can't you see me as i dance away
               into the darkening sky
            can't you hear me as i say
                        here i am
        standing here right in front of you
           but no one sees me, not at all
                     they never do
                       there i was
     all alone but surrounded by the world
         and the crowds pressed in, and i
             decided to give it a whirl
                 and so now i stand
       here on the edge of the end of it all
       and i wonder what would be worse
           Falling or not falling at all…

HERE I STAND – edited version (date uncertain)

              HERE I STAND
        (where‘s that? um. do i know?)

                 and here i am
       standing at the edge of the world
       looking off the boundless cliff—
             go ahead, i tell myself
         (or was that the other voice?)
              lean into the wind…
                  so here i am
       wondering now at the end of it all
              is it possible that i
     will once again take this fall?
         or—wait—did i ever fall
                that first time?
  but that‘s not what i meant to say
                     not at all
             let me begin again:
          (for once i can do that)
                  here i stand
    waiting for what i do not know
but knowing that if i wait long enough
          i will find, eventually,
     whiteness falling all about me
               a faint pure snow
   and i will laugh and spin around
       fall away from the ground
                until there i am
        spinning through the stars
 seeing the single teardrop of the sky
                   and i know
              (or think i know?)
                it isn't so far…
                    there i go
   can't you see me as i dance away
          into the darkening sky
        can't you hear me as i say
                    here i am
                 standing here
                    right here
                 in front of you
             but no one sees me
 not at all, not quite, not even a little
        the operative word being
                (they never do)
              and so there i was
    (like i‘ve been telling just now)
all alone but surrounded by the world
   and the crowds pressed in, and i
            found myself fading
 with thoughts, and echoes of dreams
                solid now only
       in a different kind of place
         and so now i stand here,
    (and this is where you came in)
                  me standing
here on the edge of the end of it all
   beginning, end, both, neither
           endless circle
 each turn confusing but scented
 with the telltale trace of déjà vu
         and yet somehow
            wholly new
           and i wonder
      what would be worse--
             falling, or
          not falling at all

  Another Fragment-like Thingy

            "The picture
            was not him
           but in essence
        he was the picture
           soul moment
              alter ego
        glossy and framed"

          SKY MIRROR

        I look up at the sky
      And see reflected back
   My face, my world, my life
      All I have and all I lack
All this, while the rainbows dance
spinning, flashing, twisting flames
     I count the stars, slowly,
         whispering names
     Every splashing raindrop
      is music, notes, a song
thunder rumbles, lightning smiles
   …perhaps I knew it all along
 The mysteries of the smiling sun
     the deep call of the night
     impressed forever in my mind
     almost, not-quite, perfect flight
       Wings spreading out and up
     colors dazzle, the smells of life
      are vibrant, green, strong, real
   melding into the richness of night
  In the stars a thousand worlds exist
  all out there big, so much, so far…
contained, compressed, inside of me—
   the dream, the fact, the possibility


   Black, white, green, yellow-gold
     I am the butterfly in the snow
You are the lightning and I am just me
I didn’t know, I was too blind to see…

   I used to think, that life was wide
  and the streets were made of gold;
  and I was convinced I had it made
thinking the sun would never grow old
             But then I, I went
         spinning off into space
        and learned a few things,
           about life and death
    and the power of a saving grace
     But all the time I was out there
   I felt something was out of place
 but I didn't know what, until one day
   I caught a glimpse of your face—
     But I'd gotten used to waiting,
            and I felt invisible.
   I used to think that truth was free
 and love was all that really mattered
         and they told me virtue
          was a thing of the past
     but I tried to keep holding fast.
              But then I, I left
     as the gilded door swung open
       and I learned a few things,
         and changed my mind,
   over and over about everything

  Then one day, I came back to earth
     and I just floated in the breeze
    just looking around, until I saw
      a shadow of what I'd missed
      but I'd gotten used to waiting
             and I felt invisible
        so I stood aside that day
        and I watched you go by
     and for a moment there, I was
      almost sorry to be a butterfly
               because I saw--
         you were the lightning,
            the voice in the rain
   the shadow dancing beside me--
you were the laughter of a roaring sea
             you had those eyes
         that were fathoms deep
   you were comfort, danger, love--
             and I passed it up.
                 You see...
            I am just a butterfly
  free in the wind and flying—and I
  heard the thunder and I felt the sun
and I wanted to soar with the lightning
          ...but I was too afraid.

  …Black, white, green, yellow-gold
I was the butterfly too fragile to hold
I needed time, and now it’s too late…
Unless he might come back someday
          T R U T H

  There's a dragon in the mirror
      And a song in the air
   So put a smile in your heart
    And a flower in your hair

   Let the phoenix song rise—
      and give in to the cry
       melt into the breeze
   and know that you believe...

    Watch the roiling ashes
     As they burn in a soul
  Hear the pounding drums beat
  Out the two halves of a whole

   And watch the phoenix soar!
feel the pain but know there's more
the rush of triumph – love – ache –
  dearly bought, free-willed fate

 A thousand empty years filled
 Last reach of the realness-place
All things contained therein, love,
   And sadness, and your face.

     Watch the phoenix rising!
   from the ashes and the smoke
feel the song throughout, within—
 and hold on to that golden hope...

          I   SHALL
            I shall sing a song
   a song of wonder and of laughter
       of the lulling rainy pattern
         of a winter afternoon.

          I shall play a melody
      simple, sweet, of innocence
    filled with the fragrant incense
        of a chapel prayer room.

         I shall think a world
       invent its shining forms
     and all of it shall be adorned
      with a tribute to serenity.

           I shall stand alone
        on the edge of all that is
     think of love and life and sin
        and hope I can forgive.

     And I shall ponder loveliness
      and happiness and loneliness
  and how they all are such the same
that all can spring from just one Name.


      Suppose you had a choice
         A difficult choice
        An impossible choice
     The right thing, the wrong
     The easy, weak or strong—

      Suppose you had a choice
    Your conscience or your heart
       One choice or the other
    Peace of mind or others‘ lives
      A soul or simple kindness

      Suppose you had a choice
        You couldn‘t decide
        You couldn‘t ignore
    A choice you couldn‘t make
      A scenario of pure fate

     Suppose you had a choice
       One thing or the other
        Mutually exclusive
 Too good things now cancelled out
   Two evils, both together now

     Suppose you had a choice
       An impossible choice
      What would you decide?
      The lesser of two evils or
 The sum of all the rights and more?

       We all have a choice
      Suppose we realize that
 An impossible un-decidable choice
 What will you choose, now, today?
  The darker path or a lighter way?


     I want to hear the stars sing
   to feel the freedom of the night
   to know with deepest certainty
       the joyful rush of flight

       I want to see you there
 to know you're standing next to me
    For I know you can feel it too
        what it is to simply be

    I want to know your thoughts
    and wish to know what's true
   so I can hear the song of colors
      feel the fabric of their hues

   I want to hear the moon laugh
          in the middle of the day
    to have you always here with me
     till the end of all there is to say

       I want to hear the stars sing
         in the silence of that end
      and forever to go on like that
       just me and you, my friend.


       Fair and noble creature
     Shining like a beacon bright
 White beam of hope for all oppressed
A wandering guardian through the night

        Deep and somber eyes
 Smoldering, soulful, intelligent gaze
 Repeating the tales of things once lost
  And a knowledge of what you gave

   Fading vision which gives hope
     Now is known your sacrifice
 Why you were here, and what you did
 All for the lowliest, unworthiest life

           A small, cold soul
    Alone, forsaken, but surrounded
 By the hunting calls of demon-things
You sprang forth—your trumpet sounded

      As the fatal end drew near
      Your own purity the shield
   Was willingly given to aid one lost
    To save a soul in an empty field

 The noble defenseless become defender
Unworthies made whole by pure sacrifice
  A noble death so others might live—
    To save those lost, the unicorn died.


   When the heart and soul are broken
 whence comes the aid to heal their woe?
when despair succeeds all conscious thought
   who can crush that triumphant foe?

        All the world is silent now
     darkness entombs, a final shroud
     but the silence echoes somberly
       all around -- round -- ound--

   From where does this despair arise?
   who guides the steps of blinded Fate
     as he walks in step with Death
      and follows till it is too late?

Some poisonous wound this world does bear
   And harsher note was never called
  Whatever the cause, where is the cure?
      What antidote to Adam's fall?

       Sitting alone in the quiet black
      ghostly limbs of trees enfold me
       all is grey and black and white
          but for the memories I see

  Though no aid comes and hails me now
  I have for help a thought of purest grace
        A flash of gold and song of fire
     a fleeting glimpse of Divinity's face

    And though the night is cold with fear
  and naught but a thought is with me here
 that memory lives with greatness bright—
   I've a Living Thought for aid this night.

     I'm a tyrant, I'm a liberator
     Freedom fighter, renegade
       I'm a sinner, a believer
        A doubter and a saint

      I am noble but I'm petty
        Truthful and yet I lie
    I'm confused, I know it all
 Sometimes wrong but always right

    I'm consistent, I'm a paradox
      One, yet also many things
 I'm all of this, both more and less
         I am a human being

    I'm a friend and a betrayer
      A daughter and a leader
   A follower and no one's child
      Both loyalist and traitor

  The seeds of every dark thought
Of all the greatness ever in the world
   Are possibilities, locked away
      in this woman, in this girl

  Shadows of what might yet be
      Are hidden deep in me
  Potential for both good and ill
  Here in this person that you see

     I'm perfect, I am flawed
   Not all darkness nor all light
  So in the end—I am my choice
  What shall decide, 'Who am I?'


       What does the heart
        Know of partings?
       In secret chambers,
     Memories are hearkening
        And yet we ask it,
       This strange organ,
        What to do and feel, and
         On emotion let it gorge
           Shall we meet gain?
      We cry, Will it be the same?
         But the heart is wanton
        And soon forgets a name
       No prophecy can ring true
        From that seat of the soul
          Only desire and folly
     Leaving reason out in the cold
           And yet, even now
            Sanity is tempered
             By a temptation
             To forego ‗right‘
          For temporary elation
         But how can we be sure
        Another ever feels for us?
       The same as we for them—
   For with blindness we are struck…
    And yet now, here at last we are,
      We have come to the end—
With parting, due to ironic words of heart,
 You may know I‘ve loved you, friend.

            SEE THE STARS

                 see the stars
               how they shine
        twinkling coldly far above
         while the pale city streets
          are suffused with blood
          and echoes of busy days
               and empty lives
         the stories they could tell!
       those patient, watching stars
     if they had but mouths to speak
                    or we
                 ears to hear
             the words of truth
             could we stand it?
      pure unadulterated undistilled
   would we wish it, this knowledge?
  but the choice was made, long before
         in a small garden
           by two children
      conversing with a snake
and eating apples in the dawn's light
           we asked for it
            and someday
             it will come
       and it might destroy us
           but for the stars
   though they give us our death
          they will also be
             our new life


      Sleeping, blonde-haired
            Fated royalty
          Dragons, legends
              Little men
            Sing parodies
           Wicked witches
              Ill at ease
             Every story
             Every song
          Merged together
              All along
         Fearfully watching
            Afraid to look
          Each time a child
            Closes a book
        Moves on, grows up
         And leaves behind
      All formerly true things
     In the world of their mind
          Forgotten, forlorn
           Lost, abandoned
         Each magical being
         Fades from legend
           Across all time
         All space, how near
            A song, a lute
    A melody you hear:
     Come my children
        Sang the pipe
         Follow me
  To the end of the night
      Up the rainbow
       See them run!
   Leprechaun tricksters
         Having fun
        Sliding down
          I can fly...
    A darkening menace
      Builds in the sky
      And there at last
    At the rainbow's end
   Every fairytale legend
      Decided to send
     All their goodbyes
      Up into the sky
  Balloons popped slowly
   They didn't know why
      And one by one
      They fell inside
        A pot of gold
    And there they died.


    The Phoenix sings
       a lament over
        a grey world
      in its own fear
            a world
       losing its soul
    forgetting the rites
          the rituals
  abandoning the sacred
      for the profane
     Hope seems lost
      the dark cloud
      yet though no one
           in a dream,
      the Phoenix is still
        swallowing all
            the poison
         meant for us,
       delivered by our
           own hands
        to our own lips
      Though we forget
               the act
             the whys
             the hows
       the Phoenix still
          and, always,


  There‘s a hole in my soul
   There‘s a rent in the sky
  There‘s a rip in the ground
  There‘s water in your eye

    And the wild wins howl
      Their lonely tunes
As they go on their lonely ways
And the sun is fire on the moons

     Every star in the sky
   Is a pinprick in my heart
      Every musical note
      Is the end of a start

  And the wild winds howl
       Their angry tunes
As they go on their angry ways
And the sun is fire on the moons
        There‘s a blue sea rising
        And it‘s not so surprising
         The raindrops are glass
Reflecting the echoes of a song gone past

       And the wild winds howl
          Their defiant tunes
    As they go on their defiant ways
    And the sun is fire on the moons

    And the sun is fire on the moons


             Staring at a star
    Distant, cold and burning bright
       Cold because of distance,
        Or a memory of fright?

           It‘s said the stars
     Were angels, once upon a time
      Upon the earth they walked
       And wove their rhymes

    But the innocents they nurtured
      Turned against them, cruel
            And man strove
         To dominate and rule

     Terrified, the Heavenlies fled
      As their cries were mocked
     And the wrath of the Almighty
      Turned good earth to rock

       On barren, lifeless earth,
     Alone, shuddering, and afraid
        Man forgot the past—
     That he had once been saved

      Trembling grasses
  Beneath sword-slashed sky
     Foaming mountains
  Crashing to water as waves
      Hair, billowing out
     Like a shivering sail
     A girl clings to light
      The sun‘s last ray
    A hope that shimmers
        Midst turmoil


        This is a poem
      it does not rhyme
      it does not follow
            a set patt-
        it is a bit like e
         if you would


 Remember that I'm laughing
As the rain keeps pouring down
 Remember that I'm laughing
Though you think I've drowned
    For I've a secret power
 Of which you know naught
   I've finally discovered it
Hidden deep inside my thoughts
  So even though it's raining
 And lightning strikes too near
 Remember that I'm laughing
  For there's nothing to fear...


        Bittersweet ache
            duty, love
       the mirror of hate
       Deepness, richness
         a loss for words
    cry--wordless; searching
     trapped but spreading
        far, yet still there
   endless chances, one only
           fate's decree
        Bittersweet ache


             blame me
  blame me for the mistakes
  if it makes you feel better
             blame me
        for your problems
      if you really want to
             but know
        i will forgive you
          no matter what
          no matter why
              or when
             blame me
            if you wish
           but all i wish
          is to love you
            to forgive
           and to forget


       this is the command
      is the counter-answer
        whispers the world
          echoes the sky
        caught in between
               just me
            part answer
           part question
     and just trying to decide
          which is which


    Open, close. Blink, blink
             So simple
               So fast
    Dark eyelashes fluttering
       Is it so hard to keep
     Them open, fluttering,
               In time
         To the slowing,
         Quick rush of air
       But something blurs
        The eye and sticks
     One eyelash to the other
    And something tight keeps
               The air
               A sob?
               A tear?
    Closing, shutting, down—
       And cold,
…unacknowledged rest…
         At last.
 But an internal time—


       if indeed it is true
  that there is nothing more
 that all we are, are corpses
  already rotting in the dust
then what profit you to take
          my belief and
    tarnish it? what power
      have you, over me,
   one carcass to another?
        what profit you?
     What harm does it do
    To let me go my way?
       on the other hand
           if i am right
how much you have to lose
       by failing to take
     my word as the truth
             let me go
        do not detain me
           or deride me
      for what profit you
    to take my faith away
when you have no intention
          of keeping it?
          Star Thoughts

 if i knew what stars were thinking
      then i think i'd understand
the thoughts i thought i understood
 when i thought the thoughts i had


         when I was young
     and love was all I thought
               I needed
  I thought love was the answer
     that would save the world
     when i was a young adult
        and i assumed i knew
                 it all
i saw that love had no real power
        and was best avoided
        but now that i am old
           i am wise again
      like the child i once was
and i believe in the power of love
       and so it believes in me

          Picture Perfect

            The picture
           was not him
          but in essence
        he was the picture
           soul moment
             alter ego
        glossy and framed
Raindrops; sheer glass shards
  Mirrors of uncertain fate
     Echo in our lives

      Uncertain dripping
     Hesitant pitter patter
   First slow rain of spring

   Fresh; wet flowers smile
   New awakening of earth
     Inhale a rich breath

   Star-flung teardrops fall
Liquid shadows spinning down
      A torrent of grace

     Upturned face to see
Crashing noise, flickering light
      Calm exulting rain

   spinning through the sky
    downward spiral rushing air
    rain drops through nightfall

        little rivers run
  rivulets tracing their paths
      across foggy glass

    the moon smiles now
   on a silver misted world
       haze of singing rain

        Dismal, dull and slow
            Aching sadness of the day
                 Captured in the rain
        rain, saturating
      fulfilling, satisfying
   calm, deep, perfect peace

        Safe in lightning hands
     Raindrops are brushed from the sky
         Cushioned by thunder

   Heaven‘s eyes tear now
   Sky, blurring with the moisture
             Below, patient earth

   all raindrops fall down
  mirrors, reflecting echoes
whoosh; drip; soul-deep sounds

                   postcards. 6.11.06.

                       i'm traveling now
                    in a barren landscape
           with occasional flashes of sunlight
                       or is it lightning?
                      through the clouds
             to illuminate beautiful scenery
                           but it is dark
                         and i am blind
           and the thunder creates a rumbling
                  racing panic rolling beat
                           in my heart
                          and breathing
                     neon sign flickering
         morose illuminator of a savaged dump
                  gift shop of the damned
         mildewy snacks and overpriced trinkets
                     already falling apart
                  in the back, by the door
                   forgotten, overlooked
                    musty cardboard box
           under piles of forgotten magazines
and unwanted left-to-rot no-longer-needed advertising hype
                       stuffed chock full
                           of postcards
           beautiful places and beautiful faces
           sunlight and blue skies and energy
        small still windows into living reminders
                there's a world outside this
               sphere, snow-globe travesty
                    vacation through hell
             break from normalcy and sane
                 pick a few, sign my name
                      write a line or two
                         address, stamp
              drop them into a derelict blue
                   peeling-paint deserted
                         post office box
                     on an empty corner
                 wherever they come from
               i know where they're going
               and i know i'll never see those
                        beautiful pictures
                 mailing postcards to myself
                 from places i will never go
                      from places i am not
                telling of things i don't know
                  to fill up the empty house
            back there, where home used to be
                  picture them overflowing
              the table in the kitchen and the
             mailbox on the edge of the lawn
                house stuffed with memories
                   that never will be made
                 snippets of false happiness
             that's a lie in this wretched place
                    illusionary happenings
                        cover-up on pain
                  pretension, hurt and balm
                      mailing all that's left
                     to the past, back there
                    leaving all of it behind
                     in honor of a memory
                       that is itself a farce
                leaving something undefined
                            in its place
           mailing out these squares of cardboard
            with colors splashed along the front
                what do they mean, anyway?
                unmade memories of myself
                   to false memories of we
                      imaginary postcards
                       to an imaginary me

couldn‘t be a rockstar (don‘t want fame) (or anything) 6.11.06

                 i couldn't be a rockstar and
                     i couldn't be famous
                  i couldn't be a tv star and
                    i couldn't be a groupie
             i couldn't sell myself
             to the highest bidder
              to win a ratings war
        i couldn't open up my soul
      to every druggie music addict
       and i couldn't make excuses
        for all the people listening
         when i know i'm to blame
      and i couldn't face the crowds
         and look them in the eyes
         not knowing who is right
        not knowing what's the lie
      and i couldn't sell some books
         unless i were anonymous
   because i couldn't stand the thought
            of pearls before swine
      or junk offered up as sacrifice
           to gods awaiting pearls
     i couldn‘t give myself to others
       can‘t give what i don‘t have
               what i don‘t know
        can‘t claim i‘m right when
            i don‘t know for sure
    can‘t give in to the false shallow
illusory dream-world passing for reality
     these days, not knowing if i am
                of that world or
                its worst enemy
  couldn‘t, can‘t, because of the failure
     because i couldn't stand before
    the judge and look her in the eye
      and say with steady voice and
      honest soul the only thing that
                 matters saying
                    i couldn't
                    and i can't
    give myself to them when myself
       is all unknown to begin with
how can i look those strangers in the eye
    when my friend and foe are one,
          the enemy in the mirror,
       who has already defeated me
         indecision. 6.11.06.

       how very disconcerting
        to look inside yourself
         and find not courage
             or originality
        nor anything so special
   bold or beautiful or worthwhile
        just small squishy bits
       cells blood tissue organs
    and nothing to indicate why
    there is a sudden shortage of
       for lack of a better word
   what is missing so no absolute
             can be chosen
         and no decision made
           with a firm hand?
      somewhere there must be
          something else but
               and what?

   completely malleable. 6.11.06.

        stark bare spartan plain
  plain black words on white paper
   cursor blinking calmly patiently
    on the void white of the screen
keys hit slowly, words form by letters
    safe no worry no hurry no fear
     backspace delete undo exit:
           only a click away
         what a relief to know
          that these mistakes
      don‘t have to stay mistakes
no consequences and no responsibility
   no one holding you accountable
      click the button tap the key
    and it‘s all over, undone, fresh
    whole anew again made clean
           but secretly inside
        where nothing is erased
     looms the shadow of cowardice
        and the knowledge of all
                and who
          you‘re running from.

from one pseudonym to the other. 6.11.06.

                writing reviews
             reading the neat type
and understanding exactly what the author
              was going through
              colorful adjectives
and brutal honesty at points, needed or not
     just like the author in her writing
          describing what is written
               without retelling
    smiling now, putting pen to paper
           and typing up the lines
              print, nod, satisfied
  walk across the carpet to the shredder
           calmly and deliberately
               unmake them all
         reviews, and the reviewed
        its all for the author anyway
     alone for her, and all in her head
              writer and reviewer
      experiencing and understanding
        telling and interpreting both
                 review myself
     saying what others will never say
    reading what others will never see
       release, not bottled up inside
    but released in incinerating flames
creation destroyed in the moment of birth
    while an amused smiling watcher
                   plays god
              and feels the falsity
                  and the truth
            through and through.
whowhatwherewhywhenhow. 6.11.06.

   i think the changes that we note
 and thresholds we become aware of
               as we cross
             are distractions
        real, but smoke screens
        but the real changes are
             the subtle ones
          that sneak up on us
  no matter how vigilant our watch
   and then we are left wondering
   some day sitting in puzzlement
          when did it happen
     and where and why and how
        and what does it mean?
                 after all.

         confession. 6.11.06.

            forgive me please
             for i have sinned
      it has been two years--or so
                    i think
        since my last confession
          so why confess here?
                   to you?
      because i do not understand
    and you are either my superior
          or so much less than i
         and i do not understand
     and confusion has become my
          (natural?)default state
              wash me clean
            show me the path
teach me what understanding looks like
  remind me of what i have forgotten
                  can you?
                  can you?
                  can you?
    you are silent dumb and stupid
you can tell me teach me show me nothing
                or is that me?
           i am lost in the maze
 cushioned ceilings and mirrors of words
    worlds of either glass or reflections
              and i cannot tell
          and do not understand
             forgive me please
              for i have sinned
              or was that you?
      balance between two opposites
         teeter-totter rocking war
       because that's the way it is?
 or because everyone(i?) has failed to see
          they're both the same?
        am i asking for forgiveness
             seeking to grant it
                   or both?
                 FIND OUT.

          IMPOSTER 6.11.06.

         so close to succeeding
      failure would be so possible
               so tempting
        if success trumps failure
               what then?
      what then when they discover
                    it is
                   i am
                 a fraud?

       not what they say. 6.11.06.

          it doesn't fit the rules
          by classic definitions
                 it is not
                 and yet
                    it is
 does anyone need to understand?
        even those living
           within it?

  not within/not without. 6.11.06.

        because i want to give
           but have nothing
                or at least
              cannot find it
         what is not within us
    we cannot find in anyone else
  but we humans are silly creatures
  that does not stop us from trying
 we know our head connecting with
         the brick wall hurts
    but still we harbor some hope
 or delusional drive of commitment
that keeps us banging steadily away

    how many times. 6.14.06.

   how many times can you say
     before you can accept it?
 and how many times can you say
            you're done
   before you actually mean it?
       and how many times
           of repetition
      and hurting memories
  and echoes in the empty space
       where you used to be
            does it take
         before it really is
         over. 6.14.06.

              it's not over
       while i still remember
           and it's not over
         while this still hurts
           and it's not over
         until i've moved on
   you're done, finished, gone
            you've stopped
      and now i'm continuing
             on alone, just
          sheer momentum?
       whatever and whyever
             for me "over"
      is just a bump on a road
        that is suddenly dark
            deserted lonely
         cheerless friendless
 and coming to a screeching halt
         where the cliff ends
                up ahead
    to reference that one quote
           i liked so much
             if i have faith
   do i believe there is a ledge
            beyond the fall
   and not just empty nothing?
               or perhaps
           by some miracle
        i will be given wings
           and shown how
                  at last
(maybe/i wish/despite the terror)
               how to fly.
---- these taken from, and in some cases edited, the ‗poetic portfolio‘ of my soph. yr.--

                                   The Haiku Speaks

                                   I remember now
                             Contradiction that was found
                                  In logic so sound

                                  The Tanka Speaks

                               Internal thought-wave
                             Reflection of nature‘s might
                                Hidden deep beneath
                                The proverbial basket
                                A bushel of protocol

                                 Blackberry Prophecy

                              The voice of the blackberry
                                  Came in just in time
                          To her, with one foot in the grave
                            And the other on a banana peel
                        ‗a stitch in time‘ the voice announced
                     ‗saves the whole nine years of the front line
                      ‗between the devil and the deep blue sea.‘
                               But she dropped a needle
                                Got lost in the haystack
                       And that cloud licked the blackberry up


                                     Abstract art
                                 So easily interpreted
                                       (they say)
                               but They say lots of thing
                              and who are they, anyway?
                                No one seems to know
                                       not really
                                     it‘s personal
                                      either way
                                     For the author
                                     And the viewer
                              And it‘s all about how They
                                  (the OTHER they) –
                                 (the important ones) –
                             See it—wouldn‘t you agree?
                           Emotion, here, the height of good
                           Truth preserved by those who lied

                      --- end section taken from poetic portfolio---


     p. 96 – 114 poem taken from previous section to keep as possibilities for LAD
         p. 135 – 140 other really old poems, but not included in previous pages
   p. 183 – 187 are some other old poems, but never before typed or saved elsewhere
 most others past this point all written after 6-11-06 (postcards), and the ―Long Hiatus‖
but some are from other places and older (should be dated) scattered in, added as I found
Thought Section Nine     (unknown date; compilation of earlier fragments.)

                           Penguins in a bottle
                          Stoppered with a cork
                          Floating down a river
                             On a silver fork

                             If I were a butterfly
                          I'd be a panther's friend
                         And if the sky was purple
                           I'd laugh until the end

                      Penguins on a tightrope
                   Dancing high above the ground
                      Watch as they go flying
                    Through the speed of sound

                      Nothing much is funny
                       While the sun is up
                   Down around along the ground
                         Lemon in a cup

                        Penguins laughing always
                          Autumn, artic, albany
                       Between the height of glory
                       And the cold shore of the sea

                            Teardrop of a frog
                         A prince's pearly crown
                           Living like the dead
                       Because the world is drowned

                       Penguins penguins penguins
                           Everywhere i look
                          Penguin after penguin
                        On the pages of this book

                           Tiny trumpet sounding
                           A silver note of dawn
                        In a golden cage of feathers
                        On a green and grassy lawn

                           Penguins in a teacup
                         Spinning through the sea
                          Rocking out to silence
                         The purple socks and me

              she said. 6.21.06.
            (in a mirror darkly.)

                        she said
               i was walking on air
          i was walking on the stars
     i was walking on sunrise sunshine
            i was walking on clouds
                 till i looked down
                        she said
                    air is too thin
                     that high up
      and the stars are prickly burnings
                     on your feet
and on the sunshine you leave ugly footprints
    in something that was once as clean
                  and pure as you
                      once were
     and clouds are misty wet and cold
      wrap around your ankles like wet
       tendrils of memory and shame
                dragging you down
             and tickling the senses
      with things you'd rather not think
                    or remember
              so you hurry and then
                  they trip you up
                     and you fall
                        she said
           i don't love you anymore
         and i am dancing in the sky
                        she said
        my memory is faulty and it‘s
                  deleted you like
         easily erasing neatly printed
          words on the markerboard
                        she said
         i cannot tell the truth to you
           because the truth it hurts
     and i cannot tell the truth to me
because it would make me laugh too much
       and laughing hurts the worst
                     she said
              i knew it all along
                     she said
                 it was all a lie
         and true at the same time
                     she said
             i knew i was a fool
          and you're a bigger one
                     she said
                  don't look up
        you're hanging upside down
                     she said
            look within yourself
       (to the reflection on the wall)
             (while facing you)
 (and the crowd listened in from the hall)
                     she said
             as i raised my head
           to look her in the eyes
     when i met her gaze unsteadily
                  in the mirror
             and knew she lied.

            traveling. 6.21.06.

         you should not be afraid
       to put your feet on the floor
              even in the dark
              get up and walk
            what do you think
              is awaiting you
   in the now-dark shadowy corners
              of the familiar?
          has some evil crept in
      while your back was turned?
         did you turn your back?
      or are you afraid of what was
             there all the time
    (is)-(not was)-(don't you think?)
     that you think is now revealed?
       why is seeing so important?
   why is knowing such a must-have?
   why do fear and the unknown
       seem to go together?
      what happened to faith
     or to trust? did they ever
             even exist
    at all (? outside a dream--
             -i wonder)
             don't you?
   when you face a dark mirror
          and corridors of

         (The) Insomnia(c)

      somewhere around 3 a.m.
                once again
              i cannot sleep
(has the sandman lost my address?)
   the ghosts whisper too loudly
         and the silence throbs
          against my eardrums
           and even when i try
         i cannot keep my eyes
             closed for long
     ...the blank ceiling is just...
             too compelling
(insert look and shake of head here)
        who's to say what's true
     tent of sheets and blankets
 best friends: flashlight, paper, pen
     explore this world together
              and the others
             past and future
           last (worst?) of all;
         remind me once more
          how did this happen?
                     i do
                   i don't
              want to know
      fortress castle turtle shell
              house of cards
      see-through impermeable
 closed off; open; can't-see-through
              idon't want to
                come out--
                  can i?
             hmm. i wonder.
            opposites collide
             and wide awake
          the sleeping begins
                  get it?
                 this part
   (but wasn't i passed this already
                 this part
                 wasn't i?)
               don't forget
         [gotta go sometime]
       [gotta stop somewhere]
          [and infinity waits]
             possibilities all
    dying reborn danger kept safe
              behind that tv
          and over two steps


       she walked into the room
      and turned all the lights on
              one by one
 feet making a soft whispering brush
           against the carpet
             as she moved
from room to room and light to lamp
   and then she stood in the center
          letting the light fall about her
                   from all angles
             obliterating her shadow
                     arms raised
                      eyes shut
                     then slowly
           she held them open so wide
                  staring so boldly
 holding that pose by sheer force of willpower
        and then she took a deep breath
               but without relaxing
and the tension became her solidifying her form
         etching her essence into the air
              holding her held by her
                       and then
               without ever blinking
                she opened her eyes

           "the song without music"

        so if the end justifies the means
           then who justifies the end
                and who justified
                      the end
                       of me
         and they tell me that it doesn't
                matter how i do it
           how i get through the day
           so long as i come through
                 who cares how?
                     how hard
                     how why
                   how it's done
                  how how how
             feel like i'm staring out
           from behind impenetrable
               mirrored sunglasses
               but my face is naked
          saved and damned
       in its sheer invisibility
           how can i expect
           how can i expect
                to love me
           how can i expect
               you not to?
            it doesn't matter
               (doesn't it?)
      strolling down the street
smiling for every pang in my heart
      trying to make the bitter
  (like anybody notices anyway)
       when everything hurts
           all the references
           and former jokes
            and the pleasure
           has become pain
            they stare at me
        seeing what i project
 (and what i do not want them to)
     but it's okay because they
          do not understand
           and they wonder
                 or laugh
        at the non-song i hum
           under my breath
         song with no music
     un-melody of words alone
        a song without music
      like this life has become

       the song without music
          echoes in my head
rolling around in the too-big empty
 like a loose marble in an old rusty
          collector's tin can
              (unforgettably boring)
                    and not me
           (so sick of these opposites)
             (the same and different)
                (yet there they are)
          (i could sooner escape from
                  the confines of
        as my favorite angel would say)

the whole truth (and nothing but) (how terrifying)

         trying not to wake the parents
         staring at my computer screen
                     late at night
                   munching on...
            and listening to the night
                     and silences
              and just trying to cope
         even when it doesn't seem like
             there's anything, really,
                    to cope with
         and my memory is pulling it's
                 funny little tricks
                  and i can't tell if
                     they're right
                or i'm getting over
        i was challenged with the truth
        (i can't turn down a challenge?)
                        but this
               ...and these words...
                   is more honest
               than i bargained for
                   (and perhaps,
                   for you, too--
                   do you think?)

                   Boiling Point

              HELD INSIDE
        TO BEAR IT
                   (WITHOUT YOU?)

                   and type this out
    and pretend that everything inside my mind
   is calm, quiet, just as I am here on the outside
    and that I am sleeping, instead of insomniac,
          troubled by these old memories,
        new wounds not yet made into scars,
            and haunted by the ghosts of
                       what was
                                  what I thought was
                                what might have been
                                  what never will be.
                                   Am I controlled?
                                     (Not so bad?)
                                         I think?
                           Why can‘t you just leave me alone?

 What the heck just happened?, or: the continued beating of my head (that is to say, my
soul, against the, completely metaphorical, or at least allegorical, if not only applicable)
                                      brick wall.

                                      Come now
                                    Faulty memory
                                   Work your tricks
                                  Allow me to forget
                                     Just this once
                              What it would do me good
                                    To completely
                                      And totally
                              Have erased from my mind
                            And washed clean from my soul
                            Treacherous glob of grey matter
                              Turning against me like this
                               Traitorous consciousness
                             Exquisite detailed high-color
                              How can I make you care?
                       You, total stranger, reading these words
                               What can I possibly say
                                       To convey
                               The way I feel like slime
                                     And the why‘s
                            (As though those really matter
                                      In the end…
                         Or so I think; in my bitter moments)
                       And how can I still be trying to reach out
                            (in the only way I know how)
                       When reaching out brought me this low
                                    In the first place
                          (and what I don‘t know how to do
                                      Is what now
                                         Is truly
                                       Killing me)

Creation/Creator 7-16-06 (1 year anniversary of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince)

                                 sweeps of green dust
                               sparkling piles of thought
                                hills waiting to be born
                                       buds of trees
                                  blooming hesitantly
                              before the frost of the dark
                                 of the end of thought
                          dripping paint brush streak of new
                                vivid wetly oozing blue
                                       slash of a sky
                           coming down around the edges
                                 to tuck in the corners
                             and smooth rough edges over
                                        and enclose
                                         but perfect
                                   the seed of a world
                                  still feeding on hope
                                  watered by potential

           to burst into action



                    i'm sorry
          (I'm tired of being sorry
     what do I have to be sorry for?)
      i wish things weren't like this
      (what is this, after all? a mess
       of your own fault. mostly?)
         do you even remember?
             (how can you forget
  what will not leave my mind alone?)
              i don't understand
 (how you changed, and even though i
tell myself it's stupid i fear--my fault...)
          what's wrong with you?
         (what's wrong with me?)
        how can you be like this?
            (why can't i change?)
              you're scaring me
                 (i am afraid)
           how can you not care?
                 how can i not
     (what words are there for how
                   this misery
           that makes you happy
                   is for me?)
           i think i'm going to be ill
          (how can i let go when i do
     not remember beginning to hold on
   or realize what i'm holding on to, when
   lovely metaphors are not solid enough
       to make a difference down here)
                i don't know how
               (i don't know how)
                   and, i know,
           i'm just talking to myself
          (alone, alone, abandoned--
                       by you
                  or the illusion
                     i created?
                    no matter.)
             (end result = the same)

        I Was Not Ready      7-19-06

                I Was Not Ready
          I tell you I was unprepared
         Who could have expected it?
                     So soon
                    So sudden
                    It's insane
    no, Truly, I cannot be held accountable
         For what has snuck up on me
                 So condemnably
                I Was Not Ready
                  That first time
        Two opposites encircle my life
        Twins, on each side of the coin
                  Holding hands
              Surrounding my heart
             Cliché--beginner's luck
Also true--The First Time's Always A Mess Up
             I WAS NOT READY!
            Do you not understand?
    No one told me it would be like this
       No one warned me about After
          No one gave me any hint
                 ANY HINT
the WHOLE TIME they speak of the glories
            of walking on clouds
 With the sun shining and the wind blowing
                and someone
            Oh such a Someone
          There to hold your hand
    To make you safe and challenge you
           And share it with you
            NO ONE TOLD ME
           That those famed and
            suddenly thunderous
              perfect, beautiful
             out-of-reach clouds
              are insubstantial
               when Someone
                    let's go
                     let go
        After painting the glories of
              the flight of love
        about what it FEELS LIKE
    poised on the brink of destruction
      and hit the hard, hard ground
               I was not ready
           To Not Be Ready…
                   And yet,
                 Even still—
           I cannot blame those
                  who never
                 They are old
              Their wounds--
                --from impact
             have long healed
        And the light of memory
        is all that illuminates that
              once so precious
                But I shudder
                    to think
                that someday
                  Will never
                   not once

We Come Bearing Water Pistols      7-19-06

     We come bearing water pistols
          and edible grenades
      Licking sticks of dynamite
              red lollipops
            Blissful children
        if not entirely unaware
       Still excused the burden
                    greatest burden
                         of caring
          caring about understanding, too
                Playing pool party in
                    a gasoline spill
            with our matchstick soldiers
           While the hot sun beats down
                Life goes on around
                  --and yet stopped,
          watching us totter unknowingly
                   along the brink--
                     we are the old
                        the young
                        the youth
                   we are immortal
                         and dead
                    we are the past
                     and the future
                 living in the present
      And before us stretches our destruction
     disguised as green and tree filled parkland
               And behind us stretches
                    year after year
                   all of our games
                      become real
                And here in this one
                      (the present)
                    we stand upon
             the smallest question mark
              with the biggest shadow.

Man Hunt/Secure the Fortress/Shoot to Kill 7-19-06

                  AFTER HIM
             See that shadow flitting
        On the wall, up ahead, turning the
             corner LISTEN closely
           And strangle the butterflies
                of your stomach
                       HE WILL HEAR
                        You are COLD
                 And you must FIND HIM
           He must not be allowed to get away
                          to be FREE
                   the chains weight down
                        and he is so free
                he is the one who deserves
                         these burdens
             and if you cannot transfer them
                 then you will encircle him
                        with these traps
                   if you have to go down
                     HE DESERVES TO
               he runs from his own shadow
                       thinking it is you
              but soon the sun will come out
                  and the shadow will fade
                      and you will be left
                     and he will be gone
               and the injustice will seep in
              soaking surrounding saturating
        with its swampy musty dank rotting smell
                  and poison all life within
                          the fortress

                   Secure the Fortress!
                       Shut the doors
                      Slam windows
                      Board up cracks
                     Stuff rags in slits
                     DON'T this time
                        let it escape
                        And don't let
                       that other one
                    in from the outside
           you know he does not seek entrance
      merely the shortest distance between two points
and though you could not catch up farther than that shadow
       you will not grant him this last satisfaction--
...and shut inside there is no escape

              Cornered at last
            Approach carefully
         it is okay to shake now
                  reveal to it
                     to him
in your presence in your face in what
          you hold in your hand
                what you are
                  and feeling
              and going to do
                     in fact
                already doing
             watch in the eyes
        as understanding dawns
     the ultimate revenge exacted
      in the last and final moment
       there is no plea for mercy
             no continuing pity
                      no lie
                  but finally
                     at last
                    for once
        the once it matters most
          you are the conqueror
                 and he is left
            looking back at you
                 TOO LATE
         Raise the hand steadily
           still the shaking now
         look deep in those eyes
               (one last time)
        (there can be no remorse
                 he got away
                   he is free
                it is your turn
               YOUR TURN
                  aim true
                and SHOOT
                shoot to kill
               once and for all
(bitterness/sadness/relief/regret TORTURE)
                and be done.
            DO YOU HEAR ME?

     So I Tried. So What?     7-19-06

              i tried to think of
                   yet another
            "original" (so called)
                way to express
      to tell you without telling you
              what i am feeling
                 (as if i knew)
               but i discovered
            out of all that i could
                  invent to say
         three words already made
             (and now as i write
           how many possibilities
             of what those three
                     could be
                  occur to me)
            but i'm afraid i find i
              have to quote this
           "ocean front property"
            (but i feel i must add
               it says too much
                   not enough
                   just enough
       but it's so really solidly true
      (i think? oh do not doubt now
             still your quaking)
         the meaning inescapable
          and that makes me feel

 Too Close and Too Personal        7-19-06

              Must I admit defeat?
      I have done my best to forget you
  I have deleted and trashed all the pictures
                     The cards
                     The notes
         (I'd already eaten the candy.)
     I have not, will not, can not see you
 I am surrounded by (what) friends (I have)
  I have eaten bowl after bowl of ice cream
(Threatening/living/scoffing the stereotype)
        And all these little distractions
            just for, kicks, let's list--
  Surround me fill me blow my (too empty
            not empty enough) mind
       All the little reminders are gone
                    And yet you
                   your memory
              (if you had persisted
                    believe me
    how much happier i—we?—would be
and this poem would not exist (now there‘s
   a happy thought. not really. i know that
                 i was wrong but
       did i really mean so little to you?
     slow-killer, knife wound of the soul
                     the heart
        i don‘t know how i could have
          but how could you NOT?))
          Must I cut off my own hand
            Because you once held it
   If only to forever scrub all trace of you
                    from my life
       To sterilize finalize completely--
          I was beaten before I began
      From the moment I said goodbye
               And probably before
                       I can try
               Oh how I have tried
             But even your memory
        pale shadow of what once was
                Is to strong for me
                     (This here
                      This now
                     This night
                   God help me.)
        How you would pity me if you
                could see me now.
                      But that,
                        I think,
                 would be worse.
                 Do not doubt me
             I already doubt myself.
                   Do you know?
              You will never know
       Because from your point of view
                       I am the
                     but i swear
i would swear, if it would do ANY GOOD
                   YOU CHOSE
               this was your choice
              this is what you want
           isn't it?(pleasedon'tanswer
         how can i forget when like a
      grain of sand itching, unreachable
             in the corner of my eye
             that thought haunts me
                   day and night
  even in my supposedly so happy dreams
        (and even then i dream of you)
                   and how i felt
                            before the aloneness
feeling trappeduncertainhelplessaloneALONEALONEALONE
             stuck into collision course with disaster
                      what else could i have done?
                                     what else?
                                     what else?
                                     what else?
                          falling apart, crumbling
                             from the inside out
             it is over for you, just beginning for me
                     and still i cannot decide. still.
                               no longer matters
                             all that i know now
                              is the unhappiness
               and that has become all that matters.
              i no longer believe in second chances.
                                     no longer.
                                     no longer.
                                     no longer.
                    (and the desperate desperation
                     melts into the sickness that is
                              self revulsion, and
                              utter hopelessness
                                        and so
                     The ghost that is my now-me
        calling words that thin and spread and disappear
                      by their own insubstantiality
                                    and a wind
                           of questionable source
           In a world where true absolution is always

                    In the Faithlessness of Dark

                     In the faithlessness of dark
                creep the bold things and the stark
                  what ifs roam the barren street;
              nightmares howl and clang like sleet;
                  and all the while a child sleeps
            the sleep of innocence, in darkness deeps
                   not scared of anything by day
                 at night, afraid, ere what they say
           the two-sided child lands deftly, like a coin
               of day, the brave, of night, the storm
                     storms of evil glaring foes,
              waves of beasts and enemies in throes
                     in the faithlessness of dark,
               in town, in school, playground, park
                 bedroom house, street corner, too
                   lie the answers to answer you;
                        if anyone is brave day
                 be warned at night and stay away
              lest you hear their mournful weeping,
          caused by the frights that stop their sleeping.
                   for in the faithlessness of dark
                lies the mirror to each man's heart.

The Tempest and the Storm (uncertain date written; long ago, tho.)

                Abstract shapes sliding down
                    Gray clouds form lines
                  Densities slowly dissolving
              Water down a background of slate
            Waving words unaccustomed to violence
             Trees like the rainbow above, hidden
               Like the darkest moonless night
                     A tale without words
                      A song with no tune
             The mystery bound to the inevitable
            The flash of noise and deafening sights
                    Lost, drowned, blinded,
                             In dark
Some other really old poems I found in another file are going below:

               I SIT IN THE SHADOWS (12-7-04)

            I sit in the shadows and laugh at the world
            Because the world is wrong and I am right
           Perhaps I'm the world, but we'll never know
           Everything is covered in the dark of the night

           Just because the stars shine down from above
             Does not mean they are friendly or warm
                  Just because they all look alike
             Does not mean that they all are the norm

              When you look around and see this life
               Do you only see the shadows cast?
              Becuase there's more to life, you know
             Average doesn't mean it's always like that


               THERE IS A FINE LINE        (12-7-04)

                        There is a fine line
                         Between the end
                        Of an enmity lost
                     And the start of a friend
                        There is a fine line
                   Between love that we share
                      And love that we don't
                        Even want to bear
                        There is a fine line
                    Between rhyme and reason
                   But the difference is marred
                      Between every season
                        There is a fine line
                   Between things that are lost
                   And things that have merely
                        Too great of a cost
                        There is a fine line
                   Between poets and weakness
 And the things that we share
And the things kept in darkness
      There is a fine line
     Between life and rest
  But there's no real change
    Between love and death
      There is a fine line
 Between actions and thought
     And all the times we
     Didn't do as we ought
   There are many fine lines
   Throughout all the Earth
   But there is no difference
  Between sadness and mirth


     The darkness laughs
         But I will cry
         Forever more
      And I wonder why
  There are too many options
      Not enough actions
       Too many pieces
    Such different factions
          I will laugh
  And the darkness will sob
   Since when has the light
       Been one to rob?
      Perhaps everything
    Is an egotistical dream
       Or maybe this life
        Isn't as it seems
      Language just fouls
         Everything, all
      So why do I write?
   Because I can't stand tall
     Can't open my mouth
     To voice my scream
    Or my song or my sob
  Or my laugh or my dream
    So the words flow out
      But silence is better
           Or is it just thoughts
       That make the world wetter?
         For when the rain comes
            All's washed away
        The greyness fits the mood
         No matter what's to say
               I guess that all
                I really think
             Is that everything
            Is all kinda bleak--
                 -a Pandora's Box?-
                      all fused...
                       the muse,
                      has left me.


   When nothing in the world will work
    And nothing in the world is right
   Then you must look out of the world
      With your divine inner sight

 When nothing out there makes any sense
     When it's too strange for thought
Then come back home and crash back down
          Upon you earthly cot

       Either way you're not alone
         In this world or out of it
Just make sure to climb the cliffs of mohey
          and over the edge, spit

         Then you'll have lived
          And you'll have died
        And you'll find your soul
           Never really lied

         You were just confused
           But aren't we all?
             Just sit back
         And enjoy the fall

           It won't hurt
          Until you land
       And maybe not then
       If you land on sand

       For all the world's
           A cookie jar
    And all the people, crumbs
       That the decor mar

            But in a way
       It makes perfect sense
           Colors clashing
          It's a clean rinse

          To get rid of all
     The things you don't need
      To get back to the life
     You were meant to lead.


  I'm scared and I don‘t know why
        but i can't seem to cry
             and yet the sky
               seems to fly
           away, there it goes
        where? no one knows
    would that I could only follow
   wake up to a different 'morrow
       hear the beat of my heart
            change, and start
to pound to the rhythm of the flames
 that curl and burn round the names
         that have touched me
                  and i see
                 and i hear
               what is near
           a burning soul fire
               an icy desire
          to fit into the pattern
                                 to hold up the lantern
                                 and discover my color
                                  apart from any other
                                      unique, alone
                                  surrounded, to atone
                                       for the sin
                                     that in the end
                                     always, always
                                         gets me


                                       I am facless
                                     I am nameless
                                 You don't know me
                                     You don't care
                                  You'll never know
                                    What I could be
                                 I'll never show true
                                 When you look at me
                                    So just go away
                                You don't want to stay
                                  It's over, it's done
                                Now I've had my say....

-----end flashback of old poems from other files. Copied here exactly as found. (edited

                               Inspired by Half a Sentence
(This half of a sentence, in fact, which I once wrote, stored, and forgot about for a long
 while: I want to fly to the moon on wings of airy gold, and have the stars all fall into
                            alignment, a sparkling walkway,)

                               I want to fly to the moon
                                 on wings of airy gold
                                 and have all the stars
                                 all fall into alignment
                                  a sparkling walkway
                                on which i can descend
                                to the pitted boundaries
                               of the weightless satellite
                                 where i will half-turn
                 as though surprised
       dew-drops lingering in my hair
                     like starshine
            and see over my shoulder
              the rising of the world
             blue green white brown
             turquoise paints whirled
                     into a sphere
          hazy at the edges where the
         friendly atmosphere is nearly
           indistinguishable from sky
                       and space
                     i would float
       quite contentedly, but with aim
        hidden power, careful control
                   in my relaxation
                surpassing opposites
       into the shadowy brilliant place
                 where they are one
       i would watch the galaxies spin
                         a ballet
                  for my enjoyment
     and i would feel surging within me
         the confidence of a thousand
                        a million
                       an eternity
                      of existence
      and yet see each new-old wonder
      as though new born, vision furry
                 about the edges but
              continuously surprised
      fulfilled, contented, made whole
at the wonders, spectacular and everyday,
                   that i would see
             i would spread my arms
                       my wings
          raise my face to the heavens
    that are now so close i could almost
                    stand on tip toe
         to brush my nose against the
                   footstool of God
               i would be everything
             and nothing
          i would know all
      and all would know me
          we would be one
            creation and i
       yet not of each other
     until the last silence lifted
        and all began again
          and i understood
           and was ready.

     The Other Me       7-20-06

                 Heads turn
      I keep my eyes on the floor
         Voices, directed at me
   ...invisibility is so much easier
     why are they talking to me?
           small steps, but fast
quickly move go on out of the way--
          ...out of the spotlight
           shrinking to the side
     melting as much as possible
          into peripheral vision
        so as to avoid attracting
              undue attention
         outside shell so fragile
            but protecting even
             more vulnerable
             internal realities
 separate compartments of the soul
                 so private
             so easily bruised
                except one--
       something makes a sound
              -a brushing tap-
        like wings beating from
            the inside of a box
        made of thin membrane
 --different new volatile shocking strange NEW
                         behind me
          trailing like a shadow of the spirit
                     when heads turn
                  my eyes meet theirs
                  amused smile-smirk
         twitching the corners of my mouth
            and i am laughing at the world
      stepping so self-assuredly, long strides
        relaxed, arms swinging wide, ready
         to embrace the mystery around the
                        next corner
                            i am--
                     well, it is not me
                          not quite
                  it is the shadow-self
                  soul of that butterfly
                         in that box
                     beating its wings
                   trying to break free
                out of the confines that i
                        the real me
                         in my fear
                     have caged it in
              my timidity is my plainness
          my shield, my safety, my failsafe
                       the other me
(such a traitor makes things so difficult and yet--)
                       and unafraid
                        she is what
             that one friend, that one time,
                        told her she
                          told me i
                       and could be
           so hard to remember, to believe
             perhaps that is why i
                 the other me
           to be my other memory
        to be a vessel that contains
            the better parts of me
              to save, safeguard
             (suppose i run out?)
              until needed most
         --much to valuable to lose
              rock the boat later
                    for now
            prepare on the inside
      and inside stand tall as though
standing on the highest peak of the world
 surveying everything, arms spread wide
                 face uplifted
  solid strong forever immovable happy
           until she, that other me,
                    is ready
            to step into my shoes
                      and i
       am prepared to welcome her
                  as myself.

         In the Void    7-22-06

             staring into the
                silent void
              reaching into
       the vacuum of everything
      watching the abyss carefully
            for some kind of
           what foolishness.
           what should it do,
      fingers scraping the bottom
                                     of nothingness
                                     then suddenly
                                        in defeat
                                    brushing against
                                     curling around
                                         a heart
                                  floating, lost, alone
                                          in the

                             Burning Bridges 7-22-06
―I‘ll go from bad to worse and later back to better but I‘ll never better bridges that I‘m
                            meant to burn‖ –Anna Nalick

                                     Standing in the rain
                               smoking torch in one hand
                                Hair plastered down, and
                            wind whipping straight through
                                           my body
                             facing the oncoming darkness
                            thunder, muted, silent lightning
                                   form the backdrop of
                                        the battlefield
                                silent, distant, too-orange
                             fire tongues eating up the sky
                                 cracking, falling, caving
                                 the fragile, fragile wood
                                  into the dark and silent
                                    rushing river waters
                                     bridges are burning
                                  in the heart of the night
                                    cold center of reality
                                  on the fuzzy edges of a
                                         an imagining
                                       burning bridges
the task which i have come to do
 watching the devouring flames
               of my heart
         burn away the fluff
            the framework
           into nothingness
               the last ties
          to what once was
     wondering, what should i
   be feeling and perhaps more
 urgently, what will i be feeling
            when i wake up
      and if i will ever know
    the difference between the
                 right and
                the wrong
          and remembering
  standing on that same bridge
       in a different season
      when it looked so long
              so promising
               so inviting
             and remember
      trying to cross it again
           uncertain at first
    whether my feet still hung
       above the firmament
  held up by deceptively steady
      or trod on solid ground
           perhaps after all
        this is nothing more
     than the echo of a dream
  burning in the harsh daylight
            of an intruding
            external reality.
               you think?

Remembering the Now      7-27-06

  tracing thin shadow outlines
      on translucent paper
                   empty inside
    face turned toward the non-drawing
               but seeing nothing
         save for echoes of memories
                  and heartbreak
            rolled together into one
             burning searing brand
       throbbing ugly burn on the soul
       remedies sit to the side, useless
             and only old fantasies
                 and new regrets
             fill the dark and silent
                   empty hours
           forgiveness is the new lie
         all is fragile, transitory, pale
     live with the sweltering oppressive
        blanket of wrongs and failures
                 or lose your soul
          to endure the unendurable
                  is to be human
(which is to make--unforgivable?--mistakes)
                    and to love
                and to have loved
                    and to have
                    been loved

        To Begin With     7-27-06

              words make a mess
              they go everywhere
      they say everything and nothing
           and what really matters
         is always lost in the jumble
        and to every different person
              a different meaning
                    for every
         you would think that words
       could fix the messes they make
        why does the negative word
      pack so much more power
       than a single good one?
           and why on earth
          is it so impossible
       to fix things with words
        when you broke them
         with the wrong ones
             to begin with?

Another piece of the puzzle     7-27-06

                  i miss you
    this regret is eating up my soul
           i have no heart left
            i gave it all to you
         how could i have tried
                to walk away
         when you still held it?
    and now though it is your turn
         to do what i could not
                    in fact
              be glad about it
      you have left it sitting there
         on the side of the road
                   all alone
                   my heart
          waiting for someone
                 --for YOU--
               to come along
          and pick it up again
           i have lost my way
                and it is dark
        and you no longer care.
             lucky, lucky you.

     Invisible Shadow 7-28-06

 invisible shadow trailing behind me
     thin cloud of semi-substance
                 like a cloak
                 or a shroud
   dampening cover, feather light,
              crushing down,
        smothering, oppressive
          security, familiarity
                  i can see it
          translucent, hanging
    hesitantly like a tangible echo
      uncertain whether to form
             or to let itself be
                blown away
   spread into thinnest nothingness
        as though it never was
            by the unknowing
      and i wrap my hands in it
               still uncertain
whether to wrap it closely about myself
                or to simply
             if i could, if first
      i could but detach from it
                   my heart
            is the decision of
                 no decision
           an answer after all?
                i must know
      before it forms so solidly
                  around me
    or thins me into nonexistence
                     with it
         last irony of entrance
                    and exit
       of what may or may not
         have ever been there
                      at all
Blue   7-31-06   note: if I rewrote this and edited it, it might be quite good.

                         i will paint the town blue
                          the color of my sadness
                              i will tint carefully
                           all the different shades
                         in the appropriate places
                                   in the park
                     where we took those long walks
                            the leaves of the trees
                               will be frosty blue
                       deep rich color on the edges
                    each one almost tear-drop shaped
                               and all the places
                          we used to stop and eat
                            are now that dark and
                     lonely color of the underworld
                                 that is the sea
                       the sky drips with streaks of
                             painted on baby blue
                           soft and sad and lonely
                            small pale clouds will
                     blend in with their background
                     and the blue houses will huddle
                                 close together
                        and the picture of memory
                                  freeze frame
                               will hold forever
                              the blue, blue color
                                 of those eyes
                         as they looked into mine
                                   so long ago
                             and that is the color
                      that this living, beating heart
                                will be painted
                                 as it wanders
                               the empty streets
                               so shaded in blue

            Grieve, and let your heart be broken        8-3-06
             grieve, and let your heart be broken
                           feel the sorrow
                    in the deep of your veins
                        tears diluting blood
               and the creeping tendrils of ice
                    that are gently ensnaring
                   your fragile, beating heart
              watch out from behind those eyes
                  as the curtain gently closes
                          and falling now
                             all the stars
                raining down in sweeping arcs
                      tears of the firmament
                and let sugar coated memories
                 turn bitter in the afterthought
                          turn a blind eye
                     to the raging, lost storm
                           erupting within
                             close down
                          quietly, shouting
                          and feel the lost
                       thoughts circulating
                             like poison
                             in the void
                            in the hollow
                             of the soul.

Right and wrong (or, ―gray‖; or, ―another color-themed poem‖).

                see the grayness of the world
                       all muted, dumb
                  covered in the finest layer
                        thinnest cover
                 of a sad and burnished ash
                    nothing clearly black
                       or purely white
                           any longer
                 and still that ghost of snow
         falls from the sky
     did i ever really know?
and could i ever really discern
     the deepening shadows
 from the pale light growing
    at the edges of the world
             every dawn?
    perhaps i only imagined
            seeing clearly
  the left path from the right
           and envisioned
       as in a fevered brain
  the consequences of those
            perilous paths
      could i ever have seen
           what now is so
   foggy, dim, unintelligible
      so far from easy black
        or reassuring white
             all muddled
 in the muzzy groggy world
                of gray
            and grayness
          and uncertainty?

Undecided   8-3-06, 2:00 a.m.

        I am uncertain
          and I am lost
         I am confused
      and I am unknown
           I am sorry
    and I am unforgivable
       I am redemption
     and I am... that word
              I am
              I am
              I am

      Dreams     8-3-06
          gray half-shapes of smoke
                floating in the air
      barely born almost-thought dreams
            twisting uncertainly in
         a world more solid than they
                (but only barely)
                 looking around
             and slightly confused
              for the one who has
                     so rudely
               brought them there
            and then walked away
             as they shortly will be
            without any life threads
                and holding them
            and giving them reason
                        to be
                  they need love
              like any living thing
             are they not worthy of
                    such a gift?
           or is the would-be giver
                     of giving?
              whoever the lie and
                whatever the liar
            all will be wiped away
                     in the end
             and unless some trace
             of simply Have Been
              it all will have been
                       and be
                    for nothing
                  and for no one
                      after all

Uncertain and Wondering, Once Again       8-3-06

                 gut wrench
                         knee jerk reaction
                        it has been so long
               is there something left in the heart
                           or is this only
                     the ghost of an old echo
                  something ingrained, built in
                        that means nothing
                              and just...
                         cannot be helped?
                    and how will i ever learn
                       to tell the difference
                              or to trust
                               my heart
                     the quiet whisperings of
                               my soul
                           if i cannot tell
                            what is what
                             and which

Used To (Reflections on a Burning Bridge)     8-4-06   11:35 p.m.

                        i used to love you
                 and thought i was loving right
                      i used to feel nothing
                          but good things
                            all the time
                               for you
                             about you
                            around you
                          because of you
                    i used to believe in love
                             in an ―us‖
                     i used to not remember
                    what heartbreak felt like
                  and i used to think you cared
                               for me
                    that way
           the way i felt for you
      i used to live for your smile
             and i used to think
                 i understood
           i used to be so happy
  you used to take me by the hand
 and lead me when all seemed lost
     towards that distant rainbow
        i so often began to doubt
                 even existed
 i used to think that's what you did
  i used to think our love was true
                    and pure
                   and whole
                    of course
   i used to think that i was strong
     and could take on the world
 i used to think you would be there
                  by my side
      and i would stand by yours
      i used to feel my heart leap
and soaring butterflies of happiness
               in my stomach
        whenever you were near
             or even mentioned
             and i used to think
              you felt the same
                    about me
          i used to think forever
                  was a truth
   and i used to think even clichés
                  about love
                had a purpose
                    i used to
               but in the now
                  in the here
     in the right this very minute
                the key word
                    or phrase
                so 'obviously'
                    "used to"
Please—This Has Gone TOO FAR—I Never Wanted This...        8-4-06

                      grab a bucket of water
                          a dampened rag
                               a fire hose
           call upon the silent, cloudless, starry skies
                              if you must
                         but give me water
                     GET ME WATER NOW
                    direct it all at those flames
                        can't you see them?
                      flaming bow of orange
                         branding the night
                       stretching across that
                       feel the laughing heat
                    eating up the fragile stretch
                                 of wood
                          melting all those
                         unbreakable bolts
           holding that swaying construction together
                     GET ME WATER NOW
                         and douse that fire
                             not this one
                             not this one
                             not this one
                            why this one?
                 i do not want this bridge to burn
                            not this bridge
                             to that shore
               that suddenly cold unfriendly shore
                            not this bridge
                                 not now
                       not when it's my fault
                             not this one
                     can't that fire be stopped?
                i do not want this bridge to burn.

    Summer Day        8-7-06

 the soaring spinning movement
            of the skies
     has caught my attention
           and my fancy
         dazzling my eyes
with sapphire glowing reflections
       of all things existing
     in a not-so-solid fashion
       the real foundations
           of this world
            and the next

     no title.     8-10-06

        unable to see past
      the blurring blinding
        tears in my heart
    i wonder why sometimes
               it is
         and sometimes
   those fragile rare occasions
  confidence holds me straight
   my strength and protection
             and why
            more often
         it abandons me
        to these thoughts
       and these memories
           and the pain
           in my soul.

     no title 2.0   8-10-06

     i do not want to be here
        i do not belong here
    something is wrong here
             let me out
          you have no idea
          you cannot know
       and i could not begin
             to tell you
    you will not understand
             let me out
             let me out
             let me out

     no title 3.0   8-10-06

speaking through another's words
        feeling my heart
  surge with another's melody
    i have nothing left inside
         only that in me
     which can still resonate
     with another's empathy

      remembering once
        having it in me
       to feel for myself
    what now only the echo
     of a shadow's ghost
         can touch me
       that which others
       seem to originate
             to feel
         to understand
             to live
        so wonderfully
           so happily
            so fully
       in their own lives

          i am a mistake
           made of them
unraveling like a bad punch line
         the cosmic joke
 in which i am merely a viewer
          and barely that
     miserable, ripped open
              the past
             the future
    and the might-have-beens
 and wondering which is which

      yearning to speak
        and laughing
      so "sarcastically"
      with pain too deep
       to hide entirely
         at the word

     they do not understand
        would it help if i
        who "they" were
        more of the time?
   thoughts chase each other
      too free to be caught
        vaguely indistinct
        hovering between
           the known
         and the painful

   Highly Unoriginal    8-10-06

       what must we live with
                 and what
              can we strive
                 to change
    and although we can pray--
               so earnestly
               so fervently
knowing what we will/MUST know
    is all that hangs between us
            and the abyss--
             "god grant me
        the wisdom to know
            the difference"
              they also say
         whoever THEY are
   some of God's 'greatest gifts'
            are unanswered
    but maybe the other THEY
                   is right
              after all--who
           and all is already
             said and done
     and we are the poor fools
   who have not yet discovered
             the punch-line
                   in fact
               that the joke
         whatever it may be
                  is on us

      no title 4.0   8-10-06
           but what
            i can't?

      words are all fine
           and well
   but there comes a point
       when metaphors
     are no more useful
than traces of colored smoke
        but obscuring

    Star         8-10-06

       do stars ever die
             for real
           and for all
   or do the clouds merely
     give the impression
            of a dark
           those dark
       pitiful and awful
           all at once
 like the giant cold wallow
             of space
    threatening to enclose
           on the star
          from behind
   beset with such danger
        is it no wonder
              sometimes a star
                   is afraid
                 is confused
          and tries to dim its light?
                   but who
                 who indeed
             can forgive a star
                  who tries
                  even once
                    to deny
                    what is
             and what really is
               and what really

I Am (Midnight Rain Sings Wild Joy)     8-10-06

                     I AM
      and midnight rain sings wild joy
       and all the stars are pirouetting
       in place, dancing, with radiant
           the universe, tense, taut,
        streams with tight unbounded
      wild energylightjoyspeakSOUND
          music streaming, tangible
         golden wrapping soft as silk
          perfection happiness sheer
            the world is alive today
              you are in the world
            and the world is in you
       there is everything before you
           and all memories behind
               you are everything
         and nowhere, just watching
                  midnight rain sings wild joy
                    and every blade of grass
                          is in tune with
                      the vast harmonics of
                   the building bold growing
                  brush strokes of the master
                     painting as it is painted
                  euphoric of finish, captured
                           and finished
                            all at once
                    the hard core soul of that
                        and everything IS
                               and is
                                I AM

After the Falling Wetness Cleanses the Soul of the World 8-11-06

                        watch the sky smile
                        see the tears dry up
                      inhale deeply, breathe
                that undusty damply penetrating
                 freshly undulating wonderfully
                    vibrant enticing perfectly
                         invigorating smell
                       being and journeying
                       everywhere alltimes
                               at once
                     the creating of creation
                       blooming and dying
                              the same
                        living and watching
                            after the rain
        when the world is caught
          in the reflection of a
               tear shaped
           is exactly the same
         and yet so wonderfully
              different from

        Thoughts of the Moment
   (Incomprehensible Comprehension)

who can describe the beauty of the world?
            of the miracle of
               each breathe
              and heartbeat?
   (melting orange patterns slipping
                 the screen)
            for the most part
             head tilted back
                eyes closed
        spinning wonderment of
       dreams of wild things and
          imperfect perfection
                    and the
         totally comprehensible
              spreading arms wide
              embracing the world
            knowing it will be won
               and it will conquer
                      by you
         and pushing away all thoughts

All Shall Embrace the Smile God(dess)    8-11-06

              if i could i would i'd
              speak in nothingbut
                    strange and
                    yet amusing
            and probably humorous
           okay perhaps only slightly
                 weird lines and
              and be it and love it
           and extol it and make fun
                    see me now
            the studious brown bear
            peering over the edge of
                      her book
               from behind those
           interestingly shaped
        and stare in wonderment
                    in awe
             as from all about
        all the shapes of thoughts
            born into the world
           and look back at you
                 a little like
          watching the heavens
       smile down upon you with
              the grin of God
                   is it not?

          Because     8-11-06

       Because tragedy is comedy
            And comedy is sad
     Because all the world‘s a liar
    And because we‘ve all been had
   Because we can speak in tongues
     And tell nothing but the truth
           Because I am the old
        And because I am a youth
        Because because because
            Reasons all around
       But they are no more solid
        Than the color of a sound
And so I‘ll put my hand through paintings
         And laugh a song aloud
And swim through dripping liquid words
          Alone in all the crowd
          Remember who I am?
      You‘ll forget me every time
      I am the soul of land and sea
         I am the windless chime
       I am the goddess of the skies
           The ruler of the stars
      The shadow of the living sun
      The child of a peaceful charge
        I wonder whom to speak to
         And I wonder what to say
   Because in the end because, because
      Is the echo of a night and day
         Reflected in a mirror large
  The truth stands tall where all can see
      But who would look to see it?
  Already they look straight through me.

         Just Thinking   8-12-06

         searching for perfection
        looking wishing desperate
             seeking in every
               spare corner
           and unlikely obvious
            but having no luck
            unless somewhere
                buried deep
                 it is there
            waiting only to be
            the search goes on
               i am so tired
                    will it
                  should it
              ever be over?

They Are The Ones To Blame          8-12-06

             her anger boiled
       steam rising from the oceans
              hot red ugly slash of mind
              turning twisting in its cage
                  metal bars grow hot
              and wooden locks smolder
                    black at the edges
  like shiny gold paint peeling gruesomely away
       the gilded cage revealed for what it is
          the angry stars smite the ground
               in their fury from on high
             the world shakes in the gale
            blown and rocked side to side
            a toy in the vast sea of furious
rising unimpeachable gathering growing WAVES
             and the black hand of doom
           smites the sword upon the anvil
                 and the ringing chorus
         foreshadows the footsteps of death
           unstoppable tangible outlasting
                      like greasy air
            the anger grows in continuous
                      rolling clouds
              and the lightning prepares
               to illuminate and destruct
            and the final end outbreak lash
                         is at hand

          You Can Stuff It    8-13-06

             why do we keep trying?
              humiliating ourselves
                  for no reason
             for whatever we think is
           --and now isn't this funny--
                     "worth it"
             what is worth losing our
                    self respect
               we only get the one
                 and we waste it
        like we've got all the tomorrows
                   in the world
               and nothing to ever
                   worry about
       how terribly STUPID
               oh, yes
    it's the WONDERMENT
     of the human condition
         but in the words of
   a very special homo sapient
          "you can stuff it"

    Makeshift Sail   8-13-06

       because nobody cares
             not even you
         and because finally
     it is my turn to be angry
 because this is so RIDICULOUS
              and stupid
            and pointless
            and worthless
             and hopeless
     and use my tattered soul
               as the sail
       to catch the winds of
          this gale of anger
              and finally
                 at last
              at long last
              GET OUT
             starved, thin
   perhaps i will be thin enough
      to fit between the bars
            of my floating

  Crossing the Line   8-13-06

           I AM ANGRY
and i am not afraid who knows it
       and i am tired of you
          being tired of me
     and i want it to be over
            all the drama
     all the drama to be over
     and i am tired of words
     and being in the wrong
          and the groveling
        and the apologizing
   we are more than even now
i have more than repaid my debt
         and if you want to
             me fix this
  fragile fragile beautiful thing
       you'd better do it fast
  because there are some limits
          that once crossed
        i cannot cross again

 The Second Secret     8-13-06

       i know the secret
       no, the other one
        about how to be
 funnily euphorically sky high
  staggered with the enormity
 and incredibly zany twistings
            of LIFE
          they see me
                 and they wonder
                   what is wrong
         but it is only so many ironies
                   because finally
                     at long last
               despite all the odds
         or perhaps because of them?
                 i am discovering
                not more wrongs
                       but what
                       but what
                 but what is right
                  i am spun about
                  inside my mind
                   by the fragility
        of the incredible dream-reality
                floating about me
         that i am swimming through
                     a living star
           incongruously childlikely
through the swamps and sweeps and plateaus
           of the galactic milky way
                 virtual chocolate
                     of realness
                       i am lost
             in a world all my own
              shared by everyone
                  but seen by few
                        but not
     twirling dancing spinning dipping
             fleeing fleeting flying
                 until at long last
       the next turn of the spiral comes
  and i am swept up caught up fraught now
     in the mix of opposites and sames
           where there are no words
                       or colors
                      or sounds
                      or thoughts
                      or feelings
        just the basic essence of essenceness
                     of all that is
   the one great resounding forever never perfect
      beautiful insanely ginormous expanding
                         I AM

       I Saw a Spotted Purple Sky      8-14-06

          i wandered up to a tall tree today
     and saw a man sitting high in the branches
             riding the wind with all the
         confidence of a moonbeam chaser

    and he told me, calling down from his perch,
        that the birds are frightened and their
       flights are fleeting, and he asked me if
          i might know what was the matter

          i took a stroll by the sea tomorrow
      and saw a lady standing waist deep in the
   liquid diamond waters, hands on hips--puzzled
           at the fear of the fish, she told me

       yesterday i was at the edge of the earth
      overlooking the lip into what lay below
    but i forgot what i saw when someone called
    my name and i turned, and left with the snow

i rode freewheeling glorious spring and in the sack of
    old lady summer, painted leaves with laughing
  autumn and nodded solemnly at sleeping life with
   distant, somber winter, and i smiled in my sleep

  and when i woke up i looked out the window and
    i felt in my heart that you were there with me
   and despite all the sadness that engulfs me now
      i feel the stirrings of a strange contentment

    the birds and the fishes may or may not ever
   flock together in the summer spring or fall but
   in the winter of the soul when the light is pale
       and dusty i know i will hear the call

and again i will go out, climbing through the open
window of my room and i will leave the bubble of
 my private universe, or at least, take it with me
   and i will travel through the traveling halls.

                    NO FEAR

                Uh Oh. 8-19-06

                     reassure me
              take my quaking heart
                    in your hands
                   and comfort me
                   with your touch
                and you confidence
                    and your love
                      i am scared
                   and i am wrong
                 and i do not know
                         to think
                       i need you
                  to hold you close
                 and feel your arms
                        about me
                     cradling me
                     shielding me
                   from the world
                      i run to you
                  but how can i run
                    from the other
               thing that terrifies me
                  the depth of what
                        is in fact
                drawing me to you?
            Tired. 8-18-06

      Back in the sheltered places
        hidden from the world
            under shadows
         draped like a blanket
      wrapped, a sheltering cloak
         about the tenderness
        so needing protection
             tired, drained
        seeking only the quiet
             and the restful
        why must they always
             never ceasing
            forever coming
           chasing hunting
               the fleeing

Another Awful Rhyming Scheme 8-21-06

          I am so uncertain
       Of all I thought I knew
      If one wish only granted
        I wish I was with you
     You don't make it all alright
    You don't have every answer
      But with you I can forget
    And make a moment a forever
   You are comfort, you are doubt
     You I wrap my arms around
  And wonder when the world stops
      Where we will fall down
   When the first momentum ceases
     And despair is fairly called,
  Where the ends of tangled weavings
       Of all we did and saw?
       I am all alone now
     Looking for your face
 Please don‘t yet abandon me
   Not now, not in this place
 My heart is crying out for you
And I am blinded don‘t you see
 No words now as I reach out
   Please reach back for me
     Do not let me stumble
    How can you let me fall
   Neither of us understands
 But I am waiting for your call
  I do not want your answers
  Your comfort or your tears
Only love and your acceptance
Then there is nothing I will fear

  Before and After    8-21-06

        it was so unstoppable
        or so it seems so now
as though the steady hand of fate
        had branded the skies
        with the burning seal
    turn my head hide my face
      blushing with heat of the
       closely creeping abyss
     black belly to swallow all
        a fire of rage in its pit
          standing, all alone
       in windswept desert of
   freezing sands, skies above
   roll darkly, blankly, roaring
    with muted, angry thunder
     whipping grains of doubt
          and fear in my face
     all alone, seeing, reaching
   out to half-imagined ghosts
around me as they pass, oblivious
  what portal did i step through
what gateway swallowed me up?
   was i not once one of them?
       or was that the dream--
        and not this here-and-now?
        or was it they, who were so
         suddenly, rudely, painfully
          transmuted from smiling
          friendly names and faces
      into the pale, creeping shadows
             of their counterparts
     here in this never-world hereafter?

            Betrayed    8-21-06

                   I was wrong
      and that was the greatest betrayal
                        of all
               I deceived myself
          and I was naive enough to
                 believe my lies
                   I was a fool
  for thinking what all others have thought
                   I was wrong
       and it is true now, that for some
               and for all of you
   you beautiful young stupid naive fools
              you are just like me
                      only not
       and the agony is too unbearable
                       to bear
                      for long
           perhaps that is why tears
                  and goodbye
                 were invented
                      after all.
                     I'm sorry.

Gooseberry Trees and Apricot Icing 8-21-06
      when all the wild catfish
           hunters of the sky
come bearing down on mountaintops
         they seek for the one
          who has gone away
"He left yesterday," I reminded them,
         for the first time that
      But the jelly stars shook
  with gold and reddened laughter
       and I smiled upon those
        who could not see me
       and were too oblivious
                 to care
        we always have to be
          before we can think
          and the great irony
    leash upon freewheeling run
              is how often
             we forget that
           amazingly enough
            don't you realize
       how we have not begun
           and yet are done?
            Remind me--or

   Frankzilla Woman      8-21-06

        I danced to the tune
        of gooseberry trees,
     and I laughed to the sound
           of apricot icing
       and I could never ever
            understand the
          trials of the skies
       But the feathers of the
     underwater mongrels were
        soft to the touch and
        if I could not forget
          at least for a time the
      universe cradled my head
              as I slept on my
        prickly bed of star souls
                 I wanted to
             But I didn't get to
             Because I was lost
          And now every color
        is that mixed-up feeling
        you get when you forget
           the name of the song
     and the order of the meaning
                   of words
                 forgive me
       I intruded on the slumber
            of something which
          would have preferred
          to sleep a little longer
                   you see.
               (do you not?)

 Flight of the Easter Bunny 8-21-06

         I thought I had forgotten
     the tune of the appleberry song
          but I was only unaware
      that it was singing me instead
       I stepped into the shadow of
           the future of the world
         but I forgot the bribe and
          password, and I was left
       behind, sitting on a suitcase
              that wasn't mine,
              to stop humming
         or make sense of the tune
            and afraid of spilling
                 a single drop
       of the precious fragile liquid
held in my cupped and outstretched hand
         blindfolded balancing act
            the reports coming in
    say each contestant is faring well
                      do I believe them
                       and feel failure
               or attempt to unbind my eyes
                           and look?
                           do I dare?
                          Could you?
                      Do not blame me
                         or judge me
                 I trust I do enough of that
                        for both of us.

       Have We Met?      8-29-06   NEEDS WORK

                         crying through
                        falling scraping
                              oh yes
                           i know you
                  i know you very well--
                   well enough to know
                    i know you not at all
                      i am unused to the
                       sight of your face
                        so long avoided
                     but sometimes even
              insubstantial morphing frames
                          of existence
                            must pass
                         in front of the
                      cracked and dingy

―Disillusioned and Bitter, the Teenager Recaps.‖   8-29-06

          when did numbness become the norm
                 and when did the fear
                  fade into weariness?
       and when did the crossing
go from far away distant not here yet
  is it my own head that is spinning
       or is the universe spinning
about me, stars of a dazed stick figure
       twirling about the ears, as
 in a cartoon, when recovering from
                 a bad fall
              not to mention
            where is it exactly
    that has been crossed over to?
                  i mean,

    Out of Proportion     8-29-06

             the more i stared
        at the spot on the carpet
           the more it took up
             my whole vision
            all of my eyesight
    fixed on this one expanding
              terrifying stain
        threatening to swallow
     it loomed up in front of me
              until i screamed
               at the monster
               destroying me
            but then i blinked
           and blushed deeply
    at the stares coming my way
         but i could not forget
       the shadow of that doom
              and often since
            it has haunted me
        flashed in the corner of
                   my eyes
            and bared its teeth
        in my troubled dreams.
Metaphorical Appropriate Title Goes Here        8-29-06

               who can come through
         reach through the burning flames
                       or somehow
         protected by the incredible belief
                     that everything
               --is going to be okay--
                      how on earth?
              where did my belief go?
               how did it escape me,
                 liquid drops spilled
                     from my hands
              to break into a thousand
                shards on the hot and
                     gritty sidewalk
            blown away like dandelion
                   seeds on the wind
                       flown away
            a freedom seeking butterfly
         where and when and how and why
                     does it matter?
                  it is gone the same
                  and now my burns
          shameful, prideful battle scars/
                   wounds of horror
                    are glistening in
                      this new light
               not quite yet dawning
               and this is yet another
                    eternal moment.

       Ballad of the Last Sea Titan   8-30-06

         Under the frothing cold sea waves
         The mighty prow is looming
        Twisted wreck of a wasting ship
       Left behind in new era‘s blooming

      But once the sea-titan ruled the deeps
     Commanding of grace and stately pride
     Not a ship, but a soul, of metal and fire
    Wielding its beauty on sea‘s smooth glide

    Boastful the captain and heady the crew
         Heedless of hubris, arrogant all
    Fate had doomed them, the sea decreed
  The first would be last, her towers would fall

     Out in the deep embrace of the night
    Seaworthy Babel-tower unveiled at last
   Unsuspecting, poor fools, victims of folly
   Helpless slept they beneath her grand mast

    Then out of the shrouds of unknown fate
      Mists of foolhardy certainty cleared
      Doom was sighted, out and ahead,
    But too distantly known to yet be feared

  Looming white tower of unknowable dread
       Driven by sure, unshakable Time
     The sea is a goddess jealous and swift
  With snow and ice she would claim her right

  It struck, hard and true, that blow of the gods
         Far too late, the shrill alarms rose
       Panic, torch of terror, burned brightly
  Driven by sea currents pounding ever below

    The salt and the cold of dark liquid fear
     Poured into the hearts of the doomed
   And the lucky, alone, clung to shreds of life
      Hope for the dawn by sea consumed

 The crack of the wood and the break of the bolt
     The groaning of strained, tortured steel
Were screams of the soul, once so grand and proud
         That was forced to sink her keel

       Beautiful lady, lost to the depths
      Now withered by time as all must be
                          Was not the least of loved ones lost
                        The night the Titanic returned to the sea

                    I Wanted a Piece of the Sky    7th grade sometime

                           I wanted a piece of the sky, to hold
                                       in my hand and
                              ponder the shining brilliance
                                        A piece of the
                                     sky to light up the
                                     world, drive away
                                    darkness, and bring
                                         hope to the
                                     people...a piece of
                                           the sky.
                                I dreamed the impossible
                                 dream, that I could hold
                                     a star in my hand,
                                    touch its points, and
                                      keep it. I wanted
                                  a fragment of cloud to
                                  wave in the wind, like
                                      a banner, to wrap
                                   around me, to wear it
                                     like a scarf, a sash
                               a thing of beauty. I wanted
                                 a handful of rings from
                                  some distant planet, to
                                     play with and twirl
                                          and whirl
                                   a belt of strange and
                                   wonderful color and
                                  texture. I dreamed the
                                    impossible dream...
                               I wanted a piece of the sky.

Song Power    12-8-01

Silver notes sing
sweet and loud,
   trembling softly,
       like a word
not quite spoken
  rests pause,
    allow the mind
to reach out
   and touch the
  of the rapid trills,
tranquil notes
   breathe out,
and lo,
   a song

Anger     12-7-01

  Bitter words
drive the swords
  as poisoned arrows
fly from bows,
       yelling, screaming,
        hurt swoops
      down like a
      vengeful mother,
    licking wounds,
        brewing danger
   as anger
       consumes and
 plants seeds of

Fear 12-7-01

Wolves howl, an
eerie sound,
     shadows of
my night of darkness,
 figures mumbling
muted words,
   sounds melt into
the dark light
  that shines down
      from moon
  Branches creaking,
   hearts beating,
 eyes watching,
     voices talking,
        icy coldness
    comes down
oppression washes
  over, blanketing my
 muffled cries.

Down    12-6-01

Down in the depths,
 dark waters wash over my
   No air--
    I am drowning.
 Blackness closes in,
     my throat
   I am crying.

Down under the sun
  I swelter,
       too hot--
     I am fainting
   Waves of heat wash
    Over me, waters
  above my head
I am fainting,
    drowning, crying,
Gentle Rain    7th grade sometime

gentle rain,
 dripping leaves,
   melting colors,
 blending sounds,
gentle rain.

                         The Night the Stars Fell From the Sky
                                (Reflections on 9/11)
                      -another middle school (7th grade) creation-

                                   That night the stars
                                    fell from the sky
                                    In sweeping arcs
                                  without a sound, like
                            tears of acid, they rained down.

                                     That night the stars
                                      fell form the sky,
                                       endless torrents,
                                    rebuking the horrors,
                                      the night the stars
                                      fell from the sky.

                                     Down came they,
                                       in bright array,
                                      lightning streaks
                                      as bright as day,
                                     the night the stars
                                     fell from the sky.

                                    The night the stars
                                      fell from the sky
                                    The night that death
                                    went on parade, the
                                       night all people
                                        cried for aid,
                                     the night the stars
                                      fell from the sky
                          That night the stars
                           fell from the sky,
                        showering downward,
                         pounding, sounding,
                           raining down like
                             silver fire, the
                          night the stars fell
                             from the sky.

                           The night the stars
                            fell from the sky
                           the heavens cried,
                       boomed out their sorrow,
                          as stars rained upon
                     the buildings, broken bodies,
                          attempted healings

                         The night the stars
                        fell from the sky, the
                     Heavens cried, from on high,
                          the night the stars
                          fell from the sky.

                      Ode to Cheese 9-3-06
―Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.‖ –G.K.C.

                    In between two slices of bread
                          you find the meat of
                         and all the trimmings
                           deemed to make it
                            of consumption
                           and let's be honest
                            how many of us
                               ever bother
                         to think of the cheese
                          which adds much to
                                the flavor
                              but generally
                                is left out
                    And so today, my
                        dear friends,
                          ladies and
                 take a moment or two--
                      and reflect upon
                     the nature of that
                       most noble of
                    edible enterprises,
                       the sandwich
                   and its unsung hero-
                         the cheese.

     Funny Tribute (written ‘04, I think, sometime)

                    Here's to all the things
                      That I can never say
                      All the words that I
                     Just can't admit today
                    This is for all the times
              The wrong phrase came your way
                  All the times I've wanted to
                Erase it; well, it starts today...
            With all the things I should have said
                  Instead of keeping it inside
             Here's to all the things I'll never say
            Starting with the first time that I lied
               It may seem like a funny tribute
               But I bet you get the implication
         Even if you can't see what I should've said
          You can always use your imagination...
      It's a funny tribute, monument to my mistakes
                But also to the new beginnings
        Of what might've happened, a brighter morn
            Instead of just these nasty endings...
  So here's a funny tribute, to words messed up or no--
To all the ways it should've been--tribute to my word flow
    Sunrise (11-27-04. I think.)

        Choked, suffocating
        On swallowed rage
         Blinded, blinding
         Tears on my face

        Drowned, drowning
         In the blackness
         Shiver, shivering
         Cold nothingness

          Fighter, fighting
            Never done
            Rise, rising
           Comes the sun

        Shuddering, stopped
            Cold, alone
           Blessed relief
         A dark red stone.

   The Rose (11-23-04, I think.)

     There is a blossoming inside
    Unfolding of the smallest leaf
  The tenderest bud of the moment
       Uncurling from its sheath
 Conditions, perhaps, aren't perfect
   But maybe they'll never be right
      If every day it always rains
  Then grow in the dark ofthe night
The kings of the anicent past, my love
Look down from a diamond-filled sky
  The will protect and care for you
  You'll never have to wonder why
   But even roses have their thorns
       And so does this one, too
    A secret guilt, a hidden wrong
       Secreted away from view
   Yet half of life is growing roses
         The otehr, little harder
  it's learning how to pick them up
Avoiding thorns and growing smarter
  There is a blossoming inside
 The tenderest age begins again
 Perfect, still, rose-petal white,
Till it once more is stained by sin

   Night (11-20-04. I think.)

      The moon is a splinter
         In a star-hung sky
              A tiny rip
       In the fabric of time
         The sky is a drape
       Hung up by the stars
    The clouds are the places
    Where it sags, laden arms
       Full of all the wishes
 And all the far fetched dreams
That seem to come with nighttime
   Nothing being as it seems
   Because it all feels magical
      But you know it's not
        It's only a covering
           Of daytime rot
       So much for the pure
      The just and the good
     So much for everything
         Being as it should
         I gave up the stars
        I'd give up the light
     But then all I'd have left
     Is the dark empty night.

        Frozen 9-13-06

    I am afraid of these tears
    and how they want to fall
        I am afraid of you
     and what you might say
       I have been through
           the darkness,
          and I have seen
            the terror on
        the other side..
      And I am afraid of it
       And the darkness
           behind me
         I am needing
       But I will never be
       and I wonder now
            and why
        But the answer
        even if it exists
         means nothing

        Feeling 9-13-06

      The accusation comes
      a burning brand of fire
      harsh whisper of pain
       amongst the shadows
  ice of shame wedging deeper
knife-point first into fragile mind
        uncertain trembling
        shadows with teeth
   forgotten alone abandoned
     running pain fear terror
       screaming screaming
 no sound no sound no heartbeat
                       you failed
                      what are you?
                      no one, nothing—
     laugh, dark, hair-raising
       it is right—oh god…
              is it right?
           there is nothing

  I Wonder (11-19-04, I think)
            I wonder
      What it's like to do
   The thing's I've never done
            Do you?

         I wonder at all
       The tempting sin
    The thing's I've shunned
     Until reality caved in

              I wonder
            If I am alone
    In all the things I wonder
       Or think I've known

        I wonder if you
      Really think you see
       Really understand
        All that I can be

            I wonder
           Why I feel
      A secondary character
   In my own life's movie reel

            I wonder
     At this strange rebirth
   Which has led my mind
  To the farthest ends of earth

          I wonder at all
       That I cannot share
    I wonder if all the world
   Is as temporary as this air

            I wonder
     Can you be this way?
            I wonder
Am "I" the "me" I know, anyway?

       I wonder at you
   Who think you know it all
       And I question,
     When will you fall?

            I wonder
                   Will I feel pity?
                     I wonder,
                    Am I ready?

Adversity‘s sweet milk, philosophy (11-19-04, I think)

                 Metaphysical cage
                     Binds me in
            Locked into self-destruct mode
                 Constraints of sin

                 Phosphorescent bars
              Invisible to most of these,
               The strange inhabitants
                 With stranger needs

               Crazy visitors to a zoo
                Animals wonder why
               Humans are on display
           Invisible tears fall from the sky

               A hundred questions
               A one-same answer?
               Who questions the one
               Who is the questioner?

                Anything is possible
                Until the dream ends
               So much for the world's
                  Truly great men

                    A truth of a lie
                  Lie of truthfullness
                Again something ends
             In the winnowing blackness

             But we can't measure dark
                Without a reference
                Ironically, it's light,
             Whence comes the inference
Get Out of My Way (11-18-04 I think)

           dripping stinging
           reaching slinking
           trickling reeking

                 all yours
                  all cold
            all open sores to

           a leaf draws away
           falls from the sky
            a tiny fragment
            of the overall lie

         a grotesque mismatch
              all the souls
                 of those
           you've assimilated
           into the vast black
          trackless wasteland
            that is your lack
                   of a soul

             of all the holes
       you've opened up in hearts
         think someone would
            finally get smart

            I've had my say
           it's over, its done
           get out of my way

Smiles in a Teardrop   (11-10-04 I think)

            As you walk by
        So confident and strong
             My head turns on its own
        I move to the beat of your song
             I can't help but grin along
      When you flash that smile of yours
  But it leaves a sadness in my heart's core
  And I wonder what it'd be like to be yours
  If things had turned out a little differently
  If people really were all that they seemed
      Might've been better, maybe worse
     Maybe it was just a dream I dreamed
                    I can't back out
               Yet I can't move along
          It shouldn't be this big a deal
            It's just that... I was wrong
              Wrong and disillusioned
                 Gullible, a lot naive
 Maybe now I'll watch you as you're coming
       And maybe, just in time, I'll leave
                I'll smile, wave hello
           Then run right out the door
              Click it loud to cover up
   The sound of my breaking heart, so sore
 Perhaps I'll laugh and say a few more words
          But make my exit faster, too
    But don't think I'll stay gone for long--
      Because my heart is still with you.

Self-Deprecation of Feeling (11-8-04 I think)

                I can't watch you
          Keep my face turned away
         But I can feel your presence
              Inexorable as the day
             Your smell wafts over
        I want to turn and follow you
       Something inside me tightens
           The sky is no longer blue
        It darkens with your shadow
      The way you fill up my thoughts
            I turn, I run, I am afraid
     But with no reference point I'm lost
       I watch you as through a mist,
       Obscuring, darkening, hiding...
         It confuses and draws me in
         I'd say "no" but I'd be lying
   I watch you from across a barrier
 Of life, of love, beliefs and destiny
 I cannot tell you, wouldn't want to
     Can barely even let myself see
 When I wake up from this insanity
    From this dangerous infatuation
       In a clear moment of calm
Will I hate myself for this deception?
          I can write and write
    And think I believe my ravings
 But it's only the outlet for a poison
A disease, symptom of hateful lovings
      To live, to die what are these
        When what's in-between
  Is more and more centered around
       A secret, shameful dream?

    God is Sad Today 9-17-06

          God is sad today
           leaves drip rain
          lush hills rolling
           slowly, heavily
           under the strain
            heaviness fills
              warm smell
           dapples of light
          playing shadows
            across the skin
             perception or
           truth? stopping,
          slowing, paused
              on the edge
              in between
            the beginning
                and end
          God is sad today
          what do we feel?
   Days     9-18-06

    I hate sad days

   I hate Mondays

   I hate Tuesdays

    I hate bad days

  I hate Wednesdays

   I hate Thursdays

   I hate hard days

    I hate Fridays

   I hate Saturdays

    I hate Sundays

    I hate all days

  That are long days

  That are short days

 That are wrong days

When-you're-mad days

 When-I'm-hurt days

   I hate those days

   Most of all, days

When-you're-gone days

  And all those days,

 When-I'm-lost days
  Where-are-you? days

     Uncertain days

 When-you're-hurt days

  When-I'm-gone days

    Where-am-I days

  When-I'm-mad days

   Do-you-care days

    What-to-do days

   Lots-of-tears days

   Laughter-less days

  And other sad days.

  Shame        9-21-06

 could loathing possibly
       consume me?
    perhaps this is the
to the incinerating flames
   burn me from inside
          let me go
           free me
 stop dragging me down
     suffocating layer
       of lies and lies
     and the stench of
      fills my nostrils
      salt burns in the
       under the skin
               waiting for a savior
               who will not come
                and they failed
                   to teach me
                 how to rescue

Some Things Are Not Meant to be Shared     9-25-06

                     i am afraid
                        oh yes
                         i, am,
                        of what
               but most especially
                   the darkness
                    in the future
                 the uncertainty
                in the black mist
                 how can i know
                   you are there
                 if our hands do
                       not meet
                what will happen
                when the distance
                       closes in
                 surrounding us
                separate spheres
                i know what will
                   happen to me
                  but what about

           Sonnet of Youth 9-26-06
        (English [Shakespearean] Sonnet)
    I would that I might elude Death's first call
     And see once more the glory of the world
   As sky-supports, the mountains, oh how tall
      The road, a ribbon, at its feet so curled
       And oh, that I might travel once again
   And stand upon the edge of youth once more
      Where all of God's creation would begin
     Now to rebuild these sad, desolate shores
      The passion of the colors bright, and all
  Sweet smells of pine and incense freshly burnt
       Exerts on me its old and pow'rful call
  Think young again! --Sad lessons soon unlearnt
  Carefree and wild, fly deep in stars, clouds, sky
      Soaring feel of happiness--till ends life.

             Sonnet of Day 9-26-06
    (Petrarchan [Italian] sonnet, cdecde ending)

  O glorious Day! Wind blowing in the boughs
      And all the sun a-shining fit to burst
    What then is left at all for which to thirst?
 Wondrous Day! Birds freewheeling in the clouds
  Can you not hear their joyous glorious sound?
 Hark! To whisp‘ring grass beneath our feet here
      And for a time aside put all your fear
    And sing the song of happy laughter loud
  I would that ne‘er should we forget this day!
  God‘s gift to wretched souls in much distress
     This joy is fleeting and, as all, must die
  What more, what less, could I contrive to say?
       To man is granted little happiness
     Thus we learn to laugh even as we cry

                   Sonnet of Us
        (Petrarchan [Italian] cdcdcd ending)

  Remember when our love was new and strong?
     And when our laughter lasted us all day
     And never struggled for a thing to say?
   I was so sure that we could not go wrong—
Wrong turns, we took, wand‘ring dark paths too long
     For our foolhardiness we now must pay
      Since sun turned dark upon that day in May
       And heavy silence drownéd out our song
       But, for the light you can not see the dark
       So hope may be renewed, for this is true;
            Even the smallest fire in a spark
     May light the distance now ‗tween me and you
        For despite all the roughness of its bark
      Anger can‘t dim true fire in love‘s own hue

  Sonnet of Small Beauty in Long Darkness      9-26-06
                  (Spenserian Sonnet)

      Remember when the world was young and new
           And all beauty never before was seen
First flowers‘ first bud through damp soil pushed through
       And petals bloomed, the color of fresh cream
            Fragile, tiny, real it can hardly seem
          Perfection, thrill of God in soulless land
          This one, simple flower, a perfect being
        Beware, the hour of dark now near at hand!
         Take care of precious flower before it can!
          For in the days to come you all will need
              A little bit of joy in all your lives
        But do not let the darkness feed your greed
           A little taste of heav‘n is in your grasp
        Cherish the flower—remember lessons past

                  Biopoem 9-27-06

        Burning, freezing, speaking, sleeping
             Sibling of no one but myself
     Lover of laughter, chocolate, words, nature
    Who feels angry, ignored, alone, misunderstood
 Who needs affection, challenge, freedom, imagination
           Who gives love, sarcasm, herself
   Who fears abandonment, indecision, spiders, Hell
Who would like to see snow, mountains, smiles, the world
                 Resident of the future
               Biopoem (9-27-06)
                   (real name)

     Sparkling, scowling, sleeping, sweet
                Sibling of no one
       Lover of laughter, words, nature
   Who feels misunderstood, alone, mediocre
   Who needs affection, freedom, imagination
    Who gives love, companionship, herself
  Who fears indecision, spiders, abandonment
Who would like to see mountains, smiles, the world
         Resident of LeighAnna Land

           Free Verse Poem 9-27-05
              (from selected words)

           Wind-fingers furrow colors
                through the sky
              green, gold, brown
              Whispering leaves
              drifting down now
             Harvest the summer
                  and autumn
                  rich mosaic

     Childhood/Adolescence Poem       9-27-06

               They call it adolescence
                     I call it a pain
          They say that it‘s all hormones
                 I say they are insane
         They say these are the good times
             I‘ll remember all my years
      I say they‘ve never been to high school
            Or cried those teenage tears
            I‘ve heard, we are the future
               I‘ve heard, we‘ll ruin all
          But I‘m watching their mistakes
              And watching as they fall
              I‘m told to be responsible
       I‘m told to take the blame
       To act just like an adult—
  Without the treatment of the same
      I say they all are hypocrites
        And all they say are lies
  I say that we won‘t stand for this
   I say that we‘ll have better lives
 Yet a knowing comes on slowly, and
    Now I‘m sad to say I‘ve come
  To realize we‘ll act just like them
     When at last our turn‘s begun

     Brandon Limerick 9-27-06

     I once knew an 80‘s fanatic
   Who was a red-headed classic
      He liked to slay fruitcakes
    (which gave me a headache)
  And hated all pickles from Vlasic

          Yelena Limerick

  Yelena plays awfully good tennis
     Against her nemesis Dennis
    But he turned into a seahorse
     And tried to write free verse
Leaving Yelena the champion of tennis

      Lithp Limerick    9-27-06

       I once at a piece of fish
  That caused me to lithp like thith
    I complained to the manager
     Who gave me a hamburger
     But failed to cure my lithp

     Story of my life   9-30-06
                     everything uncertain
                     world whirling away
                     agonizing hesitation
                      nothing left to say

                    breaking, falling, down
                      run into the ground
                   crushing weight of dread
                       darkness up ahead

                   confusion, panic, blame
                    waiting, tears, disaster
                 blackness swallowing souls
                    world whirling faster

                running, under, over, doomed
                     failing, far too soon
                    unfairness, regret, pain
                 blanketing, drowning shame

                   Animal Sounds Limerick

              I once rode a horse named Minnie
              Who had a most annoying whinny
                  But she swallowed a frog
                      while out on a jog
              and now Minnie refuses to whinny

Nightmare/Prediction 10-1-06 (could definitely use new title)
                   new title: flash of insight

                  Drowning in a sea of smoke
                     the uncertain love is lost
                    ill-fated to an early death
                 knowing well the pain it costs
               Untimely choice of weakened will
                  down darkened path it goes
             there comes a half-envisioned destiny
    of pain and fear yet to be known
      Hapless love! unlucky heart
         a bitter end you'll meet
   the dregs in love's own potion cup
        are nothing near to sweet

        NightDream     10-3-06

     The shiny drops of dew upon
     the star light covered ground
      reflect in broken fragments
       all the echoes of a sound

  And all the moonlight pretty ribbons
      binding earth to sea to sky
    are the slender swaying figures
    dancing with me, myself and I

  And all the while the sound goes on
    a dream, a wish, memory, song
 following me, as my path goes along
 and I know that I can never go wrong

   The arms of graceful tender night
     hold me close as dearest love
And sharp and wet the night smells come
     as sure as angels smile above

    And all the while the song is sung
     a pearl of joy from heaven flung
  threads of grace lower, heaven-hung
   ropes of sweetness that to me clung

   And the shiny drops of dew upon
    that star light covered ground
    melted slowly into yester-year
     and gently hushed the sound
  And all the moonlight pretty ribbons
       joyful dancers, they and I
    parted each our separate ways
       I to earth and they to sky
 Motion Sickness      10-5-06

         rose petals falling
     soft shower of red tears
             eerie quiet
     look down from above
and view the scattered splashes
              of anger
      in between obscuring
       red and white petals
  fallen feathers of sad angels
       blanketing the world
                in soft
          small toy globe
     in the palm of my hand
          spinning gently
        to the gravity, pull
             of the void
        so easy to drop you
     to close my fingers and
             crush you
            a rose petal
        an angel's tear drop
          brushes my face
                i blink
              i look up
              and time
    for one moment of peace
in this shredding storm of quiet

    It‘s Coming 10-5-06

    aching power of tears
       choking on sobs
       racking anguish
         endless tears
      shame regret fear
        still, in minds eye,
           watching you
              watch me
      reducing me to cinders
            sizzling with
    the dropping, welling tears

Reflecting on Reflections      10-5-06

           Mirror mirror
            on the wall
            who will be
          the first to fall?

          Mirror mirror
          in front of me
           tell me what
           it is you see

           (Mirror mirror
            in you i see
          nothing, no one
          resembling me)

        Anchor      3-10-06

         trees swaying, gently
       close your eyes, tightly
           feel the heart break
        softly now, the shatter
      as the cool wind mingles
        faintly with slow tears
       the moon's light is now
            a soft caress, but
        so very far and distant
    lean back, against the fence
       feel the rough solidness
        of the post against you
          the night is transient
        the stars, mere echoes
        but here and now
     there is the fence post
   curl your fingers and feel
   the nails against the palm
   this too is solid, here, real
 the anchor that will hold you
  as all flows, liquid, ethereal
     about you--and though
       all will fade and go
 this sure thing is your anchor
      to hold you, safe, fast

     Wordsmith     3-10-06

         crafting, tinkering
        hear the chink, chink
of the words against one another
    hammered out in the heart
     fiery furnace, cold anvil
     of the depths of the mind
            working long
            never ceasing
      testing sounds, rhythms
    patterns, rhyme, structure
      listening for soundness
            and replacing
      with conscientious ease
           one weak chain
   with better, stronger fibers
        Wordsmith, smithing
     hear the faint tinkle-tink
         of delicate accents
        and the hefty bumps
      of substantial sentences
       small parts, each alone
 but the smith knows the secret
   Listen for the almost silent
 breathless sound of satisfaction
         as, quite suddenly,
    linked up, the pieces slide
          into place, gently
       stand back and view it
         completed, whole
     before your eyes, the poem
           brought to life

     The Living Poem 3-10-06

                "Hear me"
       you think you heard it
     but can't believe your mind
          Eyes watching you
              from the page
            feel the vibrancy
           small subtle pulse
      flicker of blue life-force
      crackling down the page
       leaping, word to word
         inhale and breathe it
        faint hinted at breath
      of air from distant lands
          feel the excitement
     rushing, building, dizzying
       thrill to the familiarity
     and the, at first, unfamiliar
    but cradle the page carefully
          be gentle, yet firm
   precious, irreplaceable, fragile
         know what it means
           the life of a poem

    Prison of Windows 3-13-06

            Sunlight filters in
  the soft deep sweetness of spring
         is breathed in, slowly
           the light is savored
          breezes blow gently
            almost hesitantly
caressing the watching face, wistfully
       And a hand reaches out
            to hold the world
 to feel its realness and be reassured
      but it is stopped, suddenly
   cruel transparent solidness
      barrier, blocking, not
    enclosing the imprisoned
           in their void
but the world they cannot touch
   like glass the wall refracts
    the sunlight in its prisms
      glowing on the scene
 thrown in tired eyes, blinding
mocking with the very sweetness
       the prisoner craves
         thin membrane
        but impenetrable
 forever captivating perfection
           keep it pure
        and unattainable

Moment Standing Still 3-13-06

     framed against the sky
      old winding branches
   tipped with budding green
  pink purple yellow darkness
           sunrise colors
      streak the background
           living canvas
          for nature's art
        sculpture, painting
             all in one
        temporary moment
    renewed, same, different
       revitalized each day
      existing only for itself
        thinks the watcher,
               for me

   Foreshadowing      3-13-06

    chaos, barely concealed
 careful conscientious placing
 of the lid over the boiling pot
deep grooves, memory of scars
        lurking, old, pain
  burning attempts at bridges
 across the immeasurable gulf
the abyss is not to be breached
             by flying
 but all the wings are burning
     smoke rises to the sky
      ashes blow, blinding
        dead air is heavy
      oppressive cold-heat
      the darkness moves
 growling, watching, waiting
         the abyss grows
       and the anger boils
   and the stench of failure
    and the fury takes flight

     Imitation   4-24-06

         pretending hard
   visible effort to conform
          until one day
      it outshines the real
          and stupefied
    it finds itself mistaken
     for that which it only
         pretended to be
        and never really
        wanted to be like
        in the first place
      while the real fades
          away, slowly
         does it matter?
            if no one
        but the imitation
                      can tell the difference?

Rant   (date uncertain. Probably March ‘06, after the 13th sometime)

                  i am fed up with the nonsense
                       saturating all our lives
                    i am angry with the cretins
                  who pretend they are in charge

                  and i can only close my eyes
                      wanting it to disappear
              remove myself from this stranglehold
                for right now, everything is clear

                    but you can't see it, can you
                you close your eyes in desperation
               small-minded, ignorant, weak, afraid
                can't you face your own reflection?

                      do it--or admit you can't
                  i see the crack in your pretense
                   the one you act like isn't there
                this time you have left no defense

                  you sound hollow and ring false
                     empty echo masquerading
              pitiful excuse for the human condition
             sad excuse for a rational, thinking being

                  don't you know what you are?
                      or are you so far gone
                            you don't if
                  there even is a you anymore?

                     and who am i talking to?
              i am all by myself, under this dark sky
              with only the shadows and the mirrors
                 waiting for empty echoes to reply

               Moira Speaks      5-18-06 (original)

                       I‘m tired of giving in
            I‘m sick of giving up
           I‘m fed up with orders
    I‘m disgusted with the lot of you
         I will refuse to be bought
        I will refuse to back down
           I will refuse to submit
             I am better than this
                    And you
         You will try to break me
               I won‘t let you in
      You will make my life a hell
          But I govern my world
       We are each of us separate
        Isolated, alone, individual
      My laws are mine, not yours
   And yours hold no power over me
    I will not let you assume the role
         Of judge of my existence
    Mock me, curse me, try to matter
         You will not come close
        I do not need your reasons
      Your justifications, your lies
              I am self-sufficient
           And you are a parasite
           I do not believe in you
     The impossible, or your ‗power‘
   I will take no more of your bullshit
                    This is it
                    It is over
                   It is done
                 you will listen
               or. you. will. fall.

       Slow Poison    10-16-06

              slow poison
       rotting away inside out
             didn't you try
          to release it once?
      dripping, oozing, polluted
          ruining everything
    smoke inside bursting through
         the cracks in-between
             glass windows
               and frames
        pretense is so wearying
        weighted armor of lies
                 and lies
        past failures, coming to
               haunt now
         oh yes, you remember
      thinking you could escape
         you could get rid of it
           you are in torment
              held in place
      straining against yearning
          to be done with this
     but no answer presents itself
       no solution to the riddle
         dripping rusted faucet
           one drop at a time
     drowning paralyzed victims
           over eons of agony

       All I Want    10-17-06

        All I want is happiness
           to gather it to me
  and wrap it round my shoulders
 a cape of warm breeze off the sea
       All I want is endless love
    and your sweet devotion too
     fountains of affection from
       the one i love, from you
       All I want is reassurance
      you have not forgotten me
 Am I still the one you really want
 despite these others that you see?
     All I want is just a moment
        each day of your time
    It hurts to feel we're far apart
 like you're no longer really mine
       All I want is you, and yet
      you seem happy far away
My soul is starved, and heart laid bare
but it doesn't seem to matter what I say
          All I want is everything
       I thought was s‘posed to be
          All I want is everything
            that I need you to be
          All I want is in the past
   What I thought we had back then
 But now the breeze come off the sea
        is a cold and wailing wind

         A Lesson 10-19-06

        a lesson in self control
         a lesson in confusion
        a lesson in dark misery
          a lesson in oblivion

       a lesson in unhappiness
        a lesson in depression
       a lesson in soul-despair
        a lesson in confession

         a lesson in confusion
        a lesson in forgiveness
         a lesson in obsession
        a lesson in obtuseness

   a lesson in screaming frustration
     a lesson in abject humiliation
   a lesson in all your deepest fears
 a lesson in the art of "love", my dear

  Urgent Call to Action     10-23-06

        How can I reach you?
           What can I say?
         To make you care?
        To show you the way?

   Look around! This world is large
         And beautiful
            and deep
     Don't you want to keep

     Pristine, gorgeous, pure
     but how can you ignore
          another's pain?
in the midst of all this wandering

  How can you ignore the dark
   murderous shape of cloud
      and demon-breath
   hovering at the edge of the
       horizon, drawing
          closer yet?

     Believe me, when I say,
   I want you to understand--
           some things
           some things
     you have to lend a hand
         and some things
           some things
     are worth taking a stand

          Who will die
          turned away?

     Who will pay the price
             for your
    self-inflicted blindness?

   And who will you blame
           when only
          you are left
  standing in the ashy dust of
      the dawn at the end
        of everything?
ain‘t it grand (welcome to LeighAnna Land)   10-28-06

           rainbows, pretty rainbows, playing
             follow the leader on the ground
       rainbows, sparkling rainbows, humming
                   with vibrant color-sound
       dark pools beneath, open heavens above
               dark firmament forming here
       under over beside you inside you and out
                      wipe away that tear
           rainbows, pretty rainbows, braided
                      into my sister's hair
               sister-me, sister-her, sister-be
                in the mirrored winding stair
           rainbows, pretty rainbows, curving
             like a bow of fitted arrow-doom
               crying "faulty!" crying "no!"'
         singing through Fate's weaving loom
                    halting on a silver point
                  tip of a star shining bright
                losing pattern rhythm sound
                   taking fraudulent advice
          rainbows, pretty rainbows, dripping
              liquid colored tears down there
               splashing into crayon puddles
                      like anybody cared
           rainbows, pretty rainbows, formed
            by muck but ahhhed and ooohed
                as all the awe-struck masses
                 stand in the shadow of you

            Sir Edward Three 10-31-06

                  Sir Edward Three
                  had hair of green
              and a pocket full of fishes
                    He wore a hat
                   of cuckoos nest
               and hated doing dishes

                  Sir Edward Three
                    a worthy thief
            had yet good intentions
               But he was bored
                and did deplore
          normal methods of invention

               Sir Edward Three
               Sir Edward Three
               A sorry lot has he!
               To go through life
              With constant strife
            For a silly name hath he!

               Sir Edward Three,
               Sir Edward Three,
        a name that does cause laughter!
               Sir Edward Three,
               Sir Edward Three,
          A grave and laughing matter.

Real and Unreal (School Contemplations) 11-1-06

       children wait, in crowded clusters
          and the breathless hallways
                   anticipate them
            boastful and bragging and
            full of the blind arrogance
               of confident youth, so
              unknowingly innocent
        in their miniature, play-pretend
         world, they answer to no one;
                       but then
          a bell rings, clanging orders
            dictated by time and tired,
                  older faces, and,
        good little sheep, they bustle off
                unaware of paradox
       and even the humor of irony melts
        away, into smiling corridors, so
              full of presences now--
           they will be sad and empty
                                         and quiet

                           I Offer an Ode to Napping 11-1-06

                                  I offer an Ode to Naps
                                 A hymn of joyful praise
                              To the times of day our pillows
                               Are where our heads may lay

                             I proclaim the glee of snoozing
                               Of lazily rolling over in bed
                            And mock-contemplating the work
                            We should be completing instead

                                 I smile the ease of leisure
                           And stretch, dropping problems away
                               An oasis of calm civilization
                            In the midst of a barbaric workday

                           I laugh the thrill of stolen moments
                          Small dozes to spite the work schedule
                               A nap a day, a nap as needed
                              Take lots, no need to be careful

                           I drop off to the sound of tick-tock
                              As my short power nap begins
                         But the peace of my heart is in knowing
                             On waking, it‘s nap time again.

      Dancing Alone, Eyes Closed, Mirrors and Stars and Velvet Nothing 11-1-06

in the perfect silence stillness aloneness: dancing;smile
Cheshire grin
spreading, smooth molasses, butter slow
ear to ear
of pausing moment
raise arms, release
float flutter twirl spin
joy fast restrain testing teasing joyful
up out around about
closing eyes
reaching out and in
held and free


                                  blinking cursor    11-1-06

                                          (I speak
                                   and the silence listens
                               and all the lavender sundrops
                                 go laughing hand in hand
                             down the dim an darkened hallway)

                                   Tennis Shoes 11-1-06

                                   they are black and white
                                       and a little grimy
                                          "well loved"
                                   bits of the sole have torn
           off by the dusty
         a-little-muddy toes
      and the left one squeaks
  when heel meets cushion meets
       shiny smooth tile floor
  (carpet is an excellent muffler)
      shoestrings loose, bunch
     in a tight knot cord to the
    left of the tongue--sticking
       up and out, crookedly
        favorite companions
             trusted gear
    for the long and dangerous
           and fascinating

 ―Everywoman‘s Story‖       11-4-06

    He told me that he loved me
     He told me that he cared
     He said he‘d always listen
     That he‘d always be there

    Wise fool, I fell into the trap
       Believing I was tough
 I thought that I was being careful
     But I wasn‘t smart enough

Once upon a time there was a prince
  Charming through and through
A child still in love with story-world
  I confused that prince with you

     It was my year of happiness
        It was my month of joy
   It was my week of purest bliss
      My day with a perfect boy

But even storybooks have their end
     And saddest truth it is—
                               Not with time, as with pages
                           Can you turn back, relive, anew begin

                            All pretense now is stripped away
                                And here at rainbow‘s end
                            My pot of gold has turned to dust—
                             I must face drear reality again.

                           ―Oh, Please‖ (Annoyance)          11-4-06

Don't tell me it's a sunshine-y day
        Please--some respect for the dying

Don't tempt me with games and food and friends
        Please--leave me alone with my crying

Don't offer me a blissful afternoon filled with love
       Please--you know MY love is gone

Don't ask me why I hide here, under this rock
       Please--this crushing absence stills my song

Don't remind me I am a whole person, and not a half
        Please--it doesn't feel like that, you know too...

Don't assume I'm just a drama queen, for God's sake
       Oh, PLEASE--stop trying. you know what
                          I'm going through.

let me grieve
        while I am still able
                while the wound is fresh
                        and tears still bring
                                the blessed, sweet relief
                        of release.

                                    ―Perforated‖ 11-4-06

I tap out the rhythm on
         the marble-whorled table
        Morse code of the heart
                        --breaking heart--
a beat for every tearing sound
split neatly down the middle
perforated pre-fabricated puncture wounds
from previous tearings
and other failed loves,
                        imperfectly healed.
but contrary to popular opinion
        although the bleeding is less
        each successive time
the pain becomes

and much, much worse.

                                         ―But‖   11-4-06

I want to remember stories and stars and--
                           and grass and trees and laughter and -
                 and spring and peace and euphoria and -
and that first sky-diving adrenaline bounteous headrush and-
        and- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - but
weary soul, trapped between rib cage and lungs
        and weary flesh
stares only into my heart
        welling with each pump – pump – pump
blood, dark blood, blood ink-stained with
        the poison of your words, and -
                 - and the sight is entropy and all consuming.

                     Flying Lessons 6-14-06 (see transition page, lol)

                                        Flying Lessons
                                       (me, unadorned)
                                           (what I am)
                                      (all I have to offer)
                                        (the both of us)
          (life) #s 11-6-06

                13 days
                1 and 3
               99 words
             1 new case
              1/2 a heart
               3 friends
                5 books
                4 trends
            15 days more
                2 stores
                 4 pies
            too many lies

I Do, You Do, When in Love 11-6-06

             When I love,
When I am in love with someone, I want
           To be with them
   To hear the sound of their voice
        Feel their body pressed
             Against mine



         Is this what you do,
     This, is it really what you do
             To those you,
     Once upon a time, professed
                 To love,
         To be in love with?
Badly Written Poem to Make a Point       11-6-06

             Pity the inept student!
        Who struggles so hard to learn
 But talentless at controlling knowledge‘s fire
         Again and again she is burned

       Again yet her passion is great!
           Her fervor undeniable
         Pity the hopeless wannabe
       Her position so very deplorable

         Her only wish, to be a poet
    But the world is complicatedly large
   And how hearts break to know she will
         Never find her lucky stars

         She tries, and yet she fails
        Is this not the worstest fate?
     But perhaps I am biased, you see—
      I pity my ownself most, of late.

        The Ringing Silence 11-6-06

          you forgot me in the dust
            of your dark nightfall
     but when the dark and furious clouds
             obscured my vision
                all i could do
             was reach for you.

                you forgot me.
          but i will remember you.
       your silence will ring in my ears
          for many years to come.

        By Any Other Name 11-2-06
Identities, lost and discarded
petals fallen from a flower
overhead, lumps of clouds
the rumpled rugs on God's glass floor
cast pools of shadow on each
disowned, separate leaf
A thousand disguises
each worn, for a time, with pride
joy in harsh daylight, comfort
in the night
each it, each not—
Straining to catch the last
breath of wind, the flower casts
aside all hesitations
and pretensions
and, in catching, is caught
and gentle, firm wind-fingers
undress the last.
naked, alone, waiting
to see
to be seen—


                                      Little Girl 11-8-06

Little girl
        doesn't want to play with dolls

Little girl
        watching brother enviously

Little girl
        frowning in frilly pinkness

Little girl
        throwing Barbie down the stairs

Little girl
       angry hurt welling up inside

Little girl
        pouting in her room, time out

Little girl
        glaring at the pretty princess posters

Little girl
        crossing arms, eyes narrowed, feet planted wide apart

Little girl
        staring out the window boldly

Little girl
        will take on the world

Little girl
        will take on the world, on her terms

Little girl
        will not stay in her pretty pink plastic cage

Little girl
        will not be a fragile stiff china doll with painted face

Little girl
        wants to be a Woman someday.

                          I DEDICATE THIS (Rant 2) 11-8-06

(pre-poem comment):

I dedicate this to every woman who has ever had a broken heart, who has ever been
confused and mixed up and made bad decisions, who has ever been lied to and jaded and
spurned and scorned, to every woman who gave her all and got nothing in return, to every
woman who was strong and independent and confident but who had that fatal weakness
that caused her to fall, to every woman who has been to the end of love and hate, of self
and of him, who has seen the similarities and differences of those two, to every woman
who felt it and couldn't say it, to every woman who did say it, before me and better than
me--I acknowledge my debt to them, and I dedicate this to every woman who reads this
and understands, who came before, and who will come after.

God save us all.

I am pretentious and pathetic, but I am also what someone said I am, once upon a time,
even if I can't and don't believe it right now, and because I am fed up with all the bullshit,

                                   talking fast and furious
                                    laughing way too loud
                               latching on to passing friends
                                    a tear is coming down

                             brush away, ignore, desperate now
                                 the pain is growing harsh
                                must find a way to deter this
                                to keep up this fragile farce

                               feeling that you're watching
                                hating this and hating you
                             knowing too that you aren't there
                              and hating me and loving you

                                  struggle, inner, crushing
                                 screw eyes shut in shame
                                feeling dead and lost inside
                                just thinking of your name

                             and this is only the beginning
                               where do we go from here?
                          where do we stand? what are we now?
                               what is it that i really fear?

                             you anger me, slow burning hate
                             despise you, loathing, and yet not
                              what pain is this, and why is it?
                            how can i choose of have, have not?

                              i want to scream and cry at you
                                 and yet would do no good
                               you do not care, you never did
                                never acted like you should

                                    is it over? is it not?
                            stop toying now with this my heart
      i hate your lies i hate your games
       i hate your petty claims to fame

     i hate your silence hate your words
       hate your low and spiteful slurs
        detest your name and memory
       detest your face each time i see

  you've gone too far and pushed me now
        for the last time this i avow
             i will stand strong
                i am resolved

       you won't get away with this
    i hope you drown in your own shit
   you've emptied and you've ruined me
     but i cannot, will not, let you see

            run away, again, again
          never once to love again?
       lost in my own shame and loss
      the war is over, done and fought

      but some things i just can't let go
    and of all things i'd have you know
     remember once you loved me true
   or did you?—i can never tell with you

   mistakes were made and lies were told
     i gave my heart, you stole my soul
    and what brought me this in return?
       nothing, no one, no kind words


           in a world of beauties/
              beautiful world‖

It don't come natural, It don't come with ease
               I hate watching you
           It's me I need to please…
     Foreign tools of a strange culture, feeling
    stupid childish immature not good enough
               you've taken my pity
                and my self respect
        With those looks and those charms
              you do it, you do it best

   This isn't my world, These aren't my dreams
                 you are perfection
              I am ragged at the seams

But where does leave me? Uncertain and stumbling
            Who's me, if it's not you
    why can't your remedies work for me too?

           I am alone, lost and confused
        Trying not to let the tears come fast
   standing under the haunting pale yellow light
             in the store, terrified, i am
        Loose, a jiggling screw, unbalanced
in an otherwise perfect--realistic--oh so convincing
            that gives every impression
            of belying the stereotype(s)

    How can I even begin to dare to dream of
               Competing? As if.
            I am not good enough.
             I have failed the test.


          You Remind Me         11-10-06

                you remind me
           why muffins are deadly projectiles
           and why love songs are sad.
                        you remind me
                                    i love(d) the fall.

                                  Love        11-11-06

It is just the field.
Why does it look so singingly beautiful today?
         It is just the field.
It is just the old, scummy pond--
nothing special.
So why does my heart leap
         and greet it like an old friend?
                  It is just the pond.
It is just the sky.
It is the same broad, blue sky as yesterday
and yet somehow
it is warm and welcoming
like a laughing blue-shawled mother
         hugging her children
                  It is just the sky.
It is just the city
         noisy and smoggy and glaring and tall and wide
so why does it look so full of opportunity?
and feel so full of a strange all encompassing
                  It is just the city.
It is just the old highway
         dull and gray and empty
So why does the curve look like a smile
and the birds circling above like
         guardian angels, instead of vultures?
                  It is just the highway.

It is just the field.
Why does it look so growlingly menacing today?
         It is just the field.
It is just the old, scummy pond--
nothing special.
         So why does it look so lonely and angry
                  like it could swallow me up
         and spit me out?
It is just the sky. Just like yesterday.
         But today the blueness is cold and hard-
edged and scowling, and even the sunlight is
         hollow and empty.
It is just the city.
         The same noise and smog and buildings
as the day before. Then why must it intimidate me
         so, scowling down, with terrible
                  surety and uncaring reflective eyes
         of the tall and darkly looming buildings
making me young and afraid again?
         It is just the city.
It is just the old highway
         and that curve is still the same.
But now it is a frown, a trembling of the lips
                  and the cawing birds are waiting for the
         moment of opportunity to swoop down
and eat out my shriveled,
                  stabbed-up, trembling heart.
It is just the highway.

                                Sweet Requiem       11-13-06

                                           it was a lie
                               one big ridiculous illusion, just
                                  some stupid fragile dream
                                    and it melted away like
                                 cotton candy, on wet young
                                  eager tongues, greedy with
                           the first warm true cream summer day.
                                followed by a bitter aftertaste;

                                dreams shatter into bubbles.
                                 vision-distorting, faceted,
                                 spherical, soapy bubbles.
                                  one clouded my vision,
                                     and i convinced--
                            perhaps you saw it too

                          perhaps it was my careful
                        hands, too intent on protecting
                         and shielding; perhaps it was
                      your sharp, careless glance (away)

                      but like children blowing too hard
                            through the pink plastic
                              flimsy bubblemaker,
                         the vision expired, bursting.
                           and, left sticky and cross,
                             with soap in our eyes,
                                 the game ruined,
                         we left for home, at the end
                                     of the day

                     down separate streets, parting ways
                             to different lives.

I Don‘t Love You Anymore (I think), but is that all that‘s changed?   11-14-06

                          Is it okay that you're gone?
                                     Is it right?
                          I was happy, now I am sad
                                     a little lost
                        But this time you really don't
                                love me anymore
                        Which part was the mistake?
                                   I wish I knew
                       Maybe that would make it easier
                            Is it just the emptiness?
                       Or the permanent absence of you
                                 that bothers me?
                                  I wish I knew.
                          Somewhere along the way
                                       I lost it
                               and it all fell down.
                        You are culpable. For this too.
                          But will the universe prove
                                     fair or foul
                                     in justice?
    Trying (to come to grips) 11-14-06

            Part One - Fragile

          My fragile paper frame
     with great greedy hulking shadow
    is wavering, trembling in the breeze
         Is the shadow my anchor
                or the abyss
              that is the mouth
                of the beast?

             Part Two - Beast

           Its teeth are long spears
      of loneliness and hurt and blame
     Its tongue, forked, flicks with fire
                of guilt and loss
    And in the darkness of the hollow of
                 its throat, the
               abyss is couched.
                     I stare.
         And something stares back.

          Part Three - Realization

                 Who knows
     what is, or was, or maybe shall be
            or could-have-been
       Is the answer that emptiness
         you promised long ago?
            I do not know--and
            probably never will.

          Part Four - Coming To

          I have been staring, drifting
into dirty smudged spaces between molecules
         (glazed over eyes, idle hands)
                for far too long.
  And Everything Becomes a Poem        11-14-06

              I know it takes time
     I am being so logical, this time around
                    so smart
              i know it takes time
           (but the days are so long)
        and everything becomes a poem.

         Badly written, of course. I read
          that book; parts of it. I know
           I am the student who only
       "half feels" and doesn't understand
            the art; it's not a style, but
                a manner of doing.

         Even in my poems I paraphrase
        And the inscrutability is terrible
             and dashes all hopes of
        professionalism, for who but me
excluding even a future (undoubtedly bewildered)
             me would understand?

                    the moment
                  and the context
               and in the influences
                    and the pain
            and the lonely, lost, love.
      and the un-pain, too, can't forget--but
         for that i have even less words.

          i'm so sick of it all, at times,
        some grand suffering--nonsense.

              i shouldn't share this
                    but i will.
                  can i help it?
                  i cannot decide between
                      one set of words
                         and another.
                      it all falls down.

              Where I Come From      11-14-06

                              I am a tree
                      and while I may not look
                          so very different
                    from other green leafy tops
                       swaying in the breeze,
                            I am, because
                  I have the Ozarks in my roots;
                    spreading dark fields of soil
             and deep hungry cool water aquifers,
          stringed instruments and old-time singing.
                    And before that, silent feet,
                     and an ancient way of life.
                   Always there throughout, are
  old-beyond-time weathered mountains of trees and hollers,
                not to mention, there are always,
the echoes of laughter from front porches, now and back then.
                The steady courage and patience
             of solemn explorers and their strong,
              laugh-ready women, are in the shine
              of my leaves, the health of my bark,
         past and future fusing together into one soul.
                      And that feeling you get,
        in true fall Thanksgiving, family surrounding,
                         that nutmeg smell
                            is in my core.
             Often buried, it is true, beneath broad
         skies and one-same, different-shaped, clouds
                of puffy white, all from that same
           different source of standardized sunlight;
                           But underneath,
                        quiet and powerful,
                where even I rarely think to look,
                          the Ozarks sleep.
                         that was before, this is now 11-14-06
                              (―sequel‖ poem to Undecided)

                                    I am determined
                                     and I am fierce
                                         I am sure
                                      and I am bold
                                        I am proud
                                  and I am not to blame
                                      I am damned
                                  and I am... redeemed.
                                        I am not...
                                        I am not...
                                        I am not...
                                  FORGET THE NOT.
                                    I am, a ME, and
                                       I WILL BE.

                            Double-Edged Sword     11-17-06

I remember
I remember
       security, warm-fuzzies
I remember
       love, companionship, happiness

I remember
I remember
       anger, hurtful words
I remember
       pain, loneliness, misery

Beware the follies of remembering
one thing and not the other;
love is more fickle than fortune
more cruel than war
Love is a charming soul-killer
a gilded cage


to romanticize the past, is
to destroy the labor-agony
of your soul, as it transformed
the crucible
into the instrument of
your re-

                                  Maybe someday.   11-17-06

Will I heal?

Will the red, livid lashes of
 a love fallen from grace,
burning as it entered the
atmosphere of despair,
ever heal?

                 Maybe someday.

Will I forget?

Will the surprises of memory,
wistful and painful and sad,
overturned so suddenly in the day,
unexpected heart-stopping
momentary flashbacks,
ever stop?

                 Maybe someday.

Will I be happy?

Will the comfort, settling, spreading
bliss of contentment ever again
fill my lungs, cradle my heart,
in soft and gentle hands?

                  Maybe someday.

Will I grow?

Will the lashing horror of this crushing failure
send me back, a solemn and wide-eyed child,
or will I emerge brighter, stronger,
whole, healthy?

                  Maybe someday.

Will I move on?

Will the heart ever trust again, or
the pebbles of memory ever become
matter-of-fact, or the grainy
exhaustion metamorphose into a
renewal of spirit?

                  Maybe someday.

Will I be?

Will purity and innocence come again?
The dark shadows ever leave the
weighted soul? Will pain cease to be
permanent, a proper, fitting RIGHTNESS
be found, justice be done, closure
come, to me?

Will I be free?




                  Maybe someday.
                              Sing Me a Lullaby 11-17-06

Oh, mother, comfort me
The winds of rage have blown my heart bare
Oh, mother, comfort me
The silence of the night is loud

       Oh, mother, sing me a lullaby
       Sing of peace and days gone by
       Oh, mother, sing me love
       Sing of comfort and friendly skies

Oh, mother, hold me tight
I am flown to many pieces, ragged at heart
Oh, mother, hold me tight
My soul is sick with burdens

       Oh, mother, sing me a lullaby
       Tell me everything will be all right
       Oh, mother, sing me understanding
       Tell me there's no reason to feel such fright

Oh, mother, love me still
The soreness in my heart yearns to heal
Oh, mother, love me still
The weary tears are falling

       Oh, mother, sing me a lullaby
       Sing me a song for the broken-hearted
       Oh, mother, sing me a lullaby
       Sing me the letting-go of love departed

                         The Chiding Admonishment 11-17-06
             (self-reprimand after a long stay in the purgatory of heartbreak)

Step outside your own head
       and look around!

Has the world ended? Towers fallen?
Civilization collapsed? Armageddon happened?


You act as though your life is over
       and yet you walk talk breathe!

You are a blind music lover who
       claims because she can no longer see

the notes, there is no sound!

Become whole again
     by living your life

instead of using your life to
        wallow and sorrow and bemoan your fate

A slammed door
      keeps out foes and friends alike.

                                     Untitled    11-17-06

                                i do not know what i miss
                               but i know this is heartbreak
                                           it was bad
                                     but this is bad too.
                                            so is this.
                                      is it a better bad?
                           but now the seed of doubt is planted.
                                   was everything a lie?
                                all i wanted was the truth.

                                i am tired of being left behind.
                                what did i really do so wrong?
                                           is this right?
                                    why must it be this way?
                                   i never understood before.
                                      do i wish i still didn't?
                                this is not poetry
                                and i am no poet

Sun rise on the loser, still at the battlefield, still among the dead   11-25-06

                        The exquisite pain within my ribs
                   burns with the frozen tinglings of delicate
                  bone-thin fingers of dread, softly stroking,
                   and the dread morphs into shame, regret--
                    burning pinnacle of a soul, fiery head of
                 the sun, long sweeping blood-deep-red locks
                    falling, cascading, in swirls and straight
               limp downpours onto the shoulders of the world
               burns me, red pools of light, red vision dripping
                     through my fingers, sticky and sweet--
                    and the icy fortress of my pain, holding
                  everything inside, laughs, for the reddened
                 vision does nothing to melt or warm, merely
                     paints the prison in colors of a firebird
                      pretty to look at, dangerous to touch
                        and, locked away--irredeemable?
                             utterly, utterly, useless.

                    Wish I May, Wish I Might         11-29-06

                         i want hair the color of music
                         and a smile as deep as the sea
                        a charming, mysterious posture
                            to turn every eye on me

                          i want a voice like thunder
                           and eyes like grey of rain
                          a wit as quick as lightning
                            this would ease my pain

                          i want a world of lightness
                           a hammock made of stars
                         i want the peace of knowing
                              i am where you are
            i want the gift of telling
          and of knowing what i tell
           and what is in my future
        that might ease the pain of hell

             i want a song of souls
            a life of heartbeat truth
         the wisdom of a growing old
       but not the pain of leaving youth

          what i want i cannot name
       no more than stones can speak
     and yet the rocks are wondrous loud
       here on this lowly, lonely peak

             you are.   11-29-06

     how can i say what you mean to me
       you annoying, crude, ridiculous
         caring, amazing, supportive

    maybe we will always need each other.
                 i hope so.

        what would i do without you?
       who would i yell and be cross at

           and hug and cry to later
    when you guess what's really going on
       or i finally give in and tell you

    years from now, as i remember the pain,
               this will come too
the way you held me and promised not to let go

    it was never like i thought it would be
                 isn‘t now, but
            for once i almost had it

       it was almost perfect, and now
              all i must do is wait
      until the pain recedes a little more
                        and the memory then can be sunk into
                           like its escape when it was new

                      and the bitterness will be lost to the sweet.

                       driving, storm, music, friend    11-29-06

                             driving, storm, music, friend
                                such are the memories
                                  i don't want to end

                          head on your lap, fingers in my hair
                                eyes closed, time is mine
                                 these are the memories
                              i don't want to leave behind

                           smiling, peace, first time all week
                         lightning flashes through thin eyelids

                                i don't want this to end
                           but it will be sweeter for brevity
                                  and there is always
                                        of course

                        the wide world does not separate us yet
                                i want to hold on to this
                                 i do not want to forget
                             driving, storm, music, friend

                                 who am i? 11-30-06
                                edited title: who am i to

who am i
      to say i cannot succeed?
who am i
      to deny the beautiful flowering
   of an opportunity?
who am i
        to second guess?
and who am i
        to be forever
denying the ineffable?
        the inevitable?
        the truth?
stop lying to yourself.
        who are you to deny the light
                shining in your soul?

                                  the soul.   11-30-06

                               the soul is a thin white sheet
                         covering draped over the hard essence
                                         of being, and
                                      from deep within,
                         a light shines out, pure and hard-edged
                                  and brilliant, fierce and
                                 unstoppably beautiful true
                             to muddy the body with disaster
                                   is to close the window
                                       against the light
                              purify, become again the clean
                                    transparent substance
                              through which your better self
                                          will shine.
                                that is the only way to live.

                       i write poetry when i get bored    12-1-06

                             i write poetry when i get bored
                                  or at least a semblance of
                             i like to watch the clouds go by
                                 finger puppets from above
      i know it's not as good as some
         and i know i'm talentless
    but as you can see i'm having fun--
            apologies; i digress.

where have all the sitcoms gone? 12-1-06
(on the deplorable state of television today)

      where have all the sitcoms gone
          and all the classic puns?
         where are all the characters
      stars that shone like rising suns?

     they've disappeared into the land
             of public memory
     and now i'm said because i know
     there are no more of them to see.

       a wordsmith am i       12-1-06

            pick for me an image
           a picture from the earth
      a living moment, caught in time
      like the imagination giving birth

           i will write your image
           your picture, in the sky
          forever and yet transient
            for a wordsmith am i

      i will link the delicate chains
          of every noble thought
      and i will polish shamelessly
    ambitions that will come to naught

    i will make the rhyme scheme work
       and i will write the oceans blue
          and i will make your lies the real
             and undo the all the truths

             i will make the forests walk
               and fishes speak and sigh
          i will right and upend your world
                 for a wordsmith am i

             the magic's in the drying ink
               the clacking of the keys
        the power of your own dark thoughts
               and the secret that is me

                decide upon eternity
            and don't your heart deny--
        souls are like birds from cages freed
             because a wordsmith am i

a limerick to he who denied my only talent       12-1-06

           i haven't much claim to fame
             i'm not a noteworthy dame
                but i'll tweak a word
                   and rest assured
        you'll die in embarrassment‘s flame

               The Dream      12-1-06

        picture me riding the back of infinity

         a wave of ineffable creative energy
     a dark bright triumph of imaginative power
               and all the stars bursting into flower
             sweeping me up in a grand wave falling

             and hearing the voices of angels calling
              the universe is mine and i am the sky

              the earth is within me and truth flies by
               picture the death of entropy and pain

              and all the fulfillment we stand to gain
             close your eyes and breathe deeply now

             hold in the perfume of the unbroken vow
              remember the feeling of a love so pure

                  for any ill it was the only cure
            picture me standing on the mountain peak

          and wait with me, breathless, for God to speak.

Always A New Perspective (so it has been, so it shall be)     12-1-06

              remind me a thousand years from now
                 as i awake from death's thin sleep
               to look back upon the times that hurt
             when upon me darkness seemed to creep

                 and after having experienced hell
                 for a very real thousands of years
                  ask me what i would have said
           to those visions when first i cried those tears

         I Who Bequeath These Words to You          12-1-06

                  the folds in the blanket of night
                    are smothering to the lonely
             and the oppressive heat of a lazy summer
                    is never received but coldly.
       what is romance to the lovelorn?
       and what is the truth to the hurt?
   first mend the shards of a broken heart
then you'll know when you're over the worst

    don't anticipate the flight of falling
  but watch the ground for tripping stones
      smile, eyes closed, to the mirror
       and you won't see you're alone

      the soul of the devil is jealousy
           if he has one, anyway
    don't pretend you know everything
     and second-think running away

       if you are a flower, life is good
    if you are trapped in a vase it is bad
        forget all the words of others
  and remember the goodness you've had

         i, who aspire to wisdom,
       bequeath these words to you
 not because they're worth anything much
  but because right now they're my truth.

           Forever       12-1-06

         i'd write forever if i could
     get lost in the words on the page
     and forever stand still in the sun
      delighted, thrilled, and amazed

      i'd never remember the hunger
        the cold, the pain, or the fear
         i'd always forget the anger
             and every single tear

        i would if that were heaven
      but at times my heart still sore
         betrays me in the thinking
       that rather it's where you are
                 forever i would have loved you
                   forever i would have cried
                but forever ended the day i knew
                    my love for you had died

               you are the one who killed forever
                     strangled it after birth
                when you betrayed all that i am
                 and left me alone on the earth

                  but a new forever began today
                   or at some point, in my soul
             and that's the forever i'll stand by now
             the forever in which my heart is whole

Family: The Bad (approx. 12-16-03, from Rituals assg. 9th grade)

                 They smother you with kisses
                  With smiles, love and tears
               They take care of your every wish
                   And tell you not to fear.

                 They‘re called parental units
                And I‘m sorry, but they‘re bores
                   They never listen to you
                 They drown you out in snores

              I know you‘re s‘posed to love them
                     And I try, I really do
                But do you know how hard it is
                     To let them love you?

                To settle back and let them rule
               Your life ‗cause ―they know best‖
                To let them do their job because
                   Interference causes stress

              It‘s funny when you think about it
               How parents think they‘re smart
           When really kids just let them run with it—
               To hold your tongue, it is an art.

                   You see the things they do
                  For their benefit, not yours
               I know it doesn‘t seem like that
                  But it shows in the chores

               They say it makes you stronger
                     For later on in life
              But they just don‘t want to worry
                And therefore have no strife.

                   Love is a very selfish thing
             It‘s the desire not those who it‘s for
              This is what family means to be—
                 That is, only when I‘m bored.

Family: The Good    (approx. 12-16-03, 9th grade ‗Rituals‘ assg.)

               Family is that summer feeling
                 When magic‘s in the air
               When fireflies are being caught
               No June bugs yet in your hair

           Family is that new-school-year shudder
                  In September every year
               Family is that loving safeness
              When there‘s nothing left to fear

               Family is that Christmas joy
         With consent and warmth and love for all
                An equality of peacefulness
        That comes as we answer one another‘s calls

             Family is that New Year‘s party
                With good cheer all around
           With all night movies and tired smiles
            And no one feeling sad or downed

              Family is that Valentine‘s hug
               With cards all happily traded
          Roses smiling so pretty from the vase
        And every one feels cherished, no one jaded.

        Family is that right-before-Spring winter chill
          When everyone shivers in the frosty air
          Then comes home to bask in the warmth
That comes from sitting with loved ones in your favorite chair.

      Birth    (approx. 12-16-03, 9th grade Rituals assg.)

            They swept in from the sandy dunes
              And strode throughout the town
         They were three kings from the far, far east
              Whom an angel had sent down.

         You‘d think that kings would stop and stay
                     At the ritziest hotel
         But not these three, that was not for them
       They never stopped, egged on by caroling bells.

          The three had wandered near and far
          Before they met their resting place—
        Amongst the shepherds, sheep and poor boys
             Who rarely washed their face.

                  But the three of royal blood
                   Seemed hardly not to care
              All their thoughts were turned upon
                      A tiny manger there.

               One by one the three knelt down
                And held out their gifts three—
              And one by one they worshiped there
               The Son that‘s part of the Trinity

               It was a belated birthday party
        Several weeks too late for the day of his birth
            But the three gave their gifts eagerly
               Gold, frankincense and myrrh.

                 This hasn‘t been the only birth
                      Attended by royalty
                     But it is the only birth
                 The Christ child will ever see.

          And that is why throughout the world
              Two thousand years from then
        More shepherds, kings, poor children too
     Worship still our King of the future, now and then.
                                     to be human     12-1-06

                                      it was like a solid tear,
                                     that lump in the throat.
                                it came with the clinging sadness
                                       saran wrap, choking.
                                         modern death, but
                                              old life.
                                       so what else is new?

                                        i try to imitate
                                       that which i love
                                            as usual
                                             i fail--
                                     maybe i'll stop trying?

                                      an icy branch cracks
                                    in the breathless stillness
                                  and the frozen pond gurgles.

                                     isn't that what it means
                                           to be human?

                                       time        12-1-06

i lied when i told you i forgot
and i lied when i told you i cared
i lied when i said i hated you
and i lied when i said i'm sorry

i'd rather be a liar like you
than the fool you fooled.

- time -
  - passes -
- slow -
  - yet -
- fast -

i lied when i said i'd rather be a liar
because the truth is i am neither
but you are a despicable excuse for a human being
and probably always will be

- time -
  - passes -
- slow -
  - yet -
- fast -

someday i want to come to this place
this final rest on the journey
and know forgiveness.
i will be there before i know it

you see

- time -
  - passes -
- slow -
  - yet -
- fast -

                    on the second to last day of eternity     12-2-06

                                i feel alive like sunshine
                                  and vivid like the rain
                             i feel like a spreading chorus
                            and God's own antidote to pain

                                i feel a dozen energies
                                  pulsing in my mind
                        i am one of a thousand whirling dancers
                              skipping in and out of time

                                 feel the silk of the sky
                               run it between your fingers
                                wait and wait and hesitate
                             savor the sweetness and linger
                              never give up the thrill of life
                           and the tangy fruit taste of the sun
                          but be well aware, and stay prepared
                             truth is, we've only just begun

                   The First Christmas Song of the Season       12-2-06

I heard the first Christmas song of the season this morning
And it awakened in me a voice I thought long gone
All the old familiar feelings came rushing back to meet me
And I found the words to sing along

I had not forgotten, though in the darkness I despaired
But morning sun on white snow ground stirred my soul to care
And now the angels‘ chorus is echoed by the earth
And my phoenix hope again reborn, in loving image of my Savior‘s birth

                      The snow sang me to this morning        12-2-06

                                      three inches deep
                                   cold icicles, a billion
                                    a trillion a zillion of
                                   flakes of iced breath
                                   sent down by God to
                                 soften the world and tone
                               down the confusing echoes,
                                to remind us of the beauty
                                hiding under all the slime
                              our ugly angry hurting words
                                 leave, that existed before
                               the great red raw gashes of
                                  war streaked like lumpy
                                 bleeding paint among us
                                   God is breathing the
                                        breath of life
                                     into us once again.
                                   Stop, pause, look up;
                                  the soft folds of eternity
                                 will hold you for a moment
                                and the same stars that shone
                                 down on Him so long ago
                                      might remind you
                                    of the soul you forgot
                                      you had, and that
                                    that soul is not alone
                                    in the world so much
                                           after all.

                                 how do i write?    12-4-06

how do i write the hill, the tree?
how do i write the deadly sea?
the emptiness in the mirror that's me?
or even the dread of memory?

the eyes are weary and the soul is black
i'm falling, falling, and that's a fact
cold feet, cold hands, a freezing heart
trapped in its ice-cage, too late for warmth?

how do i write the chill of fate?
the breath of time that says, too late?
how do i write the fear inside
that grows with every tear i cry?

the lights are dim and dizzy dance
slide sleepy me to somber trance
pained expression, what words are there
for what is tainted but once was fair?

how do i write the apathy welling?
how do i write the lonely dwelling?
the forever-lost sob of a soul for selling?
the gaze of oblivion, so compelling?

the soul is weak, an invalid, infirm
only despair can it now confirm
but beyond the mist, will we soon learn
if exist the flames that freeze and burn?

how do i write the exhaustion of hope?
the listless wait with which none can cope?
how do i write of the slippery slope?
and the death of beauty amid rough rope?

i slipped, slow-motion, from grace it seems
smooth walls ‗round now, trapped in these dreams
no sight of savior, no light beam
i'm left alone with my dreaded me

how do i write the end of love?
how do i write the darkness above?
the emptiness in the mirror that's me?
or even my dread of the future unseen?

                he said my heartbreak would cause me to play     12-4-06

                                i used to have this teacher
                                      a music teacher
                              who gave me lots of advice, and
                                     books to borrow.

                                      he told me once
                             i think this was when i still had
                                    that first boyfriend
                           someday my heart would be broken

                                     and when it was
                             when i picked up my instrument
                              i would play for the first time
                                  absolutely beautifully

                               because it would come straight
                              out of the depths of my soul and
                            the notes would be wrung from the
                                feebly plucking heartstrings.

                                       he was wrong.
                                   on one count, at least.
                                   i don't play anymore,
                 not like that.

          i did get my heart broken
                  by that boy
          but it wasn't until this boy
                   this time

        that i began to understand what
                  he really meant
         about the essence of an artist,
          (if i can be so presumptuous

             and take that name)
           because for the first time
            when i began to write
               the words came

        like they'd never come before
   and although it's hardly my masterpiece
          any of these scattered lines
          i was them as i wrote them

            and in a way, maybe i
                am now. still.
        but i want to have those lines
grow with me, then, because i am not the same.

         great beauty came out of the
 blackened ruins of my heart, a phoenix from
     the ashes, but i don't want this verse
        (or broken prose, whichever,)

                to tie me down.
          but maybe if like feathers
        they come and go and change
      and rise like beating angels wings

       then maybe, once again having
   worked out the details to my satisfaction,
         i can take his words as truth
               and at face value.
            it would be nice to fly.
           we invented time's restraints      12-5-06

                  i have this image in my mind
           of calendars, clocks, date-keeping devices
            as great stone and metal and wood walls
               holding in the liquid slosh of being
          of time, moving ever forward onward back
             in circles, keeping it together the way
                a glass holds a cylinder of water
            and without all these strange inventions
         our lives would be as free and brave and open
              as the great wave-washing ever-deep
               swirling liquid freeflowing wetness
            salty taste of sheer highflying existence
                           that is the sea

This isn‘t me, but they aren‘t me either: a prologue (1st) 12-9-06

         Why cannot I follow the prepatterened trails
     And learn wholly from others who were what I am?
         Why cannot I find an absolute absolutely me
    But instead must mix and match from others that I see?

This isn‘t me, but they aren‘t me either: a chapter (2nd) 12-9-06

                  All the old energy‘s left me
                 And all the old passion‘s gone
                 The victim of stupidness, fate
              I know only that I‘ve been wronged

                 Listless, I stare at the ceiling
                    Apathy welling inside
              Thoughts, no thoughts, then nothing
                       I cannot even cry

                   This isn‘t the fate of others
                 I‘m here, but it‘s different too
              I don‘t yet know how to understand
                  What instead is really truth.
                      looking in the mirror

              childish handwriting covers the page
               i am old, but not as others are, or as
                 i'd wish even for chains of rage;
         the rattling clang would lift the silence so sad

This isn‘t me, but they aren‘t me either: a chapter (3rd) 12-9-06

                  November doesn‘t like me
                       Not that I can see
                November is the month of pain
              That always echoes shades of blame

                  The wind is loudly howling
                 The heavens darkly scowling
                    But all the pretty verse
                 Won‘t make less real the curse

                   I strive to be a great one
                  I once thought to be pure
         But locked away boxes of shame in my mind
         Make me wonder the nature of lies and time

                  Rustle, fall, waterless, brown
               Shriveled souls of trees fall down
          But if just sleeping ‗neath the snow they lie
                 Perhaps renewal‘s hope is nigh

             If I could kill these cursed thoughts
           Where memories old and new are brought
            And stay contented, firm, safe, secure
            I might could resist the trait‘rous lure

               I know not where I stand today
             Or what the meaning of words I say
               Past present, future, nothing all
        Whirling through me, round me, dark waterfall
            Now I lay me down to sleep
        Burdened soul drowning in the deep
             Should I die before I wake
         I pray to God sleep may be saved.

               you lied    12-9-06

              you said you really loved me,
              that you‘d fallen at first sight
          you said how much you needed me,
             that you‘d hold me every night
          a long sad time it was before i knew
          a long sad time it took me to realize
in everything, everything, everything, EVERYTHING.
                        you lied.

               you said   12-10-06

                 you said friendship
                 like it was an honor
                    you said special
                   like you meant it
                  you said beautiful
                like you were honest
                  you said i‘ll listen
             like you were trustworthy
                  you said only you
                     like it was true
                      you said love
                  like it was forever

    orange juice and dragonforce         12-11-06
     orange juice pumping in my veins
      dragonforce music in my brain
      rocking out my eardrums wild.

       there's a peace in raucous din
    and orange juice sloshing in the cup
      life is hard and love hath killed
       but these heal me alive again.

            clap      12-11/12-06

           Our love is a dying fairy
      flickering light of thin kept faith;
       clap, clap-clap, clap, clap, clap.
         this is the ending of an age.

         Our love is dying like fantasy
        in the eyes of a child of reality;
        clap, clap-clap, clap, clap, clap.
      it's more and less than rationality.

     Our love is dead like a crushéd flower
   like midnight before the dawn's first hour
  and if ever existed that love true and whole
it can only be proven by the scars on my soul.

       clap, clap-clap, clap, clap, clap.

    forgiveness and justice       12-12-06

     at first the revenge fantasies worked.
 i felt victorious, free, an unstoppable force.
    but dreams don't tend to come true, and
     i know well enough it wouldn't work.
 (even though i didn't know you. not really.
                not enough at all.)
    what would work now is not something
   i can fully totally even a little believe in.
       the universe hasn't been just so far.
    how can I believe it will bring you to your knees
           double you over with agony of soul
          because you feel what i feel, and felt
     or cause you to wake up one morning all alone
       and miss me, and give anything to go back
          and undo your mistakes when finally
 i am moved on, happy, secure, and have forgiven you.
      i guess even wishing for that justice is futile
           because if true justice is served and
      forgiveness again claims my soul for its own
    even if it happened and i knew i would not care.
           but that would be the greater justice
                punishment for you of all.

        annul me (the easy way out)   12-12-06

                i am struggling to stay afloat
                gasping water into my lungs
           i am being dashed against the rocks
       i have tumbled from safe illusions into this.
            it was nice while it lasted, but now
                   it is not so nice, and i am
               tired of the continuous shocks
       when i just want to be done with it already.
                go ahead. erase my memory.
                it's not forgetting that i want
          but a total annulment of this stretched
                            out agony.
        please. annul me. it would make my year.
                  in the second saddest way.
               but you know what? this time,
              i almost want the easy way out.
   i‘ve worked hard enough at this already, and that—
                       that is all his fault.

sometimes the ghosts drown out the living   12-12/13-06
           sometimes the ghosts drown out the living
             when memory treads the fine thin line
             between the once-was and imaginings.

        sometimes the ghosts are too thick to see through
   when that cold breath-taking shock of past-on-future comes
  and all the distance vanishes like mist on a hot summer morn.

                   when will the echoes fade?
when the present has changed form so completely the ghosts leave
  because they no longer recognize what was once their home.

             fairness/what is deserved     12-13-06

           you don't have to do anything to deserve it
            even if the universe is just its free agents
                these silly stupid ridiculous people
           are not, not always, not sometimes, but not
       even the ones you call friend will turn against you
         everyone cares as long as you agree with them
              but dare to stand up for your feelings
            your truth your point of view your justice
               and they will abandon you in seas of
              cruel words and silence leaving in the
                  opposite direction of but to the
                 same destination as your enemies
          so what after all in the end is the difference

                what prove the scars?    12-13-06

                       what prove the scars?
            white embedded raised memories of past
             who says they have to be reminders of
                all the good times that were lost?
              maybe their existence is merely proof
                that those good times never truly
              in the truest sense ever really existed
             and are instead merely grim souvenirs
           of a deadly and destructive twisted malady
               the curse of a long look through rose
                     colored lenses at reality.

uniqueness (but you, my love, are different—i swear!)       12-13-06

          sometimes we like things that are "different"
                        we call this uniqueness
                 and say it makes for being special.
                      but when it comes to love
          i think one of two things really is happening.
           something inside of ourselves, good or bad,
       we recognize in another, presented in a wholly new
             light, and, thinking it an opposite, unique
           and fresh and appealing, we rush to meet it
        with open arms, heedless of the tripping stones
                 beneath our feet, catching our toes.
        or else, some flaw or some good thing, however
         you choose to look at it, that we see so readily
          in others, presented in a separate light in this
       new person becomes the center and source reason
              for all of our affections as we mistake it
                      for a new kind of treasure.
            but in either scenario, the same basic truth
          remains. no one is unique not really because
          everyone is, and what at first seems to be the
             answer to every prayer in the end is only
                 the misleading, alluring siren call,
         first opening scenes of a nightmare crouching
                in the darkness just out of peripheral
        sight, waiting like a great stinking fetid winged
          jagged tooth jawed beast to devour our heart
         as we stare into its eyes, the eyes of our lover.

       free-flow declaration of intent and past    12-14-06

           just because my heart is tender and sore still
                   does not mean i am not happy
            just because your words still might hurt me
                    does not mean you are right.
              you destroyed the innocent
       and perhaps i was a willing accomplice
        but if so, only because i was innocent
   and i am not sure there is a forgiveness for you.

     sometimes trying to convince the wrong that
     they are actually wrong is extremely difficult
    and frustrating you want to scream and explode
but in the end you will be happy because you are right.

          i am not sure it would be so nice to
 have all the answers after all, not when not knowing
 is so comforting and leaves pleasant thoughts up to
           the imagination, because after all

 what is most important is knowing where you stand
and truth is malleable, sometimes, in some ways, that
 hard to explain way, because in the end you cannot
   put my center off balance or even kill my soul.

  only i can do that, but instead, eventually the guilt
   will dissipate, and perhaps if i pray hard enough
some day, just like that other guy, he will be no more
  than a dim an foggy, vaguely annoying, memory.

    or perhaps not even that. if so-called love like
  a poison could truly be let out, drawn out with the
  power of suctioning, centering, wonderful words,
     he would already be gone, and i would feel.

  i would feel so wonderful, because just as in my--
  ha, my closing arguments, i'll call them, i will gain
   the upper hand--how could i not?--i will have the
        last say--because it's all on my terms--

           and in the most ultimate and real
           perfect wonderful absolute way.

                       i will win.

                       the prize

               being made whole again.
 It‘s hard to admit that love is dead, but it‘s better that it is, and you know it. 12-14-06

             No one, especially no woman, likes to admit that love is dead
              Or that their soul mate was not worthy of their perfect love
         But wanting to avoid that unpleasant feeling doesn‘t make it untrue, or
            Even bad. Don‘t you know? Now even the angels applaud you,
           Congratulating your success on transcending from the false pit of
          Lies, deceit, and what once was, to the high freedom of the above.

            Yes, innocence is gone, and there are longed-for places to which
      You can now never return, except in those rare moments daffodils portend
           And then it is only imagining—but everyone has to grow up, even
        Through their bad choices and the nasty side effects of reality, which is
        True love that is really simply true nonsense. But even though you have
    Failed yourself, others forgive; only from you to you is it hard to make amends.

        Because you can feel the sadness, you know you are human, and alive,
      And not completely broken. You know you are just and will now stay true
        You know this feeling is part of what makes you the amazing beautiful
     Strong person you are, and even though it hurts, in a way it‘s almost worth it.
      Not because it has anything to do with him, but because it is a sign of what
         Wonderful secret inside it is that makes for the complete, perfect you.

         No one, especially no woman, likes to admit that love is dead, or that
     With that feeling comes a shame and a wound, deep, a regret, anger, and pain
     But you know you will only move on when you learn to trust enough again to
      Forgive yourself, to wake up one morning having both forgotten, and, in the
   Process, forgiven. You know it can‘t be all bad when you look up at the heavens
And realize it‘s for you the angels shed tears of happiness, baptizing you anew with rain.

                  what i really meant to say about the pain      12-14-06

                             if being the better person means
                           bearing the pain so often the burden
                             of the better people, then bear it
                            with pride and head held high. your
                        strength comes from your weakness, your
                         love from that one part of innocence no
                        one can ever take away, not even you, and
        this pain is the beginning of the best thing
        (so far) ever to happen to you. if being the
        better person means being as honestly hurt
         as you were honest, then wear your pain
          with the pride and dignity you deserve,
     and as you experience the truth about integrity
    and love, it will fade, and a roaring contentment
        will take its place. you are sore and battle
           weary now, and it is not right that the
         villain escapes, but some things are more
      important. you are one of them. and this your
       aching heart, your pain, is testament to that.
      bear your pain with pride, because without it
                 there is little to distinguish
                   you from the darkness.

             last year, this year   12-15-06

             It's amazing how things change
                   from year to another.
        Last year this time she and I sat in class
          giggling over my "cute college guy."
             This year, the class has changed
      but although our subject matter is the same
         the comments now are far from kind.
             With the best of reasons, sadly.
        So the changes continue, inside and out
              the season stays the same but
       the window view changes, and everyone
       must be broken at some point or another.
             So last year may have been fun
     and easy and "oh so perfect", but it was false.
    You can value the difficulties of this year more
because it is honest and real and the future's foundation.
      You are sick now from gorging on the light,
    sickeningly sweet nothings of fantasy and lies
      But the solid meals of hearty, healing truth
        will purge you clean, and real dressings
           instead of imaginary comforts will
         bind your wounds and wrap your soul
           in the forever comfort of real love.
     And what it means and how good it feels
    to abandon the disgustingly well disguised
allures of the hell of false love and untrue lovers.
            Of all the changes that occur,
 this new beginning in your heart, your rebirth,
 is the most wonderful and perfect and happiest
 of all. It isn't only what you see that's changed
   but really, more importantly, how you see it.

         a different feeling     12-15-06

              It's a different feeling
             when you're alone again

            Alone in your own body
           in your own life... Not that

              you don't have friends,
         but your "other half‖ (so called)

              is nothing more than a
          half-heard song on a quickly-

              changed radio station.
              It's a different feeling,

            like doorways closed and
          a reconceived notion of self.

           And it's not necessarily bad
          But like any new conception,

          it takes some getting used to,
         a little practice, some patience,

        and a willingness to let the tears
              come as they may.

     As thunderstorms crack wide the earth
      and heal the crackling parched soil
    so this new phase, this christening
          of dry and blowing dust

    into deep rich sweet smelling soil
 from which new green shoots will grow

   and which will be your great reward
    and relaxing, content new home--

 complete with furnishings of happiness
and a new feeling, of welcoming warmth.

           Strong     12-15-06

       Being strong doesn't mean
                 you never cry
          but that you survive
                   the crying
         and after it's all over
                carry on.

       You think me weak because
              I cry, but I cam strong
                  because I face my pain.
    The ability to be hurt is the ability
                   to be human.
    You think me frightened because
             I admit, I am not always
                      devoid of fear.
  But I have the courage to see my fears
head on, and that sight is what makes me tremble.
                  Do you?

                 I didn't think so.
                                Streetlamp    12-15-06

                     There‘s something lonely about a streetlamp
                           All alone by a house, on a corner
                     But kind of brave and sad and wonderful, too
                         All alone, small light in big darkness
                        Calmly brightening the world for you.

                            Sometimes it‘s nice 12-15-06

                     Sometimes it's nice to write in old notebooks
                       and avoid the cold impersonal computer
                      Sometimes it's nice to smell paper and ink
                    and use the past to be nostalgic about the future

                        Sometimes it's nice to find your center
                      through what I mean by that is hard to say
                    Search the old and true, and tired, clichés, but
                sometimes it's nice to be you, with nothing in your way.

                           FEARLESS (acrostic)      12-15-06

F   or
E   ver
A   lways
R   ight here
L   ooking
E   ternity
S   quare on,
S   miling
                            NO FEAR (acrostic) 12-15-06

N othing, except
O nly one thing,

F   ear, can
E   ver stop you
A   nd I have arrived
R   id of fear

                                Rational      12-17-06

                                   for all my rationalizing
                            i still don't know what happened.
                       because even though every single thought
                           has been examined and labeled and
                                 carefully taken care of, the
                                 irrationalities like hurt and
                                 doubt refuses to be tamed.
                           the wild pets of a distracted master,
                            untamed primal forces, run loose
                            in the furnished, but empty, heart
                          the house of a master too long gone.
                               humanity has been neglectful
                            my elixir solutions fail me tonight
                   and the absence of (however fake) substantial food
                               without cause or provocation
                          has left me empty wilted bewildered.
                          perhaps it is better to be evil after all
                                           they at least
                                         those like him
                       do not suffer this clenching painful torture.
                                     at least not over me.
                         and, after all, hardly unexpected had i
                                    stopped and thought,
                              i am right back where i started.
                                   for all my rationalizing,
                                     i still know nothing.
        right     12-17-06 (began and forgotten earlier in 06)

                         they raped my soul
                           i was left to die
                       and none knew or cared
                           that i was right.

      Listen (old, old one. Not dated. Probably middle school.)

                        Hear the trees creak
                        Hear the wind speak
                          Tune in your ear
                            Wait to hear
                      The secrets the grass tells
                       The stories of the wells
                       Adventured of the sun
                       Importance of the one
                            Word: listen
                           Begin to listen.
                          Shut your mouth
                        your eyes turn south
                        and down, your nose
                        not to smell the rose
                             Just begin
                              To listen

Not Less than Holy (old, old one. Not dated. Probably middle school.)

                         The cross was bare
                         His mind was fair
                            Never to sin
                          Not having been
                           Less than holy
                       He turned the water
                            Into wine
                        But no one saw
                         This as a sign

                       The truth was clear
                        But not held dear
                         No one thought
                     Of the peace he brought

                        All they could see
                           Was enmity
                    But to fulfill the prophecy
                 He surely was not less than Holy

  The Truth    (old, old one. Not dated. Probably middle school.)

                           So many words
                            So little space
                  So much that I could just erase
                        But I'll leave it here
                          And hold it dear
                         For someone new
                         Might see it as true
                          It might help out
                         Someone to shout
                       And someone to grow
                           Until they know
                        Until they can name
                      Without claiming fame
               The truth I know will make them gasp
               But cannot name, nor yet quite grasp

Slow to Know     (old, old one. Not dated. Probably middle school.)

                 The empty place inside me grows
                   as i watch the melting snows
           and drizzling rains
            and feel the pain
as smells of springtime reach my nose
the pains of grasping truth, my friend,
        that can never, ever end
  until God our souls to heaven send

        demons       12-18-06

            the shame came
        in all its usual coldness.
          and the words came
    the same way they did before.
   all the usual dark demons came
   to stand about, tormenting me.
           but what hurt most
       was looking into the heart
              of the shadow
      and seeing what i had once
              loved so dear
      suddenly turned menacing,
                 and cruel.

   everyone has their own demons
               to fight.
    perhaps it is just my bad luck
             my demons
     are the deformed offspring
           of former loves.

   nothing turns out like it began
           or was meant to
              in the end.
              not circles
      are the shapes of eternity.
   but whether you are sliding up
               or down
     its cold and elegant curves
       depend either upon
       your point of view
  if you believe in such things
       some kind of fate.

   all the old and usual boring
    poetic images are present
            in my mind.
    there is only this emotion
             within me
     struggling to break free
         that convinces me
         on my better days
     these demons, however
  commonplace, are somehow

     once again my words
have overflowed time and space.
everyone has their own demons
             to fight.
     but this biting sorrow
   and this wretched cringing
      are new experiences
              for me.
 i wish my demons would die.
  i would so much rather help
       fight other demons
       than face my own.

    the dark and cold alleys
    of my mind and memory
       are not safe places
        to travel at night
       when even the heart
   has eyes that spy and jeer.
         traitorous fool.

 these demons are no different
        from any other
    yet they hurt me more.
         why must we persist in believing
           in fairness or what is deserved
       when the demons clearly grow strong
         feasting on the satisfying crunch
             and sweet melting taste of
           our gutted dreams, hanging in
       tatters from their gruesome mouths?

                   i never understood
                   certain difficulties
                   quite fully before.
              it makes me sad that i have
                       "grown up"
                         this way.
           you see? all demons are the same.
                they all stare back at you
                     from your heart
                 with those unforgiving
                      familiar eyes.

                       and then
             weighed down for too long
                 by the doubt and the
                   injustice of it all,
            your soul would give anything
               to break down and cry.

Bus Ride     9-28-06 (creative writing formula poem)

                  Formula Poem #1

                      hot bus
               smelling of people
          cramped, crowded, green shirts
               all together in seats
                    old lion bus
      storm clouds gathering, restrained, for
                          far too long
               tension palpable, impending rain
                     release of dark anger
                   thumping hearts, glaring
                            bad day

 Mountain Hike     9-28-06    (creative writing formula poem)

                   hard rock beneath fingers
              like a tower of tangible challenge
                      sweet apples, lunch
                        wind swaying us
                    openly echoing our joy
                   mountain beneath us now
                          fall coming
                        he there with me
                 shedding jacket, taking mine
                   Tom and Thumbelina, we
                tiny figures before God's glory

Mountains   9-28-06 (tentative) (creative writing places poems)

                      dark, silent, tall
                holding, supporting, the sky
             around valleys, above still waters
        between Heaven and Hell, sentinels of Time
                      mountain range

  Cave 9-28-06 (tentative) (creative writing places poems)

                      silent, damp, warm
                 reaching into Earth's bowels
                      under sky, beneath
                       holding the past,
                  future coming only slowly
                  Tree 9-28-06 (tentative) (creative writing places poems)

                                     green, rustling, peace
                                   bark living with creatures
                                          over, around
                                       growing upward
                                         reaching wide
                                          tree in forest

                     Rachel Limerick (date uncertain) (creative writing)

                              There once was a girl with short hair
                                    Who had a certain flair
                                   She liked to eat chocolate
                                    Epitome of refinement
                                   And liked to go to the fair

                                      What Is    12-21-06

what is a soul
but the most perfect expression
of oneself in a smile?

what is the rain
but your sorrow cried
a warm baptism of tears?

what is a poem
but a facet in the prism
that is life, love, rain, soul?

                              One Moment (Or Two)        12-21-06

(i spent a moment frozen)

i would sing a song of beauty
but my song is harsh, not pretty
i would paint my world for you
but with no talent i cannot paint it true.

(let me try (try words))

i would write the thoughts like blades of grass
but illusions dripping, i lose them much too fast
i am surviving, that is not false
but lack of words brings me to a halt.

(this isn't how it started out)

i would be doing so much better
but i received a shock, an empty letter
a reminder that even the end wasn't perfect
and still your taint is a nagging defect.

(scrambled thoughts of rhyme and (complicated/false)love)

the old injustices come to mind
but i have realized, have come to find
that orange juice helps, and music blasts,
and good friends, too—make sure the past stays past.

(honesty and too much metaphoric symbolism make me thirsty)

                           It‘s so funny how sometimes   12-23-06

it's so funny how sometimes friendship changes
and how sometimes you have to force the words
but often both are for the better
though the reasons lie at the ends of earth

it's so funny how sometimes things go right
but when you're sad from before it's hard to smile
and you can't decide if its REAL right or wrong
but you keep on going ahead, all the while

it's so funny how sometimes little meditations
are ends, and sometimes a means to an end
and sometimes it's funnier the way things go
between just you and me, friend to friend.
                           there is no poetry left in me     12-24-06

there is no poetry left in me
(the irony soaks my skin)
it's all fakery and imitation
(thin to fat and fat to thin)

he took it all, and yes, i'm still sad
how can i not be?
i've been had

(force the rhyme scheme!
make it work!
pretend a knowledge!
and that it doesn't hurt!)

i hate it that he doesn't care
i hate it that i do
i hate that he's still in my head-my heart?
and my writing too

there is no poetry left in me
loathing consumes my soul
what is fairness? there's nothing here
but contempt, regret, heat, and cold.





                                         Mostly   12-26-06

Mostly I just try to keep breathing
But some days those breaths are just so cold
It's hard to see that horizon
Through the dark mists covering the end of the world

                                 Mostly (2.0) 12-27-06

                          Mostly I just try to keep breathing
                        Some days are happy and others are sad
                    And sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't
                         But that's the way of this life we have

                    we shall sail troubled waters tonight   12-29-06

the stars glitter strangely
in a manner unfamiliar to me.
i think they are hiding something.

they are sending cloud shadows down
with their coolly staring eyes
like insect gazes.

directing them straight at me
where i sleep unawares
in the fragile confines of my room.

i do not know the demon dance
but its power distorts my dreams.
i am unaware of how it kills me.

i woke up in the morning unsettled
like a calm descended when i expected storms.
the terror strangled me.

i listened intently to a faint non-noise
but it was like feeling color.
the demons laughed and tortured me from afar like
mists of ill winds blinding eyes in bright sun.
sometimes the past has problems letting go
like that.
if i could have kept sleeping, i would have.

                              i‘m still standing here   12-29-06

i'm still standing here a little confused
it's taken some time for this to sink in
the depth of your betrayal
penetrated far deeper than i imagined.

honestly, what good does it do us to love?
it leaves us gibbering wrecks at the end
annoying ourselves for our endless repetition
when help gives up, stops coming even from friends.

it just all caught up to me of a sudden
the minute i let down my guard
everything seems to lead back to this one failure
it shouldn't have to be this hard.

there are some feelings that do not fade
and they are not the ones originally thought.
the curse is minds that spin like tops and never stop
even after the fight is lost.

words are useless, after a certain point.
they are empty echoes of feeble gestures, pointless.
lip service to a past than can never be regained
and the tears of fury falling from skies that are hopeless.

and i will hate this place
until i wake up from hate one day
and behind, in the nightmares, leave your face.

words are useless because they are not accurate
the bureaucracy of language makes me sick
you who think you know me through these words
you are wrong, or more wrong - take your pick.
     the bureaucracy of language 12-30-06

  words are useless because they are not accurate
   the bureaucracy of language makes me sick.
    you can be misunderstood or misconstrued
      but there is no truth, so take your pick

        words are useless, after a certain point.
they are empty echoes of feeble gestures, pointless.
   lip service to a past than can never be regained
  tears of fury falling from skies that are hopeless.

words are useless because they conspire to obscure
         and obfuscate the simple truths.
    bound by linguistics meter sound rhyme
        they wither both intent and youth.

    words are useless because they are echoes
         not life itself but life's imitation.
  and like confused children in a hall of mirrors
 they stare uncomprehending at the implications.

   words are useless because they are never right
the bureaucracy of language is strangling the world
    little bombs of poison, unknowable damage
  threats of destruction, from man's mind hurled.

          if i were a butterfly   12-5-06

                if i were a butterfly
               and if you were a bee
                    oh how happy
            oh how happy we would be

               if i were a butterfly
            and if you were the wind
        i would ride your graceful currents
            friend to friend

          if i were a butterfly
         and if you were a you
      would i rest upon your finger
      and hear you whisper truths?

          if i were a butterfly
        and if you caught me up
    in your nets of jewelled wisdom
    would you speak to me of love?

          if i were a butterfly
   would you keep me in your cage?
    safe and warm against the cold
   and the world's embittering rage?

             if i were a butterfly
          would you set me free?
    let me go because there's nothing
        left of me you want to see?

          if i were a butterfly
     would you think of me at all?
     or would i be forgotten (more)
         because i am so small?

          if i were a butterfly
        a butterfly with wings
the wings would rip and tear and there'd
         be nothing left of me

     for wings are all the spirit has
         and all there is of me

  An Instant‘s Drowsiness 1-4 or 5-06

An instant‘s drowsiness overtook my soul
    When I stepped into the room—
     I slipped into the haze of dark
           Oblivious to doom
        My eyes awoke a little later
          To darkness all around—
 And with stifled breath and strangled scream
   ‗Gainst coffin lid my hands did pound

Jack and Jill (parody nursery rhyme) 1-9-07

        Jack and Jill went up the hill
           to argue with Mr. Bush
   But he said, Fools! God said I‘m right!
        So they gave the coot a push

         Humpty Dumpty       1-9-07

       Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
       watching empires rise and fall
             All the emperors
            had listened to him
And now Humpty was happily in charge again.
       Sensus Communis 1-12-07

           It was a dark rye night
            a pumpernickel night
            a night of venal glory
              and granular grace

    The diablo moon growled with clouds
     down upon the shadowed bailiwick
          Divinity safely castigated
       the luscious malcontent plotted

Far from chimerical doubts pared themselves
           in imagination's recesses
  but a sluggish smirk still grew and grew
       on the face of that stormy petrel
      the vapid sky grumbled in paroxysms
       over hinterlands inflated with sludge
          and the interregnum vanished
as an imaginary victory, like dispersed flatulence

          Rampant vacillation of purpose
              obscured perspicuity
            and coxcombs run amok
in the shadow of contradictions and anti-rebellion

      Sensus communis, the Romans said
           Did the Romans tell a lie?
      Or did they too set the stage this way
            and die without a fight?

               In the dark rye night
             the pumpernickel night
             the night of venal glory
                and granular grace

       A moment‘s hesitation 1-16/17-07

          I felt a moment's hesitation,
       when first you spoke those words,
        but I was young in pain and risk
           and could not foresee hurt

       but now the all consuming apathy
            is more than I can know;
      and the only thought to mind is how
             the time is passing slow

      chasms are deeper than crossing can;
             the past a barrier still;
      and sometimes grief‘s a stronger foe
            than even time and will
                           even so, the differences between
                             the life I led before, and now
                           are all that chain me to this place
                               amid these broken vows.

                       What does happiness feel like?     1-21-07

         "What does happiness feel like?" he asked,
solemn like.
         "Velvet," she answered, without a moment's
hesitation, and felt pleased with the answer.
There was a pause, like the hesitation
between a wave cresting and landing
on the sand and rocks.
         "That's it?"
And so she thought deeper.
         "Happiness feels like cuddling
and friendship, and it
tastes like macaroni and cheese.
Happiness is bright eyes and red cheeks
good memories and broad futures
and an innocence so sweet
guilt has not even been conceived.
Happiness is like hot air balloons
in which the soul is caught up,
tangled in the basket, sprawled and gasping, out of breath,
with laughter and smiles
born to lofty heights among white clouds
where the air is thin, but sweet,
and you are nearest to God in generous, glorious,
arm-spreading, smile-making, head-thrown-back-eyes-closed

                                This is the Last   1-22-07

When I walk through that door
it's the last.
Last speech, last topic, last case
last win or loss
last time in this place.
When I walk thorough that door,
it's all over
four years of blood sweat tears and ink
My one event, my only success.
But this is it
after all that
This is the last.

When I walk through that door,
yeah, the tears are gonna come.
And it's not silly
because I'm losing a(nother) part of me
And there's never going to be
another chance.

Last drop of adrenaline
last fine words
last time standing here as me
as I know me
last time last fact last, last, last
I wish I could start all over again
Because this is it
after all that
(and oh, the looking back)
this is the last.

I'd give a lot
if it were my first, but--
this is the last.

                                That Nutmeg Smell   1-22-07

If that‘s the right word
Permeates my memory, with long mislaid
Visuals of coats and shoes and jeans
And I always smelled like that, always
My hands did,
Coming away from whatever holiday and
Whichever house; those cousins of mine.
What characters.

I look around now, with everyone all grown up,
And everyone married,
And all these strange new people,
And loneliness comes over me.
Things are not what they once were
(As if I am!) but I
Was too much of a child to know what I would miss
When I missed it.
How lucky I was.

I raise my palm to my nose
And inhale
And that smell sends me spinning inside.

I am three, in a tree, playing cats,
With that married woman over there—can it be her?—

I am nine, being power bounced in stockinged feet
Through chilly air off the trampoline and
Landing hard, and refusing to lose face in front of
The boys because after all I am a Tomboy, One of the Boys, and
Darn Proud.

I am ten, standing in that now-gone tree‘s topmost branches,
Looking down on those two barely-younger boys and
Daring myself to climb higher, meeting their taunts with
Sly retorts and playing Tree Indian in between
Sister-like conferences with that strange grown up woman over there
On that trampoline and
Out back, with the three rotten boards
And a rusted nail that was
Almost our tree house.

I am thirteen—fourteen—fifteen? And
Closets are secret passageways in our castle in our country
And that waterfall is so pretty My, how it complements the grounds
Oh the intrigue! The danger! The glory!
And golf claps and giant jars of lemon drops.

I am now
With sadness

No more Midnight Ghost
No more childish pranks
No more conspiring to spend the night
No more Tricks on playground equipment
No more promises of forever love and friendship
Now there‘s husbands and wives and babies and in-laws
And a strange feeling that was never there before
A feeling I don‘t like.

I look around this roomful of strangers, and my
Throat constricts.

But I raise my hands to my face and breathe deep
I close my eyes and I am back there

Trees and swings and midnight games
Friendship books gel pens all night talks
Endless holidays and casual playing
Teasing and proving and long-road walks

Fiddle music, guitars and banjos
Songs I know that run through my blood
Lightheaded joy and exciting tumbles
Make believe and dirty with mud

Waterfalls and lazy lakes
Sunburned shoulders and watchful eyes
Getting away with anything
And late night pretend-sleeping during back-home rides

A voice, a name—the moment breaks
Recollections cease
Though I would give most anything to change it—

The past is done, locked in its case
Put away, put back, on the shelf there; where
All childhood memories go
When we must unburden them to take up again instead
Our newfound worries and cares.

(But still
       In the air
               On my hands
                     At times
                            I will smile
                                    And think
                                           Of that nutmeg smell…)

                 Once Upon a Time (Fairy Tale Gone Wrong)       1-22-07

In a day I was a goddess
In an hour, the pale moon
For a moment I was perfect—
And it ended much too soon

Oh in the day I was a goddess
I proudly strolled around
Admiring the every inch
Of Earth that was my home, my grounds

And in he hour the moon was me
I shone with a thousand pearls‘ luster
To turn away my gaze and heart
Required more than any could muster

But in that moment I was perfect
I clearly saw my doom
Yet lulled by the comforts of the hen
I closed my eyes as it loomed

In a day I was a goddess
In an hour, the pale moon
For a moment I was perfect—
And in that moment came my ruin

                             In My Dream That Night   1-24-07

We stood in the soft light
the barn light
the bright light
We stood in the gold light
in my dream that night

The fire burned around us
Andrei's laugh bounced around us
Natasha's tears fell around us
the little princess smiled around us
and stillness waves crashed about us

We ran through the doorway
he pulled me through the doorway
lava came after through the doorway
We strolled through the doorway
and had much to say

We were calm in the chaos
talking in the chaos
he still had my hand in the chaos
hearts beat normally through the chaos
near us there was a different chaos

We stood in the soft light
the barn light
the bright light
We stood in the gold light
in my dream that night
                             in the evening the sun set   1-30-07

                              The envelope lay on the counter
                                   Dirty smudged and torn
                                        The used couch
                              clean scrubbed but worn and sad
                              sat off to the side in the shadows
                                 A wispy wind blew through
                                        the living room
                                The lamp stayed off this time
                                    The emptiness hushed
                                           light faded
                                        Darkness came
                                    and the cold settled in.
                                             To stay.
                               Shooting the Star     1-30-07

                              It fell from the sky like shame
                                     runs from the truth
                                    A streak of fire in an
                               otherwise blameless evening
                                   It crashed and burned
                                      in the large ocean
                                       in my backyard
                                Next to my tiny lonely craft

                    driving, storm, music, friend    11-29-06 (edited)

                           head on your lap, fingers in my hair
                                eyes closed, time is mine

                            smiling, peace, first time all week
                          lightning flashes through thin eyelids

                                  i don't want this to end
                             but it will be sweeter for brevity
                                    and there is always
                                          of course

                         the wide world does not separate us yet
                                 i want to hold on to this
                                  i do not want to forget
                              driving, storm, music, friend

                                  Moira Speaks 2-3-07

(Note: I love the title and the idea of the opening lines, but I know this particular writing
          isn‘t so great. Expand, change, and use (maybe?) for LAD anthology.)
My name is Moira Speaks
and my last name is a verb
or so i like to say.
I'm here to tell you a story
about this life I led
one day.

It's a pretty funny tale
about a king and a prince
and a few queens and
princesses, too.
But the really funny part
is that it's actually
all about you.

And me, in a way.
Okay, mostly me.
But some things are universal.
They're things we
all see.

You see once upon a time
in a kingdom on a cloud
there was a land of fairy tales
where good stories went to die.

But kind of like the phoenix
of the printed written word
it's where they renewed, and they,
or perhaps their descendents,
began the descent
back to earth.

In one of these stories
was the tale I've told you of
and my story and your story
were both the same
yet different but converged.

My name is Moira Speaks
and a wrote a tale of wonder
a tale of sadness and of glory
and peace and happy endings.
I told it every day
until one time it came
For me to pass the burdens
on to someone new.

My name is Moira Speaks
and this is my story
the story I began but that
someone else will have to finish.
It's a story we all know how goes
but full of surprises even so.
And I watched it and I've told it
and given it my name.
I lived it and I read it
and now you will do
and have done
the same.

                             Singles‘ Awareness Day      2-7-07

                        The chocolate in the store was enticing
                  wrapped in its pretty pink bows, and probably sweet.
                      But I felt bitter, and only pink with shame.

                     The flowers on the side of the highway seemed
                to share my sorrow, drooping, as though with heavy rain
                 despite the bright pinks and golds of the morning light.

                    But the gnomes on those neatly manicured lawns
                              of the happy couples‘ homes
                         seemed to glare and jeer as I drove by.
                           Laughing at my misfortune in their
            stone and clay way, with sightless eyes. Sightless as I was, once.

                             A lost kite flew by overhead as I
                  rested my head on my arm on the open window edge,
                  paused at a red light - pink, just for today, just for me.
                 I heard the kite‘s child scream; wild primal wail of loss
                 and rejection of anguish, and, internally, I sympathized.

                        That ridiculous inflatable octopus on the
                               front entrance of the car wash
                 seemed especially sickeningly ridiculous this morning,
            decked out, as it was, in bright pink sickeningly ridiculous hearts.
             I am the Valentine's Zombie, I muse, as I
   pull into work, parking in my space. I am picketing with my
       Down With Singles Awareness Day sign, I imagine,
parading around with my broken heart on my sleeve, for all to see.

           Next Year, I promise myself. Next Year.
  Next Year I will teach those ooh and aahing lovers over there
                       a thing or two about
   pink and hearts, and how the former oozes from the latter
                  when sweet intoxicating love
                turns sour, and makes you sick.

               But for today, it's time to hide, in my
         dark cubicle, and turn up the music, to block out
  the pink and beating, still-living hearts. Next Year. Next Year.
                      I'll do better next year.

                Moira Speaks 2-7-07 (version 2)

                    My name is Moira Speaks
                    and my last name is a verb
                         or so i like to say.
                    I'm here to tell you a story
                        about this life I led
                              one day.

                       It's kinda disjointed. I
                  was never any good at keeping
                      journals, you see. But I
                     just wanted to live up to
                              my name.

                       I wanted to speak out
                              for once
                   instead of just thinking about
                         speaking out, and I
                      wanted to tell my story.

                         Well. Here it is.
                   And you know it all already.
                     It's nothing new, and I
                      suppose neither am I.
                                  But I'm me. So I care
                                  anyways. And maybe
                                         just maybe
                              if I do a really fantastic job
                                 I'll get you to care, too.

                                   About my loves
                                  and my heartbreak
                                    and my friends
                                  and the stuff I saw
                                        and felt
                                     and imagined
                                     and dreamed.

                              My name is Moira Speaks
                                and it's a big job, being
                                a Speaker. Because I'm
                            not supposed to speak a lie. But
                                   the truth is hard.

                         But you already knew that, didn't you.
                              See? You're already smarter
                                   than I was, when
                                      I started off.

                              My name is Moira Speaks.
                                 And that is exactly
                               what I'm going to do.

                                Genocide         1-23-07

                                   Part 1 - Innocence

Those eyes watched
That heart broke
Those tears flowed
That voice spoke

But everyone was happy just a moment now ago
And the fields were green last summer, and in the winter there was snow
How can the fields be red with blood, and men be grimly dead
When still the thoughts of peaceful days live on inside my head?

Those stars fell
That soul wept
Those eyes closed
That Fate slept

But the days go on as ever and surely there is hope
For those who march beneath the sun across the land‘s great scope
As those who die must reach a peace beyond what we had before
If only we could envy them and not go on to mourn them more.

Those days passed
That girl grew
Those truths lived
That she knew

But the bewilderment of innocence blurs even thoughts of self
And the calm of childhood trust is a fragile charm upon a shelf
Yet another toy of which we never know the value
Because as yet we can‘t imagine life without its wondrous power.

                                     Part 2 - Experience

The guns rang
The people died
The dust choked
The tears cried

And every happy ending is an ending just the same
And the next blank page won‘t always stay that way
And the human heart is faulty like the earth that it comes from
And the sorrow now is stronger as the storm is now above

The blood ran
The wind cried
The hearts broke
The hope died

And every trembling flower will be frozen just the same
And every tiny petal broken when the winter comes again
And the human soul is broken like the mirrors it holds up
And if any certainty exists it‘s that there‘s naught to trust in luck

The souls wept
The lives lost
The flight failed
The price cost

And everything they tell you, you begin to see is wrong
And the light all in the heavens is a bitter empty song
And as the life begins to leave you, you wish you could understand
And death is near and imminent, the bones within the land.

                               Tell Us the Story    5-6-06

                              Mirror, mirror, on the wall
                          You show the hearts and souls of all
                              Mirror, mirror, of the mind
                            Tell us the story of humankind

                                     Wings to Fly

                             It was dark, and it was cold
                                  and he was all alone
                              in the deep dark night, and
                           the rain just kept pouring down
                                 So he looked at a star
                                  staring up at the sky
                              but he had a real hard time
                      because both of his feet were on the ground
                                   And he wondered,
                         Where do you find the wings to fly?
                          The courage to face an empty sky?
                        What beat do I walk to when the guns
                                 drown out the drums?
                          Who do I turn to, when I‘m out of
                                   options and time?
                          Where can I find the wings to fly?
                         The wind was cruel and coming fast
                             everybody just walked past
                            and he recognized nobody and
                       nobody seemed to know just who he was
        so he looked up at the sky
     but the clouds had come for real
and both of his feet were still on the ground
           Then he asked aloud
     Where do I find the wings to fly?
   The courage to face a cold grey sky?
   For what do I listen when the sounds
            fade into the night?
      Was there even an answer out
             there at any time?
    Where can I find the wings to fly?


          Fate pulls the strings
        Directing here and there
           Already written out
       He enacts the rehearsed play

         And yet, on closer look,
     The puppet master has strings too
        Like all things bound into
          This so-called reality

            If Justice is blind
        How much more so, Fate
     Treading pre-laid courses softly
     He‘s caught up in his own course

      Fate‘s own destiny, disguised
         Walks the paths of men
    Directing, shaping, and misleading
     Story‘s course; his, hers, theirs

       Intertwined, fates and lives
  One and the same, destiny and chance
       Free will and the inevitable
   Together, the same, yet opposites.

              SKY MIRROR
            I look up at the sky
          And see reflected back
       My face, my world, my life
          All I have and all I lack
   All this, while the rainbows dance
  spinning, flashing, twisting flames
         I count the stars, slowly,
             whispering names
        Every splashing raindrop
          is music, notes, a song
   thunder rumbles, lightning smiles
      …perhaps I knew it all along
    The mysteries of the smiling sun
         the deep call of the night
     impressed forever in my mind
     almost, not-quite, perfect flight
       Wings spreading out and up
     colors dazzle, the smells of life
      are vibrant, green, strong, real
   melding into, the richness of night
  In the stars a thousand worlds exist
  all out there big, so much, so far…
contained, compressed, inside of me—
   the dream, the fact, the possibility


   Black, white, green, yellow-gold
     I am the butterfly in the snow
You are the lightning and I am just me
I didn’t know, I was too blind to see…

   I used to think, that life was wide
  and the streets were made of gold;
  and I was convinced I had it made
thinking the sun would never grow old

          But then I, I went
       spinning off into space
      and learned a few things,
              about life and death
        and the power of a saving grace

         But all the time I was out there
        I felt something was out of place
      but I didn't know what, until one day
       I caught a glimpse of your face—
          But I'd gotten used to waiting,
                and I felt invisible.

       I used to think that truth was free
      and love was all that really mattered
            and they told me virtue
             was a thing of the past
        but I tried to keep holding fast.

                  But then I, I left
          as the gilded door swung open
and I learned a few things, and changed my mind,
          over and over about everything

       Then one day, I came back to earth
         and I just floated in the breeze
        just looking around, until I saw
         a shadow of what I'd missed—
         But I'd gotten used to waiting,
               and I felt invisible.

           So I stood aside that day
           and I watched you go by
         and for a moment there, I was
         almost sorry to be a butterfly
                because I saw--

            you were the lightning,
              the voice in the rain
       the shadow dancing beside me--
     you were the laughter of a roaring sea
               you had those eyes
            that were fathoms deep
       you were comfort, danger, love--
               and I passed it up.

         You see—I am just a butterfly
      free in the wind, and flying—and I
      heard the thunder and I felt the sun,
 and I wanted to soar with the lightning
         ...but I was too afraid.

    …Black, white, green, yellow-gold
  I was the butterfly too fragile to hold
  I needed time, and now it’s too late…
  Unless he might come back someday

          ―Rebellion‖ 2-5-07

      What the hell do you care?
        Gods so far above it all
Looking down from your pearled thrones.
         Like it matters to you.

           Did you ever suffer
            Did you ever fear
           Were you ever me

    Add another player to the board
       Another side to the dice
       And let me roll this time

         It‘s time man had a say
          In the destiny of Fate

        No blood ever pooled
         On your glass floor
  But now the shards of breaking glass
         Sound like gunshot

       And will ring in your ears
       With an echo of a dice roll

             Your time is up.
               Game on.
          Heart Scene 2-17-07

      I sighed, what dreary weather
   The sky is so grey and the raindrops
       fall as though God is crying;
    And how the grass is soggy! green
 stems turned to mush beneath big boots.
   But this poetic, practical observation
        met only with strange looks
    and my fellow tram riders edging
       farther away, stepping out at
         their stops with no notice
       for the thunder and lightning
         cracking over their heads.
        But perhaps more strangely
             they were not wet.
     And as this strange dichotomy
   came to my preoccupied, unwilling,
    morose attention, I saw suddenly
             with double vision
     The world outside the desolate
            kingdom of my heart
        But though I saw the birds
             and sensed the sun
      I could not yet hear their song
       or touch that radiant warmth

collaboration poem – first stanza – 2-17-07
      (on its own – Evening Echoes)

       Swings swung, back and forth
      rhythmic squeaking in the dusk
      where the echoes of children sit
 in the cold dips of plastic seats on chains
             hung from the sky

     The Watching Eyes         2-18-07

            I am a pair of eyes
           watching in the night
                                      I am invisible
                                 floating soft and white
                                   I am a pair of eyes
                                  watching you tonight
                             Because watching's all I am
                            for doing never turns out right
                                   I am a pair of eyes
                                   floating in the dark
                                I am the watching sight
                                I am the watching night

                 What Does Happiness Feel Like? Part Two      2-18-07

"What does happiness feel like?" he asked
solemn like
for a second time.
This was on a different day
a different time
a later conversation.
She was silent for a long time
and many shadows covered the stars
before she finally answered,
with an inaudible sigh,
"I'm sorry, but,
I don't remember,
The wind oppressed the
stalks of grass about them, the broad
trees were far away. And the night
was dark and wide and empty.

                               Eighteen Years   2-19-07
     For eighteen years I‘ve been alive
         and walking on this earth
    For eighteen years I‘ve told my tale
        and been me since my birth

   For eighteen years I‘ve laughed aloud
         and cried when I was sad
  For eighteen years I‘ve read and thought
       and learned the good from bad

  For eighteen years I‘ve stood my ground
      and fought back when I was hurt
    For eighteen years I‘ve lent a hand
     and tried to help the down and out

   For eighteen years I've seen the trials
          and tried to do my best
 For eighteen years I've done what i could
      and tried to pray about the rest

     For eighteen years I've slept in late
         and stayed up late at night
   For eighteen years I've loved the moon
        and rejoiced in gold sunlight

  For eighteen years I‘ve loved my friends
         and stayed close to family
For eighteen years I've known a broken heart
       and tried to forgive my enemies

       For eighteen years I've had joy
           and peace and solitude
  For eighteen years I've loved the feeling
           of standing in a crowd

     For eighteen years I've been alive
         and living as hard as I can
  and I swear I'll live a few decades more
   In this adventure, my grand last stand
            A Dream In My Eye 2-18-07

    I woke up this morning with a dream in my eye
         I thought of you and I wanted to cry

     The distance of time and the lulls of the sea
 Aren‘t strong enough yet to make a difference for me

  Perceptions are changeful and nothing‘s the same
Conclusions now different then when endings first came

      I felt that the light shone on me from above
       Until I remembered the heartache of love

   When all the life‘s over and the course truly run
   Will my soul wake in peace and justice be done?

     Good Night     (demons, part two)     2-20-07

         sleeping through the calling demons
               is a harrowing adventure
          but if demonic laughter wakes me
             at least i know i'm still alive

     and when the nightmares touch my sleeping
      and demons through the dark are creeping
            and my soul is fairly weeping
              with the injustice of it all

            then i know that i'm surviving
           because i'm told that life is pain
       and for every tear that falls
         and for every silent call
   there's a ledger somewhere adding
   an accountant somewhere counting
who will measure out the justice in the end

   sleeping through the calling demons
         is a harrowing adventure
    but if demonic laughter wakes me
       at least i know i'm still alive

 and when my tears have soaked my face
    and there is darkness in this place
     and i'm alone in darkened grace
      wondering how i can be saved

      then i know it's almost morning
 because i'm told its darkest before dawn
      and for every saddened thought
   and every hope that comes to naught
     there's another day that's dawning
       where the sun is fairly shining
  if only i can make it through the night

   sleeping through the calling demons
         is a harrowing adventure
    but if demonic laughter wakes me
       at least i know i'm still alive

        i go to sleep to wake again
        and die so i can live again

        good night, good night
            adventure waits
         the pain says i'm alive
        good night, good night
            the demons call
    good night, good bye, good night

      Shadows of the Past   2-20-07
      they find me on my own
           when i'm alone
          and surround me
           ring of bullies.

    i'm lonely in their company
    but they do not like to leave
 they seem to think i can't be happy
   without their gloomy presence.

           sitting all alone
      in the empty playground
          they seek me out
       on the merry go round.

      we sit in somber silence
and watch the shadowed clouds go by.
         everything is grey
            in their midst.

              and muted
          like a going deaf
      like a tv on nearly silent
           like bees in fear

   cartoonish, the world spins on
         but we are stopped
     silent still and stale inside
        watching each other

             like mirrors
            like windows
               like eyes
        seeing and unseeing.

           i told them once
        but they do not listen.
        and they do not leave
   because i cannot yet decipher
 what it is they are trying to tell me.
    Unplugged      2-20-07

        cords unwinding
 noise from gadgets stopping.
    strange echoey silence
           blinds open.
      a new kind of light
         filters through.
       pale but heavenly.
 pale faces with blinking eyes
   are suddenly wondering
  with newly innocent eyes.
         out of the shell
      and into the world.
         a reawakening.
            a freedom.
  the computer will stay off

        no.    2-21-07

 she sits in a cold sterile room
     with white all around
in one of those thin nightgowns
   and she stares at the wall.

       life passes her by.
the sunshine does not move her
       nor do the clouds.

how, we wonder. how can she
   let herself sit that way.

          i saw you
         your picture
           i read your words.

    the raw wire nerves are pinching
         and all buffering layers
       all sense of time and place
            are stripped away.

       the sound her soul makes
     becomes the look on my face.

       maybe if i sit still enough
     the shredding ripping anguish
               the scream
           will not break free.

               your crime
             my punishment
              the sentence?

           there is a moment
        where there are no words
   and even the scream runs out of air

               the moment

             i sit in sterility
        focused on not letting go
            the edges of me
  that must be so tightly held together
            or shred forever
                in finality.

as you have already cut through my heart.

             this is it, isn't it.
           it's all over for me.

           what is left to say?
                        Pure and Complete      2-22-07
―Pure and complete sorrow is as impossible as pure and complete joy‖ – Tolstoy

                             Some feelings remain
                             and they are obstinate
                       the ones refusing to be dealt with
                       as surely as we can't stop the sky
                                   from crying
                                    or the sun
                                  from shining.
                     do not remind me what i saw before
             the taught heartstrings, the butterfly wings, the glory
                                the urge to vomit
                                  are the same.
                         the words alone are different,
                    having changed, moved on, grown up.
                             perhaps one day i will
                             (have the courage to)
                                   (be able to)
                                  follow them.
                              before the falling ice
                       obscures the melting snow prints

                                Two     2-24-07

                              i feel like the cadaver
                            lying on the marble slab
                   staring with blank eyes up to the ceiling
                                  vaulted, white
                       almost wondering, in expression
                                 just kind of here
                          everything is on the inside
                           out, where there is seeing,
                                     i am silent
                     and they draw their own conclusions
                              or ignore me entirely
                       but visions of what was and what
                     once could have happened and what
                            perhaps would or will be
   dance a conga line inside my head
          with frozen expressions
         and eyes filled with fear.
             i am the cadaver
         lying on the marble slab
  but i almost feel as warm and lifelike
  as the ghost pale face at the window
            imagining it is me.

   When the Lights Go Out      2-27-07

where will you be, when the lights go out?
         and what will you see,
               in the dark?
                 and who
            will you reach for
         when the voices begin
               to whisper?

   what will you hear, in the echoing
              silent dark?
  when the lights go out and leave you
          frozen mid syllable
    prone and prey to the grasping
            gasping winds?

   who will answer your hesitant calls
           if you dare to call
        when the lights go out?

          how long will you last
               in the dark
              on your own

         when the lights go out?
  Fight Song         2-27-07

        I'm a fighter
          a survivor
  and I'm not going to quit
        I'm a fighter
          a survivor
   and I am going to win

      you can't beat me
   and you can't reach me
     you can't touch me--
because I will fight to the end
    and I will outlast you
   I have got what it takes

        I'm a fighter
          a survivor
  and I will not back down
        I'm a fighter
          a survivor
 and I will stand my ground

      you can't hurt me
    and you can't get me
      you can't ruin me
because I will fight to the end
 and I will triumph over this
         I am strong

        I'm a fighter
          a survivor
  and I will not back down
        I'm a fighter
          a survivor
 and I will stand my ground

 I'll live to fight another day
                 learn to win in different ways
                   your betrayal's not the end
                    I am my own best friend
                  my knight in shining armor

                            I will fight
                          I will survive
                       I've seen the light
               and I'm coming home to it tonight

                    I'm a fighter, a survivor
              I'm a woman--what did you expect?
                    I'm a fighter, a survivor,
                   and I will not back down--
                    I'm a fighter, a survivor,
                  and I will stand my ground.

Collaboration poem (1st and 3rd stanzas mine)     finished 2-28-07

                  Swings swung, back and forth
                 rhythmic squeaking in the dusk
                 where the echoes of children sit
            in the cold dips of plastic seats on chains
                        hung from the sky

                      The old wooden slide
              embedded in the surface of the earth
                   stands in irreparable disuse
            a round of dirt, kicked up from feet past
                 residing at the one slanted end

     Off to the side, in shade and night, the merry-go-round
            resting, lopsided, blurred about the edges
           like melted dreams, stars shine from above
                         do the echoes laugh
             or is the ground giving up its memories?

                     An image in the sand
                 the carvings of forgotten love
                     in the stump of a tree
                            the echoes fade
                       and all is silent once more

something? Collab? Finish on own? w/e. need know – What Comes Next?

                Under the cloud at the end of the sunset
                        behind the wild blue sky
               beyond the fantasia and endless expanses
               of rollicking rocking blue sea flowing by

              I discovered the end of the end of the stars
                  of the music and notes and the song
           where the words ran out and the universe stopped
             and everything there in its place—belonged

            Pink (edited ‗singles‘ awareness day‘)    3-7-07

                  The chocolate in the store was enticing
          wrapped in its pretty pink bows, and probably sweet.
     But I felt bitter, looking on, and only flushed pink with shame;
                  How rudely those pink shoppers stared!

             The flowers on the side of the highway seemed
        to share my sorrow at this public exposure of singleness,
                   drooping, as though with heavy rain,
         despite the bright pinks and golds of the morning light.

         But the gnomes on those neatly manicured lawns of the
      happy couples‘ homes seemed to glare and jeer as I drove by.
                   Laughing at my misfortune in their
    stone and clay way, with sightless eyes. Sightless as I was, once,
              when I thought I understood this day of pink.

       A lost kite flew by overhead as I rested my head on my arm
  on the open window edge, paused at a red light - pink, just for today,
   just for me. I heard the kite‘s child scream; wild primal wail of loss
and rejection of anguish, and, internally, I sympathized… but felt bored.
          What is it to them after all, I wonder, if I, alone of all,
                    stand alone, on this day or any other?
       So it is a day of pink. So what? See how they cling together!
  What are they so afraid of? And why must they make me afraid as well?

   I am the Valentine's Humbug, I muse, as I pull into my parking space.
I am picketing, I imagine, with my Down With Singles Awareness Day sign,
          parading around with my still-healing heart on my sleeve,
      for all to see—but, brighter, higher, fiercer, my mischievous grin.
       I am brave, and free, I think; I alone dare to stand on my own….

                 Next year, perhaps, next year, to teach those
            ooh and aahing lovers over there a thing or two about
       pink and hearts, and how the former oozes from the latter when
          sweet intoxicating love turns sour, and makes you sick…
              If, that is, I even care to remember at all by then.

I know I do not care to today. Today I am busy; busy being content, alone and
   at peace, content just to be single—I always did like breaking all the rules.
   I am not alone, I want to tell them. I am, alone, unafraid of and on today,
        and of the Pink that fills it. I never looked good in pink anyway.
                        But although it is not my color—
                 Neither, I remind them, and myself, am I blue.

                      Burning Bridges (edited) 3-7-07

                               Standing in the rain
                          smoking torch in one hand
                           Hair plastered down, and
                       wind whipping straight through
                                     my body
                        facing the oncoming darkness
                       thunder, muted, silent lightning
                              form the backdrop of
                                  the battlefield
                           silent, distant, too-orange
                        fire tongues eating up the sky
                            cracking, falling, caving
                  the fragile, fragile wood
                   into the dark and silent
                   rushing river waters…

        bridges are burning, in the heart of the night
              watching the devouring flames
              of my heart burn away the fluff
                       the framework
                      into nothingness
               the last ties to what once was

      and remembering, standing on that same bridge
                    in a different season
           when it looked so long, so promising
              so inviting, and remembering
                  trying to cross it again
                      uncertain at first
      whether my feet still hung above the firmament
           held up by deceptively steady beams
                 or trod on solid ground…

                     perhaps after all
                   this is nothing more
                 than the echo of a dream
               burning in the harsh daylight
                      of an intruding
                     external reality.

                    Afternoon     3-9-07

         clouds tumbled across the sky like children
falling over one another, pulling hair and beribboned clothes
                laughing with breathless giggles
                      like the falling wind
              the world brightened for a moment
   the sunny glory of their happiness shining through them
              like brilliant pearls of lustrous hue
                    and when they had passed
                 the world seemed a little darker
                      and a little let down,
      down below, amongst the cool and somber ground,
               far from even the echoes of their
                          carefree revels
a second collaboration poem –Nowhere Returning (first and last stanzas mine)

                   Under the cloud at the end of the sunset
                           behind the wild blue sky
                  beyond the fantasia and endless expanses
                  of rollicking rocking blue sea flowing by

          Masqueraders spring a promenade around Saturn‘s rings
        Seraphs and celestial beings sing the songs of forgotten kings
                        A place where worlds begin
                              But even further in

          Deep space raps its fingernails, inertia kicks back its tail
           Stars crash, titans clash in the nowhere returning gale
                              God works his will
                             But even further still

                 You can see the end of the end of the stars
                    of the music and notes and the song
              where the words ran out and the universe stopped
                and everything there in its place—belonged

                               Come      3-9-07

                           i'm tired of the sadness
                        dissatisfied with melancholy
                            it's true, and true blue,
                           is old and tired--faded.

                       there is something in my soul
                         which i do not understand
                           and which worries me
                     but maybe if i can find a new way
                                a new method
                        a new something that is not

                            all will be well again.

                            and a new happiness
                     a new truth
                     a new being
               will explode within me
          with all subtlety of a thunderclap

                  bold and expectant.

               what am i trying to say?

                  when i can say it
             what i am trying to describe
             have already come to pass.

                   Picture     3-9-07

                        picture this
          a tall tree standing still in the gale

                     picture me
        undignified but trying for perfection

                     picture you
                     arms loose
                    at your sides
watching blankly; waiting, undone... what, and which?

          is this a reflection or a window?

             picture me picturing, and—
Captivated (Tiddlywinks)    3-9-07

          by ages gone by
        watching and longing
      to be a part of that glory
     by a different sense of life
  dreaming yourself into that era
 wishing yourself into that feeling
            by what was
       by what should be now
     dancing, soul alone, to the
  silent echoes of grandeur faded
into past years and forgotten music

           Art   3-9-07

         anything i do great
           i do by accident
      stumbling across a gem
   i do not recognize for value
 until someone else points it out.
             i am no artist.
             as with music
       it is all--touch and go.
     she told me i was better
         than "reactionary".
                but am i?
        so much is uncertain
                    and all
                    to me
          seems so very transient
         not least the definitions of
            among other things

            Of Course       3-9-07

             the repetitive motion
      of the lens falling out of the frame
              a loss of perspective
 seemed to me the unacknowledged essence
                     of life.
               even i didn't care.
                 i put it back in
   noticing the screw was not merely loose
                   but missing
             and went on my way.
        what, after all, does it matter?

             do we seem bleak?
do we seem hopeless and helpless and stupid?
       (and by we i mean i, of course)
          then what is the reality?
           if everyone disagrees,
          which of course they do.
                 of course.

      it seems like nothing makes sense
  unless the (to me) so-tired phrase of idea
 of the opposites together all being the truth
                 is indeed true.

                (of course)(?)
               well what isn't?

            this is all part of that
              new unexplained
             sometimes worrisome
               event in my soul
            and feeling in my chest.
                   of course.

                 forget, go on?
                  i both cannot
                     and do.
              ahh, you opposites.
           how i've come to hate you.

of course, they're right. and wrong. and so forth.
                     and so on.

      because... we do not have the words.
                  or at any rate
                     i don't.

           no appropriate ending?
       how appropriately inappropriate.
           or something like that.

                   of course.

            Silly Monster       3-9-07

            a change is taking place
            a change i cannot define
              a worrisome change
               for better or worse?
                    a change.

         the old styles are falling away
       and leaving... what in their place?
             something, or nothing?
                    i wonder.

          something is either happening
     or a non-happening is (not) happening
         but which it is i hesitate to say
       my words so often belie what truly
                 comes to pass.
      so many double meanings
    but not in the sense of before.
 am i looking for something different
         or something new?

   i won that one round. just one.
           was it enough?
     bah. surely i must give up.
        there is no metaphor
       that engages me now.
  my contempt has been awakened

             silly monster
    it thinks it deserves to be fed.
      recurrences... recurrences.

              in the mind.

    i worried i was out of words.
   but apparently, for the moment,
          i am (once again)
            proved wrong.

      so many past identities.
    what is this? a treatise on self,
              or a poem?
       if a poem is universal
         as well as personal
      where is the line drawn?

          and how can we
        (and by we i mean i)
      survive the failure that is
      nothing short of success

         i know what i mean
           but what does it
             and what do i
              mean to you
            or anyone else?

i ask questions because they bother me
      like a tongue at a sore tooth
         because i am horrified
    at what is unearthing in myself.

                silly monster
 it thinks it deserves a stroll in the park

          i have fallen so often
         am i growing immune?

     the past is not what it once was
and the future is more confused than ever
     my perception is forever altered
      and i cannot get my bearings

  can i bear to see my words twisted?
                can i bear
         to call them my own?

               silly monster
  it appears to think it is a beloved pet.

            silly monsters.
  we, who think we are human beings.

          (and by we i mean i.)

          what are we after all?

        The Lazy Beast      3-9-07

               laziness, lazy
           resting in my chair
       and it's baring yellow teeth
        in a crooked smile there

      swallowing me, surrounding
       curious, probing, detached
        but involved nonetheless
           and being oh so lazy.

                 laziness, lazy
  my fingers twisting absently in my hair
and it's petting the prisoner with stiff hands
          in the crying, wailing lair

             Puzzled?    3-9-07

              i feel constantly
                  a sense of

            endless possibilities
            lined up there on the
               green tiled floor

            passed by, unheeded
             but distantly heard
       their calling hailings muffled
       by the trailing out-of-it senses

   rhyming, writing, reading, breathing
           what is there to it?
  a growing awareness has grown on me
                 but still

              i feel constantly

     the wavering hesitant presence of
           missed possibilities

   like they are locked away somewhere
                 inside of me
     a place to which even i do not have
            or have somehow lost
                    the key
              i wish i felt constantly
but instead i feel constantly only the would-be's

   of something that is either mine and still
           shrouded in mysterious
         or not mine that some force
        whether benign or malevolent
          would have me overtake

                i will either wilt
                     or burst

           but which will come first
                i do not know.

           It doesn‘t work     3-9-07

       certain words fit by association
              but not in essence
   and so nothing comes across as it should
        because the words have failed
                 in meaning
               and application.

About the Author (February 2007 sometime)

                    I'm me
                    I'm you
                    I'm old
 I'm new

 I'm here
 I'm there
 I'm gone
I'm where

 I'm me
 I'm you
 I'm lies
I'm truth

    I am
  I'm not
  I'm free
I'm caught

I'm here
I'm there
  I'm ev
ry where

  I'm out
I'm down
 I'm smi
 les now

 I'm me
 I'm you
I'm done
 It's true
                            Once Upon a Forever   3-10-07

wide, green, endless days
stretching out as endless possibilities,
fireball sunrises and melted, gooey colors
painting the world
clear blue skies with white wrinkly clouds
big puffy rumpled rugs on
God's glass floor
coming and going and drifting, together or
in one lone singality
the scent of heat, baking earth rises
from the ground, where bare
feet are planted solidly
as the roots of broad, deep breathing trees
about you.
melting with running trickles of honest
hard-earned perspiration
into lapping blue waves.
on a perfectly peaceful, happy wind
air currents lifting and twirling
invisible ballerinas, carrying you along
crunchy vegetables with staining juice
running down chins and between fingers
dirty elbows knees and toes
foals frolicking and kittens timidly exploring
yapping puppies too full of the world
to stop before running into you
or the barn wall
and the flowers!
everywhere, blue, yellow, gold, purple, orange
scenting the world
one blossoming petal at a time
carpeting, bending and swaying, watching
and smiling in indulgent understanding
oh, and the coming rains--
bursting with exploding thunderclaps
pelting down, rain droplet paratroopers
eager to hit and all in good fun
drenching the climber at the top of the
swaying, laughing tree
soaked and calm and rejoicing
dark shadows comforting, shh-ing,
tucking in the blankets around everyone
and turning out the lights, one by one,
as the great and golden shades fade,
into the gentle folds of dark purple night.
and one by one
the tiny nightlights wink into existence
watching over
a world at rest
smiling and kind and gentle
in their infinite wisdom
and compassion
serenaded from below
by a chorus of conspiratorial musicians
telling the night what they know
and reminding the sleepers
and the pretend-sleepers, watching with
wide young eyes the rising of the
great silver sphere of bright colored shadow-light,
what they will know

                                    Song   (long time ago.)

Somehow for all my thinking
I can't seem to decide
 Just what it truly is
That‘s running through my mind
Running from the demons
that only I can see
in the end will I be one of them?
But then who will be me?
Wisdom Teeth (New Acquaintances)        3-13-07

          today i sat down in a chair
       where they tilted my head back
       and i heard the metallic beeping
representing the pounding, irregular pounding,
                  of my heart.

         i woke up several hours later
   with a block where my mouth used to be
         dumb and numb to the roots.

           if only it were that easy
                     i muse
        stuffing gauze into my cheeks
     and hoping the bleeding has stopped

     if only it were that easy to remove
       the problem spots in your world
         and heal them with a trickle
           of bad tasting medicine
            a cold ice pack in cloth
    swatches of gauze, internal band aids

                   i pause.
                     i rest.
              i drink my water
              avoid solid foods
            and check my email.

          new beginnings, i muse
        watching those curious words
               on the screen.

         my ability to turn molehills
               into mountains
         seems to have diminished.
             i'm not all excited
                  for once.

               but in thinking
            about new beginnings
              perhaps if i don't
               wish too hard
        or try too much

    this will be good for me.
         a new adventure
            fresh faces
   brand new minds to meet.

forget the twin pains in my jaw.
 what could be more important
 than this smile-inducing music
       playing in my ears
    and these curious words
          on the screen?

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