Tag Archives: misgivings

finally some poetry


I’m mounting like Vesuvius

And the only living proof is this

Shattered focused catalyst

And the will to battle this

Rotten self of nemisis


Be still

Be still a moment

Be still my heart

Be still, go dormant

-do not yet go fly apart

Apart-this threading

Cold needles pine

Be still, stop shedding

-Ignore heart gone wearing fine


she stands like she’s guarding a secret

But she’s really just guarding her heart

In hopes she’ll be able to keep that

Tender organ from falling apart

She hedges and shines you a smile

If you query as to why she’s so stiff

Working with feminine wiles

In hopes your attention should shift

And shifting from one foot to other

You’ve lost her to staring in space

So nervous, it seems she should hover,

Set time in a back and forth pace

And time comes, she’ll get up and leave you

Without so much as a back-tilting glance

Letting loose from what she once cleaved to

Indifferently setting her life down to chance


two on waiting


Room for waiting

Crossing legs

And shift in seat

And shifting eyes

Before they meet

A brittle smile

A brush of hand

fractures poise

I move to stand

Falling face

what gives me pause

and melting heart

Gives way to dawn

A laying hand

upon a brow

Sweet searching eyes

Turn asking “how?”

Glass-sharp smile

reflects a gaze

A move to leave

a pause to stay

Ropes pulling chest

Not quite direct

Which direction

Should I move next

Gaze falls guarded

Protector wall

My choice is answered

And I answer call


Waiting game

Missing hands

And missing mouth

And missing laughter

Which I’m without

Withholding passion

And taking pause

Have come to impass

It’s come to draw

Cat’s gone cradle

No check to mate

It seems that waiting

Becomes my fate

I pass, your turning

You pause, you think

While endless waiting

Sends mind to brink

And minding details

I watch your hands

Ahead I’m thinking

My turns are planned

block broke


On the bough, and falling soon

On my break, and stalling gloom

On the edge and edging back

Forget I said-I’m hedging track

And hedging bets, and bits and fluff

And I never ger-NO… it’s enough

So contradict myself and cull

The words that stick to my outer hull


Ethereal like Ether

It’s a trick

It’s a trade

It’s so slick

What I’ve made

Can you see

Through the mask

Can you breath

It in like gas

That hits the lungs

Filters blood

Steam-steeped stung

Like leaching blood

Ether fogged

Felled the brain


The crushing pain


down for counting

Dipping, swinging, sighing

Inside of me I’m dying

I coulda been left flying

But I’ve no wings at all

And swinging, sweeping, screaming

But silently, I’m meaning

Awake the awful dreaming

Before you hit the fall

And draining, dreaming daisies

Poor girl, she know’s she’s crazy

Will nobody try to save me?

But I’m really just afraid

Life lacks love and luster

And I pull away and up and muster

Enough to say-DON’T TRUST HER!

She’s not herself today




Journal entry from October


This season reminds me of you.Especially when it’s raining. The boom-rumble thunder shaking the house is reminiscent of gasping kisses and curious searching hands. I fell in love with you on a day like this, and you always resurfaced in my life in the fall. My eyes grow nostalgic as I sit on my back porch watching the low glow of the autumn gloaming bring a strange luminescence to the golden reds of nature turning in for the season. Fall always brings that alien yearning back to my breast, pulling me in all directions but nowhere. I still miss your face after all these years, and this year I’m almost drowning in the poignancy. I know it’s because I’m in love again. I feel it in my throat and my gut, and I am absolutely captivated. My memory is drawn to you now, even though the only thing the two of you have in common is me… And this feeling I have. It’s just the same, only this time I’m scared. I know what losing feels like. I know how it feels for your heart to ache with the love it cant give anymore, til you feel like you’re going to fly to pieces. I don’t know if I could survive something like that again. You see, hope never dies. It’s survival is it’s cruelty. It gets put away into boxes, shuffled in with scraps of paper covered with adolescent poetry and homemade hemp necklaces, and fades into a stinging reminder of what could have been.

I think maybe the aching is for the girl I was, too. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I catch glimpses of that bouncing ball of exuberance and I forget the tumult of the time. I remember the girl who was hungry for experience and laughter. Where every day was an adventure, and i wanted to touch, taste, see, DO it all. I still want that… But the possibilities don’t seem as endless now. I don’t feel as fearless and capable. That girl knew that she was something special. She knew she was going to do great things… The woman is not so sure… And that loss is not yours to shoulder… I just remember her best back then… I only miss who I was with you, how hopeful and free… So I close my eyes and let the cutting wind take me back to a place where the rain stung my cheeks as you kissed the wet from my nose, where blue-green-star shifting eyes laughed and sparkled me into mischief. I try to capture that girl who laughed around all of those wooded places with you, and dance her from my mind into the future, where maybe she can lend me some of that courage. I think I may need it again.

and now for two COMEPLETELY different


I open it


Checking first

That no one sees

I open it

A sigh escapes

I stare

At half mast eyes

And lips tossed wide


I’ve opened it

and I’ve opened me

I close my eyes



Again and again and again

Chalk it up to one less friend

Over and over and over, I’m sure

There’s gotta be some untest cure

It’s getting to point where I don’t feel it funny

They stick on my skin like flies to sweet honey

After everything I just heard them say…

I feel like I need to go bathe.

Another sleepless night for me


Warrior, Poet, Lover

Anyone can know me,

I’m written out right here

Come on in and read me

Revile and revere

This twisted little pixie

This vapid vapor dream

Read quick or you might miss me

-I rise above like steam

And steaming teaming loudly

I cry out loud for you

I bear my wounds quite proudly

Like warriors often do

See this one comes from loving

And this, and that one too

And I feel the next one coming

And that one comes for you


Written tears

I don’t wanna sleep

Don’t wanna dream

I cannot quite keep

Together at seams

I wanna go run

Or break down and cry

Turn face to the sun

Or take up and fly

But the night is too cold

My children asleep

So I write untold

Secrets and weep



I want to speak quite plainly

Give voice to what I must say

I want you to come out and reach me

I want-to do the same

I cannot speak more plainly

Than what’s given here to rise

For wants and needs won’t save me

As they’re so often left denied

not a poem


So I took a sleeping pill to kill the insomnia, I laid in bed watching the words in my head tumble and flip like acrobats as my mind raced around them snatching them from the air… And I couldn’t sleep. Counting the hours and the poems that I’ve written, I see that my days are numbered if I have very many more like this, I’ll simply die from exhaustion and frustration. My fingers cannot type fast enough to keep up with the words that are drilling me, and I feel like I’m having a simultaneous up-and-downswing. I feel like I’m being torn in two. Elated one moment, like the high you feel when you first fallen in love… And devastated the next, like when you realize that it’s not meant to be and you left staring at you hands wondering “what now?”. I’ve been writing so much that I haven’t even taken the time to measure meter and correct mistakes. And mistakes have been made. Or have they?  I’m not sure. I just know that I’m staring at my hands and wondering at them: “what have you done?” like they’re somehow little culprits, responsible for the directions I give them. I wish I were catholic so I could go to confession and have my whole life absolved. Unleash all that is me and all I have done on some poor aging priest and walk away forgiven and clean with so many Hail Marys and Our Fathers in my pocket like talismans to ward of my anger and guilt… O` “brevity is the soul of wit”, and yet I keep on talking… I must be addlepated. I catch myself humming and smiling to myself and my memories and I frown in frustration, because shouldn’t I be angry at the things that I remember? These things that keep me awake at night, running full tilt in my head, tossing rhymes and emotions around like so many many many jugglers balls? And I cannot let them fall lest I fall asleep. “To sleep perchance to dream? Ay there’s the rub, for in the death of sleep what dreams may come”? (forgive my transposition) … I am like Hamlet tonight, uneasy and contemplating heavy things, and so those bardic words come unbidden to my mind like cryptic answers to my lonely queries. If only I knew what questions I was asking. You see, “God has given me one face, and I’ve made myself another” (switch of pronouns), and so often I switch between the two, I’ve forgotten which was which and which spoke first. But I know who’s speaking now, “the head is not more native to the heart”, and my heart’s tongue is thick and jumbled in a cryptic full on stumble, and “frailty’ thy name is woman”, so that should good well show… that I’ve stopped making sense, and I should be in bed.