Bring pink roses to scatter in my bed and we’ll grind them into the sheets leaving pink stains of lust.If you forget to remove the thorny stems and they pierce my back, it’s ok. Pain and love are one. _____________________________ Shared on dVerse Poets Pub. Continue reading Pink Roses
I’m finally saying good-bye, to you of the laughing blue eyes that hide the dark purple of bruises and crimson of clotted blood. I thought you were one thing but you were many instead. The lushness of passion and the thorns of disparagement were all a part of you, but I didn’t know. I only knew that I became entrenched like a log caught in an underwater world of clinging reeds until I became the one who was clinging. I say good-bye to you now when I couldn’t before. As the years passed, the current tugged me loose and I … Continue reading Unknown/Unknowable 2006-2009
This house is starting to feel like home again in spurts and starts – not all the time every day, but more often than not. It’s been a long time since I felt at home. This house felt like the underside of an overpass and I felt homeless in my own skin. It crept up on me, this feeling, it crept up and took over my life, my thoughts, my emotions and held me hostage for nine long years, invading my very core and changing who I was until I didn’t know who I was. This house waited with the … Continue reading All Out Of Happy, Passed
You’re the kind of man mamma warned me about – always with the sexy smirk and your hand metaphorically in the honey pot when it’s not handing some chick her fourth dirty martini or, no, I take that back – especially when you’re handing her that fourth drink because you know it’s the one that’s gonna tip her over the edge of judiciousness and into deliciousness. Yeah, mamma said don’t trust a man with caramel-colored eyes, especially when he calls you his Muse and says makin’ love to you breaks loose the words and they all come a-tumblin out through … Continue reading Hank and Karen
It’s another balmy day in paradise. I push down the plunger in the French Press, inhaling the earthy aroma of the blackest of coffees called Community. The morning paper lies on the coffee table waiting for its unfolding, opening and adjusting shake. “Sneaking Sally Through The Alley” is dancing out of the Boze, WWOZ accommodating its listeners with the best music in the country, bar none. Noise from the street wafts through the open French doors: the rummmm-rummmm of the city bus, the high-pitched laughter of kids on Christmas break, the artificially cheerful greeting of “order when you’re ready!” … Continue reading A Day In The Crescent
It’s the day after Christmas and the rain falls, first a light mist just to get us used to it, then a steady falling like the currents of the river two blocks away. The air smells clean and wet, the birds are chirping and fluttering in the old pear tree – are they singing good wishes for the New Year as the rain washes away the doubts and regrets of the past to make way for the hopes and anticipation of the future? Or is it only my foolish daydreaming once again, wishing away reality. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Shared on dVerse Poets … Continue reading The Time In Between
Shut your probing, beady eyes and quash your caws cuz I don’t wanna hear nuthin’ you have to say. You can ruffle your feathers all day long but you won’t ruffle mine. Damn ole crow. Continue reading Busybody
Do the stars sparkle for me? Do they cast their light upon my wandering head as I lie gazing into a universe beyond my reach. Do they know that green eyes blue eyes brown eyes all look above and wish upon them in unison with one tremulous voice from many places that have no shine. Do the stars sing for me? Do they look down at where I lay my head and whisper a celestial lullabye to all lost children tethered to their despair with invisible chains that cannot be seen, cannot be cut , but is felt every minute … Continue reading Without
“In a sense, that beginner’s mind is what we must come back to every time we sit down and write. There is no security, no assurance that because we wrote something good two months ago, we will do it again.” – Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones Continue reading
You walked a golden path and I was in front beating the bushes for hidden dangers, eyes darting left and right, a force field of high alert with the tingle of anticipation stiffening my spine. Behind, your face radiated the beatific smile of the innocent ignorant, the birthright of The Golden, of the ones who know nothing of terror, spite or shame, but see only through eyes of sunlight. At the end, we were both too blind —- I by suspicion, you by trust —- to see the tip of a cloven hoof at the bottom of the door. Continue reading Dark/Light
