Thursday, April 30, 2009

Wipe the Inner Canthus

A flash, a fear
a crash, a tear
welling in silent
curious doubt.

Spigots as
flood gates;
wistful eyes gaze
through tissue...

A simple grace,
a smiling face,
belies the charmer's

A mist arises
and holds the place,
storm brew steeps
in ponders.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Across the Divide

Duality reels in plays of spin
weaving in silk of wishes within.

Blinded by chaos, binded
in shadow, worshipping idols
in mazes of hedgerow.

When yearning in earnest
isn't fulfilled, and brimming
in brine is offering chill...

All do rise in morning light
healing is woven in netting tight.

What lies before us
is honesty seeking,
bare branches touching,
promise worth keeping.

In The Heart of Tell Tale

What renders still in a bleeding heart
that the mind cannot see or want
in fathom... a fallowed field in
the heat of summer surpassed?

When will the stirring replenish
in gush, not uttered in fear
of disastrous distrust?

Who knows the longing of
this rushing engulfed
in Ophelia's madness?

Where does pumping in rhyme
and reason flow to drown
in everclear vision of willow?

Why is the circulation of life
such a mystery, when loneliness
nettles the dew?

The Census Taker

They strolled the neighborhood
angels of misfit; bag slung,
pad in hand, knocking
their arrival.
A temp job... lucky ones.

He came to the door,
dough boy in smiles,
trumpeting his mission
with deference and glee...
we were affluent in his eyes.

Down the street I wandered
where homes were not so nice.
I spied her in tell tale bag and badge.
Gaunt and wan, hair pinned to clip
but fuzzy and frizzled in the dyeing.
Purple socks, pink culottes, frayed Keds,
a sight for sorry suburban eyes.
Worn printed blouse draped drearily
over shoulders that sagged,
hands that wrung.

He pulled up in a white worn Chevy
and rolled out with a proud paunch,
balding head, belt slung low,
standing legs apart and arms folded.

The waif retreated from the old
porch, screen door locked.
"No one's home here," she drawled
in Southern foreign accent.
"See, the Chine-nee menu is still thar,"
as she pointed in fear.

Folded arms fell to tough guy hips,
the stance widened.
"Whatcha gonna do girl?" he 
drawled in mocking defiance.

She flew to the side door,
a broken sparrow, and knocked.
He held his gaze as she danced 
in nervous inspection and wait.

I didn't know if it was her boss 
or her husband, it didn't matter,
I hated him. Her exposure was
complete, undignified...
wish I'd never seen it,
or  at least spared her
my crude judgement.

I was conceived
in the back of a Chevy,
pre 57. I knew I came
to chronicle the sad times;
nobody told me
how hard it would be.
Ya hear?

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

The Bishop

He sits alone puffed and proper
in his furry vestments.
The mitered hat splayed
looms large, then wilts 
cock-eyed upon
a spoken prayer or curse.

The bulging bead of eyes
see through the nothingness
in a reverie, not shared.

Slow stealth leads
in progression through shadow,
confidence soars air born
to the heavens, turning
quickly to wait the watch.

Grounded and cloven
the tiny hands fold in meditation.
Mighty legs are hidden
beneath the fold.

A kissing to the flawless face,
wiping sweat in sacred wash
to whiskers invisible.

Nose in nervous twitch,
wrinkles for the May Queen,
who giggles girlishly
to the yawning stretch.

A coney consecration
waxes wan...
complete in sphinx composure,
trumpeting silently
in hierophant contentment. 

Peeking Stilled to Stare

I've peeked at the world
eyes to the TV;
cartoon crushes
cracking wit, Bugs, Top Cat,
Mighty Mouse... my heros.

Sitcom failures
flowed as comic disbelief.
Archie Bunker as my Dad
were one and the same,
no role model there.

MTV gave hope in image,
as music danced and scored...
it died in drama.

Grow up, eat a peck of dust.

News became infomercial,
my heros of song
sold out to the ads one by one.
Bowie how could you?

Tell us how to think,
we forgot how to feel.

In a weave of web I
caught a glimpse,
looking for friends..
they shouted, look at my face...

I saw your eyes
through words
peeking into share,
there is a concrete soul out there.

Cloth of hidden 
is stripped
in slow tease glancing.

Languishing in poetic
alliance, waiting in wile,
the peek rises...
to a slow sultry stare.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Lucky Strike

Pint sized woman of neat white bun,
the sheen of sebum yellowed her roots.
Girlish legs without vein (to the ankles anyway)
spidered in dock siders...
she meant to walk forever.

Small clipped wings in bony pride
heaved softly in sparrow print 
and cotton rhythm...
I know a smoker when I see one.

Bored, the dark checker stared, 
as my lady bent over the counter
to point a nimble finger,
"They're at the bottom, no one
smokes them anymore."
Lucky Strikes.

I felt her face; lined, kind,
and chiseled in a mirth of carefree worn.
I loved that woman and quietly
hoped I could weather like her.

Three packs paid for in cash,
she sauntered out with agile grace,
alive, well, unfettered by age...
to a world of magnolia
made stilted in false stiletto.

Cool Meets Smooth

I awoke in silent alarm;
another stilled night
A helping hand
cupping soft breast,
an arm slung in 
protection of the rigid
night body.
Soft breaths blow breezes,
cackling snores inhale
secret contentions
and settle to hums of
an impassioned delight.

I rise and smoke, hydrate
and write, so as not to disturb.
Crawling in afterwards
I wait in full fetal facing north,
my lover turns facing south.
I am comforted by the cool,
the smooth, of a long sculpted back.

The room silent and contented 
in the jigsaw of silhouette,
we are free to dream
in the close contact
of flesh to flesh
in different direction.

The night falls slowly,
the dawn rises slower.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Golden Flower

Lying lovely in bubbly tub
gushing in stillness
of good girl cleanse.

An urge to micturate,
the toilet stares cold.
Get up, dry off, tinkle,
wipe with paper
from macerated hand?

A retreat to listen
to the crackling laughter
of bubbles...
no stay, push the bounds.

Can I, should I, why not?
Shampoo bottle grabbed,
chemistry 101,
left brain satisfied.

A sigh, an urge,
hesitation and small
jolt of release.
Bubbles won't tell...
naughty naughty echoes
as it flows.

Intrigued, I duck 
under to sounds
of applause
from somewhere.

I freed myself
in golden flower...
another inhibition

Friday, April 24, 2009

Canticle of Cantilever

Soaring in planes
in flights of fancy,
connected to heels
of brevity hounds...

Reaching for clouds
in angel stirrups,
the braying
knows no bounds.

 A treacle tart
to please the palette
in sing song 
rhyme she sings.

Serpentine chance,
she holds no malice
for the fortuitous
tide she brings.

Steeling in solace
as buttresses fly
upon teared
butterfly wings.

The lonely hearts open
in spite of the mortar,
as destiny's child she swings.

Mary's Resurrection

Upon a graven cross
to bear, she
splayed in birthing pose.

Crowds in vestment
defiled in shame,
her suffering laid bare.

Crimson tears,
milky pearls
lay nesting
after flight.

Treatise lies
as gospel truth;
pelting stones,
forbidding fruit.

Magic flourished
in the night...
sweeping by
light of Moon.

Wizened ones
who dare to speak,
The Golden Chalice
knows her place.

Ophidian dancers
rise again,
exalting her,
the Beloved One. 

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Maya's Dream

It was...
scintillating flash
in gaming shatter,
falling and fed.

Kaleidoscope fractals
danced in heartless gut,
converging in
melting mindforms.

Figments in chains
glared in fragments,
cracked by
thunderous quell.

Castaways toss
nets of nettled waters;
coaxing synthesis.

Watchers embrace
in quiet contentment
over the winking.

It is...
a game ,
an elusive
game for ALL.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009


Cotillion flowers
in didactyl focus
denuding escape
in ripples of mercy.

Beyond a dressing
ball wreaking cavort,
blooms waxen as 
cloves of pain.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Mind Set

The mitote of the mind
is a Hollywood whore
seeking accolades
in the academy of doom.

It basks in the gossip
of pretended shun in an
attempt to capture the spotlight.

Staring down 
the camera,
as a stagefright...
an irascible mouse.

Loathing itself in despondent
drama and deprecating smiles
under the vetting,
then bursting vanity
in glittering gaudy detail.

One can go on in rerun
of framework.
A cue to act and direct
on a webcam...
a woven picture of story,
hanging by a thread.

Oyster Dive

I took the plunge to the arctic
abyss in swan dive symphony.
The murky cold scalded
in a shivering.

A rumba kick to loosened hip
pierced gulch unknown
in vermiform mystery.

Shuddering golden in founded
fin, the mermaid danced
from dirges whispered, 
and screamed 
in silent dilation.

Hums in gibberish deliberation
were quelled by sea combs
in fleshy fronds.

Emergence in dark
as a splashing ovation
that dried by the moon,
awaiting sun's embrace.

Madame Butterfly

The words fell in harsh cruel
staccato, mocking
a saint who planned
to be crucified
in a garden of lotus.

The chink of kimono
echoed in pattern
as the rosary chanted
it's sorrowful gloom.

Who art thou
in lust and preach,
hidden in the mysteries?

Stiletto and nylon
danced upon
your nonsense,
the whipping chill
in hard white peaks.

The Carousel

Around and rounds
to anyone's guess...
who gets the ring?

The mares are prancing
in gilded drawings
as a call is made
from an Oliphant's nest.

Pride was exposed
in a mockery stew,
a dream held dear...
circles anger and glue.

Ride on, free stallion
in fantasy spin,
words are stakes
in Wurlitzer rhyme.

Line up and grab
flowered ring of token.
I'm every woman...
the Goddess has spoken.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Gentle Reminder to a Sabateur

Just at the point 
inspiration takes
hold in the sharing
of inner and outer
secrets of surrounding,
fear swells in whisper...

This could not come
from me,
as matter,
I don't.

In quiet meditation
the giggling of angel
voices returns in kind...

Of course it comes
from you, beloved 
of the universe,
the power of
the heart is meant
to be shared.

Fear not and forge
ahead, you can do
no wrong.

Friday, April 17, 2009

A Haunting

Tossed on waves 
by the light of the moon,
warm breath and hum
falls gently upon my shoulder.

An awakening-
from images
that frighten-
a looming disaster 
with ghosts from
the past.

Only in disguise
do images haunt,
disasters I can handle
in calmness.

Dragging up
I hear distant music
that lulls yet entices.

Pen to page in wonder,
what words now seek 
nightly expression?

I'm stationed at a
darkened sanctuary,
waiting, tired and hungry.

Let this terror
be known, or
lull me and let me sleep.

You Who Stole Innocense

Faceless creep
who footed
up in darkness,
to one who slept
like a lamb to reeming.

Ghostlike playmates
with ring around the rosy.

A stolen chance to
make amends
in shining chevy
and doo-wop blaring.

A kidnapping by day,
as ghosts return
to soothe.

There was no reason
to reason... til now
in clutching sobs

Sleep tight
you monster.
Karma holds
a dear toll
of it's own.


Thursday, April 16, 2009

Dead Wood

It was a thoughtful jog
in pink velour, 
an uphill climb
in sweatless emotion.
Arms punching 
to a cadence
of canvas tread
on pavement.

Glancing over
the shoulder
the forest beckoned
as a ghost from the past
demanding attention.

A fire burned angrily
in a dark bed of clearing
if only for a moment of blink.

Gnarly flannelled men
stacked logs from
their wood-cutting
in gay preparation.

There was a rolling
and tumbling of wood
upon the forest floor;
a feeling of forlorn.

Edging the forest
was the old playground.
Nets of courts
still weaved into web
over cracked macadam.

The old canon stood
pocked and rusty,
the fort abandoned
under stalking weeds.

I lingered in memory...
until a lonely man called out-

"Keep walking mam,
nothing to see,
ya hear?"

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

The Lost Weekend

A memory transposed
to a camera obscura...
Trappings of vacation sought
in a bovine tangle.

Ocean waves lapped
a forbidden mystery,
an anguish, a lechery,
in friendship and treachery.

Songs sung by mermaids,
as the tritons trenched
in gulf. A hum of misdirection;
the taste... bitter salt.

So faraway upon a breeze,
the hearth was
wind swept clean.

The waves remember
in cleansing prayer,
the beach was left

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Splitting Nucleus

Suitcases spilling to closure
but would not lift.
The dressing room was abuzz,
all eyes on oneself-
does the lingerie match
the brief?
A settling for tiger print
and red lace.

Walking amongst a
smokescreen of maze 
in the darkened night,
I saw the twins
in recognition of each other.

One knew- I told you so in mock,
as the other threw bullets
into the fire.

Retreating to a pup tent
on a wooden deck
in fearful hiding, the explosion
ripped the air in shattered
fragments of color severe.

Lamentations were echoed
as we watched a living
corpse that would not die.

Monday, April 13, 2009

A Child Just Knows Stuff

I saw it through the world
in a glass veneer,
it was a message only meant
for me.

The house was still,
the heart was aching
in a desire to 
be open and free.

The message unearthed
was loud and clear,
like a child's playground
on a sunny day.

Bubbles of foam surrounded
my thoughts, as an inkling
of what I'm to know.

Messages came and told
a story, the mind was kept
far away.

The frost lies melting
upon the mourning,
it's time to
warm and grow.

The Internet's Down

He laughed like a hyena
at the secretary
who proclaimed,
The Internet is down.

Dumb bitch, she doesn't
understand, the Internet
doesn't go down- it's a
connection problem-
that's all.

Perplexed I wondered
what is so dumb?

I didn't want to be dumb
or stupid and I smiled.
I'll understand his world,
I thought in hazy emotion.

The degree was painfully granted
MSIS... now I'll understand.

A day as a house goddess
and happily blogging...
interruption... loading,
loading, loading... a loaded gun.

He arrives home to gloom.
I rebooted three times, I
disconnected the router for
five minutes and waited...
The cable was good, there
was TV service.

Conspiracy, I thought. It's
the phone company sabotaging
local cable.

He chuckled... you don't understand.

My degree was wasted
I'm dumb
I'm blonde
and no, I don't understand.

Garreted Garage

Images imprinted
within shady
archaic windows,
through tattered lace.

Pyramids in painstain
slowly rotate
in cock-eyed angles
and sardonic glances.

Moons in crescents
slice a piercing
silent cry in
shades of anguish
and pout.

Riddles coming
and going,
slowly inching
towards befuddlement
and loamy laughter.

There are blackbirds in the rafters.

The Reckoning

Ages ago a peoples prospered
while throwing young
virgins into the fire...
as a sacrifice for their
good fortune.

A dogma meanwhile prospered
to greatness
by sacrificing a young
mother to banishment
as an embarrassment
to patriarchy...
their god was born of
a virgin...
she was too old
to be of any harm. 

Now a fervent ideology
straps on bombs and
kills indiscriminately
seeking a place in heaven
with virgins waiting.

And how do you think those
virgins will greet them
once there?

The banishment to fires...
a man made hell
my only guess.

Who can say?
I can only speculate.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Bipolar Turpitude

It began as a shiny penny day
heads up 
from the gleaming sunshine
shaded by dewy hyacinths.
A bursting of joyous rapture
spilling into a frenzied fanciful.

A cloud darkens as the 
shine diminishes
to dull dearth.
Sinking frontier
in a moments notice,
queering the hope
in a tangled vision.

Infinity is a fallen
number... crazy eights
circling over and around
and down and up, down
and around over and up.

Where does it end in this
dualistic entanglement?
Heaven only knows 
the secret it holds.
Poetic notation has it's perils.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Who Knew?

Did I ever think your mother
was right and a bag of beans
could come between us?

It was a call to dinner,
I didn't know how important
and yet I dared to open 
a bag of beans... as a vegetable.

Stove off... goodnight... I slaved...
Oh never mind.
Huh? Who's the drama queen now?

Not a sentence, not a snark, it 
isn't so, just a proclamation.
Enjoy your dinner and leave
me alone.

Okay, okay I fucked up and
am left wondering...
what happened here?

As I waited for the cardinal,
it never came. Could you
have read my disappointment?

The old world is done,
the bird still sings a happy caw.
I will not crow to what was,
but will sing as a nightingale
to what is, as a raven for evermore.

It's my plight, not worth
a bag of beans (your mom was right)
It's not worth a bag of beans.
Good night!

Friday, April 10, 2009

Genetic Mutation

I am dying here
on a genetic tightrope.
Fed on a diet of
acid washed jeans
and rock and roll...
frayed at the edges.

Unraveling of the old
world order 
of father knows best
and the cleavers.

Lost in space...
unleashed from
the realm of family
ties and bubbly smiles
at inside jokes.

The raw asunder
espouses silence 
as mission
in words of play...

in the grasp of 
and politics.

A mutant ninja
kicks the past
and is born into
the prescient present.

The world is truth
as future shock.
A mutilated
well of hope
and spring of desire.