Fuck you for ruining me,

for giving me a completely unrealistic

expectation of what relationships should be.

Fuck you for seeing stars in my eyes,

and the moon in Venus.

Fuck you for making me your opium,

coming daily, like a true addict,

spending hours getting your fix,

feeding off and draining me completely

Fuck you for being a coward,

for lacking the ability to let go of fear

Fuck you for taking my soul

with your mouth, your words,

your kiss, your taste-

fresca and marlboro reds

Fuck you for not keeping this love sacred,

forsaking all else,for not accepting our gift

with tears of gratitude and mercy

Fuck you for not letting go-

for holding every word, card, letter

captive

under wide plank floorboards

in the farmhouse we dreamed eternity in

Fuck you for being crystal clear in my vision-

past and present

so much so that every new relationship,

every change,

brings me full circle once more.

Fuck you for not asking permission

to hold my heart-

in your eyes, your hands,

your voice, your mouth.

Fuck you for rising to the challenge-

for loving me with equal

intensity and passion

Yes, fuck you.

But most of all,

fuck you for loving me enough

to walk

away.

A quote

"As long as a word remains unspoken, you are its master; once you utter it, you are its slave" Ibn Gabirol (Solomon Ben Judah) (c.1021-c.1058), Spain.

The Opening

In this sacred space
your voice,
calm and wise
transported by a breeze,
infiltrates my thoughts.

I feel your soul
align with mine
and answers
are revealed

~Everyone is afraid~

there is fear enough in this world,
but, to love in the face of fear,
despite the obstacles,
come what may,
is the greatest gift our hearts will know

To open hands,
allowing love to land,
rest,
knowing the slightest breeze
could carry it away,
is strength unmatched

to love in the
middle of a
storm of vulnerability
is true beauty

in this spirit,
giving freely,
without expectations
I open to you....

I open because:
"I want to unfold
nowhere do I want to remain folded,
because where I am bent and folded,
there I am a lie
and I want my meaning true for you"

There are no happy endings
in sight
pain is
a certainty...
but possibility
outweighs fear and risk

I don't want to give up a chance
so precious and rare
to intimately know you...

heart, mind, body
long to become
inextricably
tangled up in you...

knowing in the midst
of chaos
beauty is born.

I want this season of emptiness
to come to an end.

I want to write the stanzas
of your luminous soul
and illustrate your
meaning.

I want to be
the mirror
which reflects
the majestic wonder
that is you.

You, with the sparks in your eyes-
daring me to gaze
my facade crumbling...
daring me not to fall

You, who speaks this
foreign language
of my soul
so fluently...

I fail miserably.

I just can't figure out
how to not love you.

So, it begins...
this pilgrimage
to unknown territory

the journey I knew would come..
arriving in the midst
of a thousand star-kissed
raindrops

showering me with Hope,
giving shelter in the arms of the storm,
birthing possibilities....

I offer my hand,
ready for you
to lead us
through these
foreign lands.





*Italicized text from Rilke's 'I am much too alone in this world..'

Improbable Odds

You've been caught
in the game
so long now,
pushing memories aside..
forcing amnesia

With steel blue eyes
you scan the crowd--

48 pairs of legs
a dozen heart-shaped asses
twenty silicon filled breasts
5 who have viable grey matter--

none with viable hearts.

I stand outside
in cloak of night
riddled with imperfections
peering through the
smudged pain,
watching as the wheels
of a beautiful mind spin

My heart captures the moment
with crystal clarity
I open,
as a dozen fireflies escape
glowing brightly,
my hiding place exposed,

you glance towards the window
our eyes meet,
hold...............

a sigh escapes your lips,
you turn away
making your choice--
a blonde towards the front

you mentally calculate...
"4 out of 5 ain't bad"

I close my shutters,
fireflies scatter
and I walk into
darkness once more.

Words for an angry young man...

My license says that
I'm an organ donor
you know...
if I could heal you
by giving you an organ
I would.
But what torments you
is not so easily cured
cannot cut
and stitch you back up.

I am truly sorry-
that life isn't fair,
or simple,
or black and white
or everything that you
long for.
It just isn't
and never will be.

If I had the skills of a surgeon
and could heal you
by swapping out the
dis-eased
I'd start with your heart.
It's the most battered,
worn out..
there's a lot of scar
tissue
deep wounds
that never properly
healed.

Ragged edges of
puckered flesh.
It's ready to stop
fighting.

just
give
up.

I offer:

-a new heart
for you

child-like it has yet
to know pain-
has no scars
all it has known
is unconditional love.

Take it, trust it,
learn to listen to it.
Nurture it.

I offer:

-new ears
so that you may
listen.
Truly hear what others
are saying
rather than
those angry
voices tormenting
inside
your head.

Maybe you will
finally be able
to hear me
and the others
who
love you.

I offer:

-A pair of eyes
so you may stop
looking for faults
in those around you-
the faults
will always be there
in all of us...
as will the ugliness
of this world

but with fresh
eyes may you
see beauty
exists
alongside
pain and sorrow.

See the grey hues
not only
black & white
see vermillion
chartreuse
lilac
celadon
saffron
along with
red, green,purple,
blue
and yellow.



I've been cut out
of your life
like a cancerous
growth
the
biopsy results are in :
benign..



Your reasons were clear,
fears unfounded,
claims unfair.

I cannot remain
passive
when under fire.

Fight or flight
response kicks in
I defend my
heart,
my soul,
my words,
my thoughts.

Sometimes harsh words
are needed-
I don't make apologies
for them.

I can only apologize
for your pain
and hope
that through it
you will learn to fly
again..

that the little boy
who loved his Nana
who loved without
terms and conditions
without expectations
who had peace
will return.

I'm not a surgeon
I don't cut,
Not even when
the growths are cancerous.

Once my heart opens
in friendship
the door stays
open
a lifetime.

This earth mother
will be here
offering what
she can
should you ever
have a need.

~blessed be~

Woken from a dream

Dreaming in poetry
thoughts of you
never have I
hated words so much

Pontification of Pinter

Pinter would be proud;
these moments straight out of
act two, scene five.

We've mastered both silences
spoken, unspoken
one in the same.

140 betrayals
224 homecomings
amount to little more
than an hour
in our lives.

I've painted the walls rust
aqua
royal blue
never green..

black and white silence
amplified
each p a u s e
pregnant
but in the end
papercuts
still b
l
e
e
d
all over the page

you,
me,
her,
him,
them,
all of
us
Ashes to Ashes...

Moonlight brings
a remembrance of things past,
slight ache
then silence.

tenacious lilacs,
rare in these parts
tremble in the gentle breeze,
shed twinkling drops of dew
with stern precision

solitary moon,
scatters light
over spineless hypocrisy
of oppressed legions,
winking starlight
lies

Replication

If we continue to take and take and take
all that is not ours to give
surely, we rob the dawn
of her splendor
raped and pillaged by calloused
greedy hands

Nay, I say to you
'tis better to be infinitely patient
for she will rise
after darkest decline

So take your hands and
shield your eyes
she will arrive slowly

as you stare
brazenly
she will emerge
in brilliance
brighter than all the weeping stars united

A singular face more exquisite
than any you have dreamt of
you will reach out with trembling hands,
but you must be open, transparent
only then will you be able to touch,
and hold
a shooting star

As you feel her seeping into your veins
take flight,
soar to the heavens
break through
with sustained song

descend
set the axis spinning
become dizzy with beauty,
knowledge
compassion
Blaze brightly, unafraid
so that others may see, hear,
intimately know.

At last, when your fingertips have blistered,
release your tenuous grasp
watch with wonder as beauty explodes
replicating ad infinitum

only then, will you truly know love.

Lilly

I started my day in blackness
rain bathing me in its
devious promise of renewal

The earth felt solid
under my feet
as I walked down the hill
I remember this clearly
thinking it quite odd
considering the weather.

my daughter and I
walked hand in hand
scurrying along
to the bus stop
when we heard her scream.

Mommy! Mommy! He hit Lilly!

I felt my daughter clasp my hand tighter
and gave her a little squeeze.

The acid in my stomach began to
swirl as I quickly assessed the damage.

The truck never stopped.
Didn't even tap the brakes.
She never had a chance.

Lilly lay in the road
her body spinning around
violently
as she circled consciousness.

we hovered.

horrified,
yet unable to look away.

Within moments
her small body
gave up the fight,
went limp.

rain washed away
grief stained faces
makeup smeared.

The school bus came
a moment later.

I gave my daughter an extra hug,
Julia choked out a goodbye..
to both her mom
and Lilly
who we had placed on the grass
momentarily.

Lilly's beautiful fur coat
now slick with rain,
blood seeping from her mouth.

as the bus drove away
the headlights caught Lilly's eyes--
The rain has never been so cold.

Autopsy

I don't understand
how two people who love each other
can be so cruel.
no crime has been committed.
no harm, no foul..
yet, damage has been done.

Change.
something we hear a lot of these days.
everyone is pressing for change.
but so many aren't truly ready for it.
so many will not actively seek it.
I, myself,
not above reproach.

'Nothing ever changes'
What change do you want exactly?
if you don't know
how can you expect me
to fix things?
It isn't my responsibility alone,
you see...

this thing,
this problem
is beyond
he said/she said

we've been stuck in crisis mode
with no real end in sight

hope has become
a 4-letter word
we dare not speak.

Sure, there have been improvements.
we don't have heads
shattering glass windows...

there's much less shit on the floor
to clean up..

I haven't had to run uphill
after a naked little boy
in months…

praying for my legs to move faster
(Dear God, please let me catch him)
pleading that no cars would appear.
(Dear God, please keep my baby boy safe.)



I haven't bartered with God
(or whomever isn't listening)
for months now.
truth is I'm angry..
this Welsh blood courses through
my veins..

veins which sometimes
seem to ache
pleading to bleed.

I won't let go.
Not without a fight.

But this bullshit...
these 'fights'
repeated again.
And again…

I'm tired of it.
I simply don't have the energy anymore.

You're right when you say that
nothing changes.

You say, 'Maybe I have too many people to take care of'
'too many things to take care of'

Don't you think I've felt that way??


My reply without missing a beat:
'maybe you do. Maybe you need to get rid of some of them'
(leaving the choice of which ones up to you)


The only hesitation was that noise you make
in the back of your throat..
a sarcastic gurgle escaping,
before you replied,
'maybe I should'

I'm giving you an out.

Being a good man
does not always mean
‘till death do us part’
Consider yourself free.

I won’t consider you a failure,
It will just be an affirmation
that life isn’t fair
and will never be easy.

Though,
deep down,
I know you won’t be the one to
walk away.

You’re waiting for me to open that door
Pushing me towards it
Pulling me back.

When does love alone
cease to be enough?

I wouldn’t blame you
(okay, only a little)
If you walked away..
I never expected to be
so broken.

I didn't know I was going
to fall so completely in love
with blond baby curls
rosy cheeks,
tiny fingers clasping my hand
so tightly

I didn't know he would fit so perfectly
in my arms,
that holding him
would melt every stress away

I didn’t know
that I would feel a serenity and peace
I had never experienced before,
the cord connecting us
pulsing blood
two lives as one.
no cutting can ever
destroy that bond.
it only becomes stronger
with the passage of time.

I didn't know how easily
that false sense of security
could be snatched away.

I thought losing my mother
as a little girl
was the hardest thing I would ever
have to endure.

It’s funny how life works.

Through becoming a mother myself,
I realized how much she must have
suffered.

Not just from the chemo,
the biopsies,
the tracheotomy
but from being helpless,
trapped in a body that betrayed her.

Seeing her children scared,
confused,
being unable to comfort them,
scarcely strong enough to lift her arms
off of the bed
for our bodies to fold into hers.

Her sweet honesty perfume
replaced by metallic, medicinal smells.
Still we breathed her in,
afraid we'd forget one day what she smelled like.
(we did.)

Helpless.

I understand now.
As I watch my son
scream out in pain.
phantom pain that has no name--
(some call it Autism)
no words are spoken.

Helpless.

As I desperately play
the guessing game..
Is it his tummy?
Is he hungry?
Does his throat hurt?
Is he scared?

I’m scared.

I’m scared to jump.

Equally scared that
standing still
will be certain death.

The painful truth baby,
is that I can’t be everything
you need,
but you are so wrong
in saying I don’t try.
I have never tried so hard
in my life.

In your heart
you know that isn’t true,
just more words
spoken to anger, hurt..

I don’t want to be angry anymore,
at least not with you.
‘god’
is probably better equipped
to handle it anyway.

I’m still ‘just a girl standing in front of a boy…’
But my back is breaking,
my feet are calloused
my shoulders weak.
I’m standing strong
but not resigned,
not unmovable.

Where are you?

A floor below.
Separate bed.

Hmmm...
What was that you were saying
about change?

Calico Rose

Calico Rose, I have watched you from afar
dancing in your garden
by torchlight and watchful gaze
of marmalade sky

I have seen you under desert willow
in scornful heat of sun
weaving baskets,
wearing the dress you fashioned
from fabric you bartered for in Santa Fe

Misshapen straw hat shielding your face
sipping frozen margaritas
while you hum a tune from years gone by

Bare feet connect with dusty earth
keeping you grounded in present reality
while tonight you dream
of Picasso's Blues.

Blackout 1.1

Blackout 1.1~writing exercise

Merchant's House,
East Village
1933

Shaking violently,
night spirits,
bizarre happenings;
some say they never
left.

Small children,
bald, tattooed.
Marshmallow Man
frustrated patriarch
died,
stuck around for
Gertrude.
Stayed until her death,
searching for spirits.

One if by land,
two if by sea
hungry man
unpacked his equipment,
temperature cold.
Fisherman gets
skunked.

Heavy red curtains,
eighty-one degrees
in Mrs. Tredwell's bedroom
white marble shadows,
haunted Voice~
no reply.

Two mannequins
bald, yellowed
make a noise,
move the chandelier.

Shuffle dismissed
haunted obsessively,
static
forever.

Mockingbird

On the parlour steps in Virginia
a coalition forms
public outcry
insincere rage
guilt of doing nothing.

Ghosts of the girls
haunt the gravedigger
Mary, seven
Shelby Lynne, three.

He sees them clearly
laughing out loud
somersaulting
across California
fields.

Magnetic skinny love
Willie Rathbone
could not resist
took them swimming,
pools of blood
stain porous tile,
forever tainting memories.

Mockingbird
sings, out of time,
broken songs
in shame.

Dug out of the archives...

...just an old letter..unsent.

Dear....
I hide these feelings well, but that's only because distance allows me to remain shrouded whether in rain, darkness or light. Distance creates a pretense of safety. I look at you from afar with eyes wide shut, wanting to see so much more, yet afraid of needing too much. Toe to toe, fingertip to fingertip, eye to eye my disguise is shattered. Only behind this screen can I effectively hide. Light emitted diodes do not reflect back to you the yearning in my eyes. You cannot see my face lights up as you skate across my mind.

In the real world my disguise would be as thin as the soap bubble that alights upon my skin before bursting into a smattering of slimy wetness. I desperately try to scrub away the filthy residue of thoughts that have stained my flesh,but to no avail. The steam does it's best to cover, but it cannot conceal sound, earnest moans give away inner dialogue.

The pain I bear in keeping my silence is not allowing myself a chance . I write you of my passion rather than tell you. I don't allow myself the freedom of thinking that you could possibly be intrigued, much less have actual emotions. You began as needlepoint to my heart precise in your pinpricks, weaving in and out of my life.. as time passes the stitches so carefully contructed begin to unravel and you strip away more and more, leaving me feeling naked.

These are the thoughts that careen off the rails of mind onto the page, leaving me completely wrecked at the thought of admission. The cost, a penny in the wishing well, another for your thoughts...

Till next time....
I remain,
invisible.

I have nothing left to give,
you have sucked me
bone dry.

Shoo, fly
don't bother me.

For I belong to
nobody.

If all these unspoken words
are uttered
they merely become
broken dreams
which shatter at
your feet.

Not really a haiku, haiku.

Motherless daughter

stumbles through adolescence

rises from ashes

Empty quills, unsung songs

A friend of mine posted a poetry challenge. These were the rules:

You must use at least 5 of the 10 words from the following list, but if you only use 5, your poem cannot exceed 50 total words. If you use all 10, I'm generously giving you a maximum of 75 words for your poem. Post your finished product or cuss me out for this silly exercise. Regardless, here is the list followed by the poem that I came up with. Hope you enjoy writing, reading, either or both.

THE WORDS: interpret, bargain, consider, apathy, dusk,
deny, shatter, specific, anticipate and porcelain.



"Empty quills, unsung songs"

I consider your apathy a bargain


in exchange for hollow words,


empty promises.


Your silence simplifies,


what remains unspoken


is easy to interpret.



Deny me a choice


my words are paper airplanes,


perpetually ineffectual


in ability to reach the intended target.



Porcelain skin


remains uncovered


as dusk envelops my soul.


Nights fragrant song


cries out a thousand miles away.



Morning comes


s h a t t e r s dreams


so eagerly anticipated


yet specific to no one.

Exit Wound

thoughts
s-p-l-a-t-t-e-r
across
this
page.
shoot
me
now~
please.
Do it
right.
Make sure
there's an
e x i t
wound
so these
thoughts
can
s l o w l y

b
l
e
e
d

a c r o s s

the

page.