Chapter 1 - Carved

I carved

A broken heart

On the bottom of my foot.

Each time I step

The pain of love

Is an open wound

And ooo! When sweat gets

In. How it burns! And

Soothes. So much

That I no longer

Yearn for you.

Chapter 1 - I promise

I would bet a million dollars

On a fair haired betrayal

If I had it.

A mad man eats his own heart out

In my dreams

Over me

I could not put him out of misery

Fast enough to please.

My lord has no pride

He lies in wait

To ambush the innocent

While I trample daisies

I pray! I fear

I run, I hide!

There is no power in this victory

One battle from a war of

Treacherous love

Games you choose to share with me

Loneliness is relative to company

Intriguing.

If it is the big, bad wolf

You wish to be

I will wear a man of red and

Sit beneath yonder tree to wait

For thee. A basket full of

Grandmother’s treats and a

Axe man.

Together we’ll put your head

On a block

And watch with a smile

As it rolls, eyes intact

Over the miles

Of bodiless forest

And you’ll call for your mother

If you ever

I promise.

Chapter 1 - Expressionless

I told him once again

As he tried to spy

My

infidelity

I said

I love you

He was

expressionless

How does life get better than this?

I am grateful.

I am open to opportunities that improve this world, starting with myself.

I make decisions and choices that honor this life and the life of others.

I continue to strengthen every day as a giver, not just a receiver; a grower, a keeper, a steward of the fragile beauties in this life.

I listen with a clear conscience and open mind knowing everything new is new.

I heed the lessons of the past and make goals for the future but my life is here and now.

I accept and embrace the duality of nature in myself and the world I live in.

I am all I need to be at this moment.

Chapter 1 - Sleeping Prophet

Sleeping prophet

Close your eyes

Tell me lies

Sleeping prophet

Give me lines

Close your eyes

Sleeping prophet

Tell me lies

You

She

Do

You

Me

Blue

Chapter 1 - You want to

Do I want you

Only when you say you want to

Let me go?

You enslave me

With all your talk about the future

Then you say

Let’s take it slow.

Chapter 1 - A Limerick

Purple-eyed Peter

Was so stoked to meet her

When she said that her name

Was Penillia

At half past eleven

He poked in to see her

And by noon

They were half way to heaven.

Chapter 1 - The River's Edge

Did you ever stand at

The river’s edge

My love, and were you alone?

Stars shine brightest in winter’s

Forbidden season

My fire burns them.

And may I help you trim

The olive tree

Before the smoke drifts

Into spring again.

I will miss you

When you have gone away

Into a misty future.

Be with me now

There is no time

To say forever.

Chapter 1 - It's Coming!

Catastrophe made her hungry

Until she ate herself sick

And drank to swallow heaves

The tornado is over

In its path

Human suffering, felled trees

Leveled buildings

G-d’s wrath

Claims the innocent

Leaves the destitute

Brings love home

A woman quotes newscasters

Cross-streets, casualties

Disregarded warnings

Your time is coming

You better have your house in order

Family in line

Taller to shorter

It’s coming. It’s Coming. IT’S COMING!

Chapter 1 - Sleep

Before my bed was made

We could study case histories

Of serial perversions

But my hand looks so much

Older now and my breast

Is soft

The mystery makes no sense

Sleep

Succumb

Sleep

Don’t stop to dream

Just sleep

Save yourself

Sever social bindings

Sleep severely

Serene

Chapter 1 - Unchartered land

As if I were a gentle lady

Captured by pirates of the sea

Your voice stands as a beacon to me

Leading me to shore

Weak in the knees

From salty breezes

To your firm unchartered land

You should know it pleases me to

Feel your strong grasp on my hand

I am woman, you are my man

Let our loves begin with freedom

And so our souls cannot be cheated

Let us create a kingdom

That will not be easily defeated

Chapter 1 - Mother

Of life

You have given us the roots

We need to balance

Help us now to spider

To reach our goals

Set ever higher.

Mother, you are sunlight

Shine upon our chosen paths

Delight us

With what you know

So that we might follow.

The seeds you’ve planted

Will always grow

With a tender touch

And your love in groves.

Chapter 1 - Consolable River

Known are we

Into such precarious pretense

You, quivering a foretaste

Of our predestined kiss.

You, deceptively straight-forward

An arrow aimed

at underwater prey.

A tower of burnished passion

Leashed by sentimental love

Chained to worldly possessions

Set free on fate’s truest hand

Caged but not imprisoned –

A selfish man with a long-term plan

his (in) security.

Enjoy your women as flowers in a vase

My love cannot blossom there among

Such leggy stems

Competing for standing water.

You must become the river ever-changing

Your white water the turbulence of expression

Your whirlpools enticing me to exploration.

I walk your sand shore

Dowsed by your sullen waves

I feel the pull of your current

Swift and sudden.

Will I never feel your liquid touch surround me?

Am I never to be carried in the arms of such a powerful force as you?

You challenge me not to sink to your level.

I should forgive myself strength

And you, succumb

To the merry, whimsical pull

Of your nature

Your passion

We could drown our

selves in that consolable river.

Chapter 1 - Lady Luck

On lottery tickets and love

Lady

Luck is for the queen of cups

I play my numbers faithfully

It just doesn’t add up

Sucked upon like a fireball

Spit out when I got too hot

My shoulders shrug

And I sleep

Still life on satin sheets

My lover has a big head

He’s full of me.

Chapter 1 - Halo-ed

I would rather sleep in the desert

Than under a willow tree

With a fool in a single bed

The half-moon was moaning

As I lied

Halo-ed

Without you.

Chapter 1 - Uprooted

And into the night

Have you sensed my presence

In uprooted flowers

And summoned my spirit

With desireous flame

Chapter 1 - Suspense

He comes

And goes

He rarely throws

Me only bits

Of what he knows

I speak of sanctuary

Embraced by arms and legs and

We sit all but feet apart

His determined silence surrounding us

In my private room – he rests his

Head upon my heart and says,

“We are only mating”

To this I say nothing, for I

Know not what weighs upon him

Hours spent alone have gotten

Me this:

A man in suspense

Has but one wish

And that is happiness

No cares, no plans

Just memorable, portable

Bliss.

In this state he is oblivious

To hours spent alone

He knows not of what he may have missed

Chapter 1 - The show is over

I write for myself

A captive audience

Quiet. Attentive.

Nearly inaudible

Eyes search the crowd

Knowing

No one

I shout, I bow

I clap

My presence is known

I am no longer alone

They hear my words

On this stage

In this spotlight

I am warmed

By the company of strangers

I am welcomed

By accomplished artists

But life goes on

So I leave it

To those

Aspiring

Chapter 1 - Doubt

Your time will come, sweet thing

So just ride it on for now

Years will pass like days,

You’ll see

And then

Where will you be

In an old house

In a forest

On a swing with a

Book to fill up

With life

You will not miss.

You will be

You are

What you feel inside

And I

I feel that I could be

A faithful fountain

Of passion

Shared by all

But who will really know me

And what will

My words truly mean

To you

Do you

Trouble yourself with doubt

Like me

Instead of letting time

Work it all out

Chapter 1 - Any Game

Hearts grow fond of

Each other’s company.

It’s a wonder our

Legs don’t grow together

Breaking the ribbon

In a three-legged race.

Empty sadness

At the fair’s end

Consoled by first prize and

Some chocolate pie

Winner’s pride

Soon subsides as

Lonely gloating

Gets silly in the backseat

Or the rearview mirror.

Tiny wrinkles in your skin

Just like his

Give away the prize

Laughingly you embrace

You own reflection

As your only friend

At the end of every competition

The race goes on

So, produce or

Be e-rased.

You can dance and play

But you are nothing

Until you create

The taste is sweet

Of any game.

Chapter 1 - for Luis, the Spaniard

Orange fingernails

And Spanish legends

Of human tails

Lawless as we are

By our creation

Made just in nature

To defy the cosmos

And destroy entire generations

Shivering chills

Through the length of me

Pass thoughtfully

To leave me cold and trembling.

Sorry I can’t remember your last name,

Circa 1994

Chapter 1 - Archaic

In the wake of angels

I lie in wait

My leopard pounces

Leaves me motionless

A mere detail of gloriousness

Head heavy with presence

Sounding of trains

Resounds in travel

Poor souls plotting suicide

Challenging death

Tons of metal

Crushing bones

Like wood blocks or

Sand between my toes.

The smell of cinnamon

Invites him in

Power from a bit of glass

To stranded pearls

Passionately wrapped

around.

Back on the tracks

Trains call out to me

I am available

Disregarding serious talk

Or drunk within

My own reflection.

I am learning to fly

Angelic

Archaic

I am learning to die

In my sleep

Chapter 1 - Pretending

He left me

Twelve red roses

I’m pretending it was you.

He says, “If I ever go –

I would only go

With you.”

You only laugh because

You’ve been there more

Than once without me.

He says he wants to

Marry me away

From all my sins.

You dowse all thought

Of morality in carnal pleasure

Temporarily.

He loves my brain.

You worship my body.

I blame him

For all the pain

I have ever known

And he says he is sorry.

You are forever in the mood.

He tells me that he loves me

I am pretending it was you.

Chapter 1 - Easy

Easy on the ice, she said

I am in love with her cherry

Red head.

Bestial knobs of horns

And her pert pale chest.

Make it to go, I say

With extra whipped cream

Please.

I fondle her beads with my eyes.

Pay me some more attention

Before I give you his money

And go.

I sit with a thorny bush.

One violet rose for company.

Girlfriends laughingly embrace

As I write

My words flowing with a sweet

Stinging moisture that permeates.

Chapter 1 - Doom

How dreadful is doom?

Doom.

Doom!

Doomed…

And damned are we

Druken, sorrowfilled

Foolish, money minded degenerates.

Doomed.

Chapter 1 - April is over

Mayday!

The captain has returned

To her ship

On voyage to victory from the dregs of defeat

Reigning o’er the land of freedom in

Pursuit of happiness, the right to bear arms

And partake in naval piercings

Umbilical regality.

A half moon holds promise

Of wholeness

Stars are cloaked

By city lights

Veiled like strangers are

Standing on opposite corners

Sharing the same street

You were there

With he and she.

I was not alone in your company

Troubled to sleep

By an odyssey

Of silent discovery.

My gift to you security

Sincerity

Joy shared vicariously.

Chapter 1 - No one dances anymore

He is a cottonwood of a man.

Born again – as they say

And I, a child of the earth.

My motto –

Excess in moderation.

Billy asked me to dance.

I had one eye on him since he lumbered

Through the door.

He took my arm and led me

To the floor.

Is this romance?

All graceful and awkward instances.

Billy says we’ll have to practice this

One hundred times before we get it right.

I don’t mind.

Chapter 1 - The Underground

The world of reality

Waits

Time stops to freeze dripping

Water from the pipe that lead

Me here

Silent language of palm

Scratching out messages of

Hypocrisy

In the black light

I see her eyes

Green with animosity

Swallowing a letter from my lover

Savoring memories

I chose to chew

A path

To the other world

Where music soothes my senses

And your words give me shelter

From heartless, lascivious stares

At the underground

Fear wears many disguises; most cunning is hate.

Chapter 1 - Perfect Mutilation

Another battle –

For now I am victorious.

The war rages on in the

Heads of those

Whose hearts pound, pumping

Madness into bodies

With the tired look of extinction.

I will leave the dead behind.

Living, breathing, lifeless skins,

Forgotten friends

Who long to be buried thoughtfully

Regretfully, happily.

I shudder in the heat of today –

Erase the shame!

I cannot disguise the pain

Of this masochism, permanent

Overload, perfect mutilation.

Chapter 1 - Base Effrontery

Words make a path to my

Tongue more silent and

Venomous than any sudden

Flood of tears.

Groping.

Violent urges

Curl my fingers into fists.

Death grips me and gnaws

At my pride.

Fervid, I am –

Frustrated.

Strung out across the boundaries

Of utopia

While the diabolical vicar

Cackles.

Must I grovel as you gibe?

My ephemeral folly

Finds me grappling

With infamy.

I find this affinity for evil

Base effrontery.

Chapter 1 - Temptation

Cradled in canopies of temptation

Our juniper universe

Orbits earth and sky.

Melancholy scatters itself like leaves

Under feet.

Anemone breezes

Smell of trampled begonias

And we dance.

We are dandelion oracles.

Jonquil – desireful in thought.

Silent in belladonna’s spell.

Vines of ivy entwine us

Tranquil seedlings

Lovers serene.

Honeysuckle is the color of our fate.

Rustic.

Raspberry remorse stains my teeth.

Regret.

I chew shameful peonies

As my petals make me bow.

Chapter 1 - Jumping Someone Else's Train

A silver twist of the tongue

And I am yours

Half an eggshell resting at

The edge of your thoughts

Just where the grass stops

Growing and the tracks begin.

Your caboose is long in coming.

Your presence known in the traffic

Of two entire cities.

I am not the only one who waits

Just to see what lies beyond

Your miles of empty cargo on

Northern rails.

Chapter 1 - Liars

I know all there is to know

About liars

They are the forgetful ones

The ones with busy schedules

No courage left for truth

Honesty doesn’t make money

Men do

Tell me what I want to hear

Then disappear

You’ll never stop selling yourself

But you’ll always come up short

You think the ways of the world

Are yours to fondle

You’re buying wealth and gaining

Power. You say everyone and

Everything can be bought or sold

All the while this devil has closed

The deal on your soul.

Chapter 1 - One Soul

Oh, mother earth

Dear father time

I am just a girl

One soul

Drifting into dreamscapes

I lie awake in your mountainous plains

Night is day.

“Resume,” you say?

Resume…

Resume!

My feet are with you, mother.

My eyes have seen you, father.

Passing as clouds will

Soiling my hands

Am I weightless as I

Walk upon your land

Without ambition?

Months of thirty-one

Compare to leap years

I am reminded of time

By a changing moon

It is then I travel onward.

Chapter 1 - My dream

He is a fearsome, handsome

Bird of prey

Who befriended me and took me away

Heavy under my weightless presence

We soar above city traffic

Night lights up the sky

We rise with the wind

Hovering just above human hate

Our visions merge

The rabbit goes limp

In the bloody claws of the eagle

My eyes are open

Even the winged one must rest

I may not be as strong

Or brave

But I will stand on bare feet

In a naked land

Where men are hanged in muddy water

To carry us through

Oppression and conformity

And other worldly danger

 

 

February 6, 1993

Chapter 1 - Have you Herd?

Ladies shake it on the high plains

While their men grind in underbrush

My butterfly’s tongue tastes of

Your sweet stamen as

Our fruits fall to the wind

Scattered

At the feet of dancing girls

And open mouthed men.

Stomping,

Chewing,

Moving on.

Chapter 1 - Whatever

Whatever comes to mind

Be it rain

Or fog

Or sleep

G-d’s masterpiece

And belief

Is for the persistent

Heartache for the weak

Everything has already been said

Chapter 1 - Anarchy

You come to me

In the wake of my slumber

You leave me fascinated

Eager and poemless

Abandoned at will by fleets

Of countless gentlemen

These lines hold me fast

Obliged to speculate

The next of thirty with-

In but not between

The confines of

This space

A page

A state

A limited perception

Underlying

Anarchy

Chapter 1 - Without a care

Were the sky made of water

And the ocean air

I would swim among the birds

In waves

And soar with fish on wings.

Each cloud would be an island

Where I might rest with angels

And land that does not sit

Could travel light in the wind.

I would breathe a rain of

Oxygen bubbles

Falling upwards toward the ground

And of speak of whales

In foreign tongues

While the eagle tells tales of

Sweet whistling sounds swallowed

By the sea.

If the sky was blue with water’s glow

And the ocean white with air

I would be a changeling

And dance and fly and float

Without a care.

Chapter 1 - The Reaper and the Gardener

Just like ripe fruit

My dogwood flower fell

Was snatched up

By strange hands and

Dropped in a basket

To mingle with the

Fallen fruits of others

Passing this way.

Mine, the solid flower of ivory

Bound by silver chains of ancestry

Lost to a collector, a gathering

One of many; oblivious

To my single bloom.

Who will know me? Who will come

Into my secret garden to

Count my petals? Who carries the

Seed lost to a stranger?

Who will bury it once more?

Chapter 1 - Absent Wrath

Would it please m’lord

To hear me say I love thee

Would it please you to look down

Upon my face

Your sword unsheathed

on bended knees

An absent wrath in swollen lips

Chapter 1 - Would you mind if I told you?

He’s black

He is a man

And he is black

His eyes are black;

Reflecting the darkness

That surrounds us

In the light

Divine, his smile

Illuminates the decades

His lips are black

He speaks and

His lips move

As the mouths of instruments

(From) so full of shape

Sweet sounds

For no one

Not even me

His skin is solemn, soft

An anomaly of centuries

I never touched

Never knew

Of such

Supreme purity

Deliberate in his darkness

And I in mine

Would you mind

If I told you

Chapter 1 - As loud as silver

I’m in the mood

For music!

Left behind

Offending instruments

My pleasure pipe

Stolen away!

There is hope in

The blues.

That young lady right there –

She knows about blues!

Yes, she does

Man, you don’t lie

And you play a mighty horn

Mister – sing me a song

Rock me side to side

Until I’m satisfied

I get so excited!

I’ll play along

If I’m not too busy dancing

Feet got the beat

Fingers pound a rhythm

My heart attacks my chest

Begging me to blow

Man, BLOW! Go!

Oh no,

I am fluteless.

Music makes me forget

Woah!

Is it my turn to solo?

Bad news

She was my voice

In tune

Out of my mind

As loud as silver.

Chapter 1 - The Blue Chicago

The sun

Gave rise to

A mighty phoenix

From the ashes of our

Sunday afternoon

The menace of storm approaches

Colossal clouds break up rays

From mountainous horizons

Of earth and sky

The rain reaches up

Teasing us with cool

Droplets on the lid of an eye

Or in my ear

The sound of thundering voices

An electrical siege

Excites us

We swing out

Heavy.

Chapter 1 - Faultless

Faultless crowning words

Transforming – frozen

Knuckles cold and solid

To the hands of ladies

Soft, fragile and warm

Delicate, transparent disasters

Love bindings

Bracelets, collars

Remain

Giving others something to envy

Chapter 1 - In a sunny December

Oh, my!

What a world

Where spiders weave webs of deceit

Dangling from cast iron guard rails

Watchers watch

Doers do

While the others

have too much to say

to hear you

Here

let me show you

it's like this

everywhere you go

Chapter 1 - Orchid is my Sky

The moon

She smiles at me

Above all billowous masses

Below us, buried deep

Once bitten fingernails

Furrow brows

And trouble sleep

Faces shine in blindness

Victims or voyeurs

She laughs

The moon

When she is full of breast

Illusory, impetuous

I am her child

Sycophantic

in my dream of flight

Compelled

by the coming night

I am ripened and

Given wings by the

Scent of parting lips

Chapter 1 - Sticks & Stones

He said,

I’ll beat you

And I

Don’t hurt me

I’ll beat you with my mouth

He said

And I said,

Please

Throwing sticks at neighbor girls

We laughed together

For want of better targets

Mute and motionless

Like dad – tied and gagged

Chewing gum

Hot tennis shoes

Whining women, broken cars

And rocks

Why are you a girl?

He said.

Chapter 1 - Serenity vs. Frustration

We are wind, supine over glacial waters

We are petals of burgeons drifting to ground

The rainbow resultant of misty rains

An autumn leaf in a mellow course of river

The rising sun on a winter’s day

We are curious visitors to foreign lands

 

Serenity

 

Glorious beauties surround us

We walk the distance immeasurable

To speak nothing of sorrow

We are the tempest, torrid over desolate earth

We are withering blossoms in standing water

The destruction following deluge

An arbitrary soul caught in a whirlpool

The scorching heat of desert summers

We are selfish missionaries to third world countries

 

Frustration

 

The unknown taunts us

We run virtual marathons

To hold back shouts of happiness

Chapter 1 - Love Ballad of the Introvert

Can’t reach

No fear

Feel pain

Sin again

Watch yourself

Wonder why

All you see

Behind closed eyes

Leads you back

To certain demise

Chapter 1 - The Mountain

The mountain burned bright

Darkness has passed and left me to

Snap pictures of dead rose bushes and

A woodpecker pecking on an iron gate

Another sleepless night turns to midday

As I flounder on the shore of the shallow

Water of sanity’s ocean never again to

Be submerged in the salty seas of that which

took me much too far away from me

Chapter 1 - Buried Alive

I hate his hands

His face, his mind

These tears

I’ve lost control

Of my emotions

He ties me in knots

By my hair and

Fists are flying

Go away

I never wanted you

Get away

And keep your distance

She doesn’t hear

My pain

My screaming soul

My tortured brain

How could she?

The sound

It sickens me

The way she laughs

It kills me

I am dead

And no one blinked

A the murder

No one sighed in grief

I am buried alive

Above ground

In the dirt of another

Chapter 1 - Amber Jealousy

Does she hear my visions?

Yes, she does.

Does she travel with me?

By my side.

She rests her head upon me

Even as I write

She calls to rooftop angels

Fearing flight

Padding, stroking through the night

She waits, as I arrive

Pen in hand

I see her pout

Comfort comes

Though not without a fight

No sense in struggle

She’s a pusher

Crack to crack

My book and she

If she could

I would

In darkness

Be.

Chapter 1 - Guilt

Guilt manifested by love

On impaired sheets of cotton

We wear

The same we care to tread upon

For reasons we cannot unravel –

We never wish to reveal

A view of two so funeral

So used by hapless angels

Angered at their fear.

Chapter 1 - Rendezvous

The mountain crest

With deepened precipice

Powered white

And saddened –

Wisened

Like grandmother’s face.

Oh! The tragedy!

The cue

For sympathy and

Graciousness and

Heroism!

Distraction,

Belated cursings

Destinations delayed

A mishap

A rendezvous

With disaster

Chapter 1 - The boy into the man

Once I stared relentlessly

Tracing his steps toward

Someone else’s door

For now I travel blindly

Racing with a a dangerous current

That has yet to pull me under

Together

We are grasping truth

Through spirit and mind

Our mouth’s trying desperately

To make up for lost time

Cleansing our conscience

One and seemingly forever

Without a companion

Chapter 1 - Ideals are not Realities

You never knew me

I fear this anonymity

Our desire, severe – lapsed

Into emotion only momentarily

We spoke words, dated – slurred

By time and seldom remembered.

I covet fairy tale evenings

You do not conceive of my dreams

Our selves deny us generously

A solitary man – you are, cringing

At the thought of loneliness. Until –

Yet another hapless hormonal hurdle

Leaves you huffing, hanging…

Tragedy and disgrace

Once more companions to the man

Searching aimlessly, relentlessly

For the perfect woman –

Ideals are not realities.

Chapter 1 - Stealth and Strong

He holds me

Hovering

Above heaven

Hips in hands

As heat screams

Jealousy rides in the back seat

Lips smack, smiles crack

He is a lover purring like cats

Stealth and strong

But not invincible

Chapter 1 - Knave of Spades

Ascetic

A fool in the guise of a wise man

Knave of spades

Neither name nor trade

Grace his thrown

Of greed

He speaks sweetly

Demanding riches

Swallowing power by

Sufficient handfuls

$een by all, known to many

Loved in/visible circles by

Mindful, thoughtless

Crowds

Idiots, raving at their

Individuality

Crazed, fiendish, provocative

Chapter 1 - Shoes Sleep

Shoes sleep in silent purple splendor

Pockets swell with nuggets for the vendor

Empty bottles await ash

Book sewn

Weaving words not easily vented

Bed warm – body strong

Will is no tangible power

Pride in excess

Left blind as dear king Oedipus

His rex, the vex of his kingdom

Invaluable measure of pleasure

Delve into luxurious injury

Perjury of delectable sin

Evil always begins

In the minds of the worthy

Reticent descendent

Idyllic matrimony in

Akin cadavers

Horrific, terrific harmony

Death to immortality

Children’s’ grim grin

A fairy take we do spin

Forever, constantly, happily

Chapter 1 - And We

What is this family of wild manimals?

A pride of carnivores, do we prey

Or are we sucked upon and eaten like

Tootsie pops

Counted

Swallowed and

Forgotten

Chapter 1 - Sugar bowls and flies

Little white lies

Faint replies

Desperate cries

Nine long lives

Fails and tries

Fall or rise

Break all ties

Farewells and goodbyes

Wise women who love spies

Lows and highs

Fatal surprise

Gypsy eyes

Bargain buys

Between her thighs

Chapter 1 - Furious Noise

You rang

But not before

She put the ring inside

My belly.

Piercing my ears with your

Radar love

Squealing tires

Wailing guitars

Hurried drumbeats

Furious noise.

Chapter 1 - Concerning the sirens

I remember them

The sirens

It seems dogs would howl in warning

Or lamenting untold disasters

Prepare me for the sound

Deafening –

The sound and

Blinding –

The lights and

Tragic –

The scene awaiting.

Yes, I have seen

That of which you speak

Walking down some dark alley

My mind’s eye peering ‘round.

Feet like four

Then I run –

I run all the way home.

Forgetting the comfort

Of walking alone.

Chapter 1 - The Countdown

The countdown has begun

Young man’s mind

Gone to porridge

In a padded cell.

Henna-headed

Mud-encrusted

Cobalt

Blue

Dinner robe.

Dirty black jeans

Smug photographer.

Fashion frog

Pissing in the hands

Of mannequins.

Pretty prim princess

Throws her golden ball

To smash regal warted body

Leaping, croaking in wake

Of slimy sex

!!!SPLAT!!!

Yet the tadpoles swim on

In warm womb water

Of mother murder.

Chapter 1 - We Smiled

Got ahead of myself

Wanted you near

Wrote those lines

Shed no tears

Time has drawn

Your face

Where I looked so long

At the mirror

And remembered

The smiles we smiled

In a different place

Chapter 1 - No Sound

No sound passes

Wooden ear knobs

To live alone

With blue roses

Or diseases

Spreading life amongst the dead

Wandering aimlessly

Plethora of ages

Subsequent youth fountains

Owing not to breath or action

But the external force

Which pulls us together

Creating letters to form the words

Our mouths speak

Freely lacking meaning

Utilize material issues

Grasp stones that

Turn to marshmellows

Never return to

Coveted home

Where ceiling fans whirl

Roads curve and

We hold each other’s heart sin

open hands

Chapter 1 - Oscillate

Ceiling fan head matter

Transgress

Word world communication

To bungling existentialist

Rivalry

Past the cave of missing links

Through rancid sewers

In our sorry city

Mankind lost to fantasy, tele/vision

Protected from reality

Realizing only blue light screen

Pictures

Flicker.

Chapter 1 - Neophyte

Neophyte to the religious order of love

Enchanted woman-child

Gazing at the looking glass sacrifice

Emanating terror.

Virile man waiting your arrival

Cruel fire licks at her tresses

Incendiary monster flame

Amenable, beautiful child

You are planet to his sun

Succumb to vast temptations

Satiate desires for the flesh

Commence a pilgrimage

Across canyons of physical existence

Unearth the spirit impetus in two

Alleviate such pious struggle

Hold tight to the hand of the man

Who professes his love for you

Chapter 1 - Outsides

Writing prose

For phantoms

Dressed in women’s clothes

I dance

Gothic audience

Lipstick wearing men

Growing breasts like buds

In a vase

Shaped like a

Bathroom stall

The yellow world

Giving in to the

Blue hand of the

Next red door

Leading me

To frightfully cold conclusions

About ashtrays and

Track lights

Straying away from

Clandestine meetings

Into outsides

Here I’m safe

Chapter 1 - Perhaps

The blankness

Of this page

Is lurid

I am a waterless well

My poetry leaves me for dry wit

Here in Finland.

Circa 1991

Perhaps I am not a poet, but a mere peasant in the field of loneliness. Plucking away at the fruit of my labors until my knuckles are calloused and bleeding. Only to rise and sell my harvest to the highest bidder or the most handsome man in the village for a simple compliment. Or a kiss. A kiss that would linger on my lips through sun quenched rainfall in the field, in the mud with only my bag of onions and a memory of you. The kiss you gave me as I left your bed that early morning in July. Your hands and mine entwined for a only a second in time. My tears still wash away the grime. The only rainbow I see ends not at the pot of gold but at your feet. And in your eyes I see the rain.

The rain that once caressed my cheeks to rinse away the stains. The rain that fell the night before I left you to drench that cotton dress and drip from my hair to your chest, heaving in wet delight. My feet are heavy with this field. I feel it hard to escape until I have dropped my baggage but it usually falls on my toes. So, I must carry my own weight. From the start your presence beside me on this road of life could not impair my perseverance. We are lovers individual and self-sufficient, sharing our lives as well as strife.

With your hand holding mine we can walk through the field. My other hand managing the weight of my harvest and your reaching for your own goals. Together the mud is not so deep and we both stand at the end of the rainbow grasping our dreams – separate yet infinitely bound by love.

Chapter 1 - Tango

Pussy cats tango

On the front lawn

While black widows feast

On their husbands

The boys grow up without a father

And the little girl spiders tease

Snow covers the garbage we leave

Prowlers seek refuge

Near my window

Peering relentlessly

Through black blinded panes

Chimney sweep curses

Neglected soot

Dinner is served on plastics

Microwave safe

Warm milk in crystal glasses

My poems have all been cut-up

Nervous scissors

Lint covers the clothes we wear

I catch

Light in broken mirrors

To point in your direction

Chapter 1 - A poem for the presence

Hovering

Perching on a dreamer’s head

No biology

Pulse races, sweat drips

Permeating skin

All laws defined

Contradicted

Controlled breath

Shallow evidence

Doubting minds

Constricting

Denouncing

The presence

Of another

Denying

The essence

Of terror

Chapter 1 - Slumber

Mind races with wolves

Lethargy drags me under

Into the comfort of submission

Cold, fresh, clean

Upon the body – heavy

Heat radiates

Red, glowing embers ascend

From skin to blanket

Rising

While I fall

Deep

Into fearless slumber

Chapter 1 - I Dared

(Then) I dared to live

And love and

Yes

To falter

I dared to dream

And hope and

Yes

Desire

I sought to fill

A gaping hole

Between myself

And what I named

Reality

It got me nothing

Save a hole

In my heart

Over you.

____________________________________________________________

(Now) I dare to live

And love and yes!

To be grateful.

I dare to dream

And hope is no longer

Simply the absence of pain

Faith fills my once insatiable desire

and wisdom comes from knowing

That naming reality

Still gets me nothing.

But my heart is whole.

I’m over you.

Chapter 1 - Judgment

Knowledge is a shaft of light

Breaking through the cracks

Of dungeon walls

For a time in reach

Then dissolving

As the bits of dust within that light

Our bodily concatenations

Impinging upward toward truth

Motion of mind

Hot coals underfoot

A wise man rules over phantoms

For fairdom

Nutritive soul, airy appetite

Waxing worldly worries

Truth is the shadow, the echo a memory

Yet the wax remains

From underworld’s darkness

As extended

And known into judgment.

Chapter 1 - Discovery

My poems grip me

As each new handshake

Enthrall me

To the point of discovery.

My poems awaken me.

A mute dreamer

Must exude emotion

Through his hands, his expression

No spoken language remains universal

In silence or the dark

My poems move me

I am but a muse

Mating metaphorical catastrophes

Used

Only to capture that which

Sound tends to lose.

Chapter 1 - Memory is a bitter friend

A maddening invocation

From the pit of your bowels

To the temple of your soul

To the back of your eyes

Out the side of your head

Through your ears

Emotions spawn

Like fish upstream

Toward relief.

A sigh,

Threatening suffocation or

So like the scent of your favorite bloom

You inhale until it hurts

Unraveling, travelling

Centuries

Before you leave your room.

Chapter 1 - First Storm of Summer

I thought I was through

With naiveté.

The first storm of summer

Thundered upon me

Showering my tropical desert

With fairyland humility.

I am among the believers, yet

I lie not in beds of the believed.

My imagination wills itself happily

Into the realm of reality.

I am not lost

But a man might search lifetimes

If ever he found me.

Eyes closed to the rising sun

Look westward, full of moon.

I am the one

Who can heal your wounds

If you let me.

Chapter 1 - The Fall

Who is this man?

His voice is silver.

And he is

All that one man could be.

I dreamt of him in a dusty city

As a girl, I knew he would find me.

He comes to me in slumber

And so I’ll never wake

He gives me dreams of

More pleasing things

Than gouged and bloody

As are we.

In my cave of visions

And loneliness

His treasures line the wall

Like ancient scripture

His hieroglyph

Warns others of my fall.

Chapter 1 - Alone

I cannot imagine anymore

Not fair

I know your bed is full

Wishing I was there

That she was me

Useless

Because the blanket wouldn’t cover all of us

And it would be a little too crowded

And my toes aren’t cold

Here, I built myself a fire

I am alone

And it’s better that way.

Chapter 1 - Promise

I never knew

of promise

and now it holds me

as if

a promise

I made to myself

to be true

might fade.

Chapter 1 - Beautiful Poetry Writing Girl

Beautiful poetry

writing girl, he says

Why are there tears

in your eyes?

One for the boy

who once went away

and one for the man

he left behind.

dogs wail untold disasters before sirens howl

Chapter 1 - Precious Core

Fingers I use to write

Crawl over the words

Your fingers have already written.

Friction between hand and paper

Creates heat

Your feelings burn, yet

My skin knows no blister of shame

Or pain with you.

No poems of self-destruction, please.

My letters not few

Drive themselves through white snow

Making way for the plow

Creating a path for

Would be pilgrims into

Untamed territory

Not yet explored

Or even invented

My pen cuts my brain

To its precious core.

Chapter 1 - The Execution

Seven shots sound

Simultaneously

The signal (?)

READY!

..and from the prisoner

“Hail Mary full of grace…”

AIM!

“..now and in the hour of our death…”

FIRE!

“..Amen.” And a final excretory moan from the mouth of a dying man.

Perhaps it was conscience

That triggered straight shooters

To stray. For one less than seven wounds

Brought justice slowly to

A beating heart.

Red-blooded and condemned

The rosary fell to his feet.

Head bowed, hooded

Body bound.

Winter’s icy chill conjured steam from

Mouths of the living and

Rose up from death’s new blood.

Chapter 1 - A Message

A message

in the form of fire.

Young man

you are in trouble.

I cannot help you.

Your sin

Is standing by

To watch as your life

Is destroyed

With no one

To capture

Love in her stupidity.

You should have

Belonged to me.

That would have been better

Than certain

Systematic death.

Chapter 1 - I Thought

I thought there was something

To everything

And nothing interested me

About anyone

So, I went about my life

Keeping secrets I would

Never share with everyone.

 

And the secret is

I wouldn’t have

If I had someone.

 

So still, my lips are closed

To open ears

The secrets long forgotten

With the passing of the years

And oh, my friends

What I would give

Now that the time is gone

To have given of myself

So that my song

On the lips of another

Might carry on

And on and on.

Chapter 1 - The Oracle

In the shadow of tomorrow's sun

I think of nothing.

I see naught but brilliant light

Narcissus’ reflection.

Titled frame

Of wilderness wisdom.

With his second hands

Time dips into our tear pools

A ripple, at first glance.

Obscurity, then

Calm.

Clarity.

Chapter 1 - Man Sits

Man sits

 at the top

of the food chain

waiting

for someone

to feed him

or die.

Chapter 1 - The Horrible Story

She saw that her roots were dangling

But she could not feel.

She heard herself talk, saying nothing

Yet her mouth and her ears

Would not tell.

And her mind

And her heart

Were not listening anyway.

So she went about life

Hands open, palms empty.

She went through the motions

Like a piece of machinery.

And she cried

And she wanted

But not for humanity.

And she laughed

And was joyous

On occasion, or season

But not for eternity

Or even one day.

Chapter 1 - Things

Things

Matters of unimportance

Orbit my head

Change is certain

I am a rock fallen from my cliff dwelling

Into the valley of the dead

There is an underwater city in his eyes.

Am I in the center of such a whirling

Dangerous abyss?

Dark

I am the pit of it

The very core.

Chapter 1 - My Face

If my face

Were on the cover

Of a magazine

Would you love me?

Would I be clean?

And if my toes filled your filthy mouth

Would you stop lying?

If my eyes closed

In pleasure

Would you not doubt my strength?

If I never spoke of love

Or faithfulness

Would my impotence then

Arouse you?

Chapter 1 - Joke Don't Poke

Walls

Pictures

Government scriptures

Joke

Don’t poke

The rabbit

She’s already dead.

Chapter 1 - Your Words

Your words flow over me

As warm, fresh water falls

From cliff to canyon

 

Your fingers brush my skin

Just as the wind

Gently rushes; fondling

Flowers in the valley below

 

Your eyes shine with

The passions of sunrise

Still, I do not fear the heat

Of your presence

 

And your soul

Your soul envelopes me

Like moist, brown earth

Where our love does grow

Already buried.

Chapter 1 - He Speaks

He speaks

And slowly

Of love

He sings

A rhythm

Lost

In time

The words

Are yours

And mine

The song

Is ours

To record

Chapter 1 - I was

I was a writer

And so I wrote

But for myself

Until the day

I found someone who

Needed me

And so for her

I wrote

And she alike

Until the day

I found a man who

Needed no one

And so for him

I wrote.

 

I purged my soul

Of impure thought

I sought

To be an individual

And in this act

I found myself

Accepting nothing

But for the

Absolute

And for no one

But myself

So I am left

With nothing

Save my writing

And as for being

There is nothing

Greater

 

Chapter 1 - Then

I saw you then

My teeth twitching

What is this dance?

A waltz you say?

Oh, my! How fine!

And if there is such

Grand delusion

Are we to be forbidden?

I who did so thirst

To wish a paining of your words

Upon my lips

Unto my breast

Heaving

The breath of life

Does fall.

Risen is this new desire

From blood of old.

 

No angel sits straight with me

Her eyes wander from my glance

And she does not dance.

Somber

You are cool to my touch

Waiver not

My conscience is past

It is then I speak of

Now is yet to be set to music.

Chapter 1 - Why?

Why? I ask you.
Silently pleading you’ll reply.
Help me
I whisper.
Hoping that you’ll hear my cry.
How? (Long?)
Can we hide behind this lie.
Heal me
I am wounded
And I do not wish to die
What (?)
I am saying
Should be of no great surprise
Kiss me
I want you
To look me in the eyes.
Tell me that you love me more
Then say goodbye.

Chapter 1 - Absolute Control

There is no absolute control
In omniscience
There is power yes, and
There are answers.
There is knowledge, yes
And that
Is power.
But without wisdom
There is darkness
And that comes after
We have been
And are made aware.

Chapter 1 - Happiness Breeds

Happiness breeds

on food of existence

poetry, art, humanity.

Seek out those things which

Bring you joy.

The bomb in mind

Set to explode with knowledge.

Feel.

The wind that blows

Leaves into tangled hair.

Hear.

Tragic sirens blare.

See.

Into the cause of the stranger’s stare.

Smell.

Fresh air unstaled by human hands.

Touch

Those hands

And know your fellow man

And dare

Dare

To be more than a reflection

In the mirror.

Dare to live and love

And yes, to falter.

Grow

From seed

To bud

To that which you wish

To be (come)

And then

Dare again

Not just to be.

Chapter 1 - To Begin

Days are sunny, clouds form

ever-changing images in motion and there

is a cool breeze blowing in from across the

dirty river. From among the branches

of a wise, old tree we can see a whole new

world - it is soft and green and it is

alive.

The mountain was bald for a short wet

while just after the Arizona sun singed the

desert's skin and we got baked - yeah, we

were like leather - tough and tanned in our

shady tree-top hideout.

Looking down at the ground from a higher

elevation we smiled at the beauty of it all

from a distance, simply wonderfully

naturally at peace and in touch

with our surroundings

completely comfortable not seeing the forest

for the trees but seeing our world from a tree

in the forest.

____________________________________________________________

Maudlin Machinations

Rattle chains

as

pathetic phenomena

roam; staggering,

disconsolate

into vase deserted corridors.

Malignity echoes

spiraling at and away

from its source.

A Parable

___________________________________________________________

Open Road

Free ride

50 miles

with bullets in mind

the smell of wet nail polish

and nicotine at my lips

60 minutes

Sam's cellular is out of service

Little boy boxer, Roy

Lives in the bus stop ghetto.

The sun leaves me

for the harsh eyes of darkness

in the company of two.

_________________________________________________________

Black candles bleed

violet blood

violated.

A young man feeds

on the tangy flesh

of yet another

helpless heifer

who grazes in the bush

of his love

lapping at the milk of

The Cyclops

The Virgins

The virgins burn with squelched desire

in beds of fire they lay

beside evil men of position and power

transformed, they watch each other

wilt from fresh, young flowers

to shady whores for hire

petal soft skin now crunched old leather

a mother's warning once shunned

leaves young ones with the stench

of evil dripping from their souls

and otherwise.

Chapter 1 - Portrait of a Wounded Man

Fingerprint of crimson stain

Everlasting

Waterfall

of

life

and

death.

Texture changing, smooth yet harsh

pale

and

cold.

Chapter 1 - Bleeding

Unexisting communication

between the walls

I cannot understand

the wailing, howling calls

disguised by meandering shadows

lurking through dark halls

the scene

a horror flick

just before the victim falls

his every move more repulsing

than any graphic gore

as you quiver, I sense panic

a strong pulse amid decaying veins

come closer - I can see your eyes

tear streaked, blood-stained orbs

of yours

approaching.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection

through your dark stare.

I can see that it is me.

I am bleeding.

Chapter 1 - The Joke

The joke went on for months after you left

at home I found you playing chess

your girl staring at me through the glass

or perhaps her own reflection

a crystal ball into her future

outside the warmth of your knowledge

your family.

Take your son and be happy.

Someday I might think this joke is funny.

When you are laughing and playing

with the next one

remember the beautiful one, the lonely one

the quiet one.

The one who silently walked away

without a mention

of all those wasted years

or what might have been.

Chapter 1 - My Grandparent's House

Opens in five places

to the land and the bees

Outside of these

white walls with golden curtains

through long panes of glass

I can see the trees.

Imagine all this

in another world.

Chapter 1 - Unlikely Trio

There is a place

where the earth bleeds

Gouged

by masticating metallic monsters.

 

We met inside the hollow tree.

We shared a silent repast under a harvest moon

His heavy hands cupped

my pulsing breast like mother of pearl

as noon shadowed his fingers

weaving delicate wine meanders

through my hair and throat.

 

Fish skeletons bleeding

on ivory plates

Lunar rays reflected in thick liquid

drip, dropped, drops

 

My soul's breath taken by force

of tongue twisting whirlpool words

being sung by an unlikely trio

the moon, the mountains and you.

Chapter 1 - Subjected

Swift and fierce

large cats come to mind

my name in blood

smeared on a photograph

of me under a blue neon crucifix

"Jesus saves," he said

laughed and snapped the picture

black and white film

Chapter 1 - Passion's Wonder

Glowing - in the heat of an instant

a smothering pleasure,

and I awoke -

flushed.

I leapt into reality

my lips aflame

thirsty

for the touch of those

I covet

a forbidden fruit

passion's throes

and clever prose

Leave me in

wonder.

Wet with the feel of you

I dream

And lured

from fervent slumber

I drown

In my thirst for you

Please,

pull me under.

Chapter 1 - If

If my concentration dove as deep
as the finger in my mouth
I could explain

If you hadn't fallen for her
in the hole I dug for myself
it might be easier

If I were as old as I am wise
You would have loved me

If my fears had a name
it would be yours

Chapter 1 - Staying True

The poems in “Made in U.S.A.” are taken from the five year period between 1990-1995. You will experience the roller coaster ride of childish fancy and drama of a 17-year-old depressive with an addictive personality and an insatiable "hunger". You will be exposed to a view of the world through a know-it-all 22-year old's beauty, sweetness, fear and naiveté. You will get an abruptly honest albeit ego-centric take on the 1991 graduating class of the "Prozac nation" because as it turns out, almost all of us were born without filters or lost them somewhere along the way. But above all, it’s just me turning out some poetry every night after whatever thing just happened in my life so let’s not get too serious about the whole thing.

It's the same old story of a young American woman maturing in the early 90s with all the requisite passion, wonder, experimentation and joy which manage to manifest in sickness, laughter and in tears.

It’s the vital, yet almost completely irrelevant years in the progression and telling of our future adult lives. Our semi-final paths now chosen or at the very least in the process of being drawn whether by our own will or the will of those who shaped our earliest memories. The ones whose voices go with us for better or worse.

We have made decisions concerning the future and we are now faced with the paralyzing task of separating adulthood from our beloved childhood. We are now completely free to be whoever it is we want to be yet we struggle with remaining true to an identity partially created for us by our parents and our schools while protecting and nurturing the selves we are not yet.

And all of this while becoming what society deems a productive member ie. dreaming the American dream while daring to be a little different. Of course, anyone who knows me knows I’ve always been a little different.

Chapter One - The Extraction

First and foremost, poetry is the song of my soul. It is a deeply felt, extremely personal expression of my own individual thoughts that arose from completely, absolutely unoriginal normal universal emotions. It is the instrument with which I actualize these emotions and the score is but a subjective reflection of my generation's canon. Played out in short bursts of consciousness, imitated in intervals; the individual parts enter and exit with varying speed and pitch in virtual chaos discarding all measure of time. The final composition can only be appreciated first as a whole and then by the sum of its parts. It is a path to the Golden Mean. To beauty. To the meaning of life. It can be played backwards or inverted with corresponding reverberance. It is liquid, dynamic and fixed upon the page by a single clef contained within the staves. Notes unwritten until they are heard. Sounds unheard until the exhale and the push and the flow of time inhales them into existence. Do you recognize the melody?

[caption id="attachment_438" align="aligncenter" width="497" caption="With United Forces"][/caption]

When two roads converged in a wood, I took the Allelopath

Allelopathy, I discovered yesterday—is the effect one species has upon the growth, survival and reproduction of another species by chemical, biological or ecological processes. For instance, a tree that grows to be tall and wide benefits the humans beneath it by providing shade where they may have a picnic, make sweet love and carve their initials into the pliable bark marking the first moment of their life-long commitment to benefit each other and their future children. The same tree does not allow any other species to thrive beneath it because of the very shade that benefits the humans.

I also discovered that plants aren’t the only ones with allelopathic tendencies.

It was a typical Tuesday morning eradication session at the Leon Creek Greenway where the Invaders volunteer their time to eradicate non-native invasive species. Ie. Kill things, record how and when they were killed, pinpoint a GPS location of the slaying and record it in a national database. It’s satisfying work because you can see the difference you are making in a landscape right away. Where once there was a mono-culture of invasive species, you can see the potential for new native growth almost immediately. Kind of like getting a haircut: It always makes you feel better about your future somehow.

This day was going along par for the course. I had my first kill and a fat one at that—around six inches in diameter. I had to use my Gomboy or folding handsaw. Felt good to get a big one under my belt first thing. I called out my count and the code for loathed Chinaberry Tree. Most of the trees we eradicated that morning were big Chinas. We had a crew of about 10 and it only took two to do the work of even the biggest tree. So the rest of us just sort of milled about watching or looking for our own pre-flagged specimen to fell.

I’ve been on several of these expeditions before but this one was different in so many ways, it really made me stop and think. The work we did at Rancho Diana seemed much more unobtrusive. We weren’t felling large trees but we were pulling, chopping and spraying hundreds of Nandina every week. There was the “Nandina Forest” where the bamboo-like plant had taken over an entire area of underbrush. That week I learned how to identify Nandia in every  stage of life from a newly formed sprig to a mature bush with berries. Somehow it seemed not only physically easier to hand-pluck the babies from the lush fertile forest floor but cognitively, I didn’t suffer other decisions. Like, which weapon to most effectively destroy the thing. I didn’t have to spend a lot of time with the same plant sawing or even break a sweat. All I had to do was seek, identify and destroy. Now look out honey, 'cause I'm usin' tech-knowledgey...Somebody come and help me please...Somebody better save my soul! Wha? Oh, sorry Iggy Pop sideline. Happens every time.

So, the other thing is that something gets me out there in the civilized wild. A trail runs through it, but nature remains in control. Very early in our first effort to girdle a hug-sized Ligustrum we were verbally accosted by a few well-intentioned tree evangelists who proclaimed us “black-hearted sinners” for our defiant act of ecological restoration.

“We’re all invasive species!” She exclaimed passionately.

I see her point. So who decides?

If nature or her G-d for that matter saw fit for this plant to grow and thrive who are we to destroy it?

My rebuttle was weak. “But it will KILL all the other plants.”

Interesting perspective. Not true though.

It in fact, does nothing actively to kill anything. It only exists for the sole-purpose of existing.

Sure, its leaves drop and make the soil beneath it more alkaline insuring its own survival and the survival of other plants whose tastes agree. Sure, its canopy is large and dense to the detriment of many beneath it, earning it its nickname The Umbrella Tree. Sure, its prolific berries fall and turn to seeds and take their turns growing where they are unsurreptitiously planted. But if blame is due, it might just as well rest on the wings of that ill-fated bird who eats—gorges itself actually—becomes drunk on the toxic berries, flies downstream and deposits the seed at the mouth of another river where Chinaberry has never grown before and then dies. But not before making another even less desirable deposit of bloody seed encrusted feces on your freshly washed but unfortunately unwaxed clear coat instantly lowering your resale value.

Ultimately, we are the ones responsible for introducing the plant here in the first place. It’s a beautiful tree. Resilient. Hardy. Fast growing. Deciduous and flowering; it provides a brilliant if not common display of something in every season. It only becomes ugly when you see it choke out every other species or block a river from flowing freely. If you never saw a snake strike, you could assume it had no fangs. In these woods, the Chinaberry are sparse but large. They aren’t showing their fangs here. But as anyone who has ever been bitten by a snake knows: Size does matter.

Somewhere downstream or over the next hill or around the far bend the effects of these and several other non-native invasives that you can buy and are often touted as best use landscaping plants because of their tolerance for neglect and extreme weather. And that’s our justification for killing. G-d save our black-hearted souls! Funny thing though, they always seem to sprout back up in threes for each  individual we take down to a stump. Some say it’s a futile effort. We call it job security.

Makes ya kinda wonder though, doesn’t it.

Sitting for the Master

Sometimes a painting is just a painting. Sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it speaks when you stop long enough to listen. Sometimes you recognize it in a crowd of strangers as a potential friend. Sometimes you meet and sit and after a while you realize you've found a life-long connection. That’s how it was with The Turnip and me.

[caption id="attachment_399" align="aligncenter" width="497"] The Turnip by  Seth Camm [/caption]

And that’s how it was sitting for Seth among the titanic greek columns of Mr. Santikos’ Palladium Theater/Bar where he is showing his art work and painting in the forward-thinking gallery spawned by the success of The Wonderland of America’s Bijou Theater, where his fiancée Rebecca Coffey is showing her art to movie goers who may or may not be intentionally seeking more from their entertainment than Hollywood has to offer. Can we just go to the movie now? Not yet, I’m still looking!

So, tell me how this works. What do I do?

Just sit there and look pretty.

Can I move? Look around?

Well, you can but not too fast or it’ll turn out blurry.

Hm. Easiest job I’ve done all week. Sure beats cleaning poo and rat guts on the snake farm.

But staring at the faces of the ones who came before, I somehow felt unworthy. Still I was giddy. At home now, I’m certain I was wearing that “shit eating grin” my dad used to call the look my face when they fought. The one I put on when they inevitably said, “Wipe that smile off your face.” The one that turned itself down at the edges so even though I felt like I was smiling, it didn’t offend anyone because I appeared to be just as unhappy as they were.

Break time!

And the first time I’ve ever seen what someone else sees when they see me.

Wow is all I can say. I know. I’m supposed to be a writer and all I’ve got is wow. To be fair, I’m in awe of this person before me. Of his talent. Of his grace. Of the way his eyes translate the world outside him to his hands in that esoteric language known only to trained artisans who practice attaining nothing less than perfection on a daily basis. Who continue with the daunting, joyful task of living and creating new things in absolute faith every single day of their lives for the pure joy of it. Because life would not be worth living without it and despite the fact that though they may reach seemingly unattainable heights they may be the only ones who recognize it and that has to be reward enough.

Can I get you anything?

A shot-gun, a twelve pack and a passing buffalo.

Would you settle for some chocolate?

I’m going to turn you blue now.

But wait! I’ve been blue for so long. I want to be a different color now. I want to wipe that shit eating grin off my face and glow.

I didn’t bring enough white to finish.

But I’m ready! I’m ready for my face to reflect how I feel inside. How rich, happy, loved and secure I am all by myself though it may not seem like it because I’m talking my head off like a teenager on three-way. I want to shine like the women on the wall. But are they really happy or does the master see something in all of us no one else can?

Someone enters the space. Someone who looks quite comfortable looking at art and in her own skin. Someone who doesn’t wait to be invited, is first to offer a smile and says, “I like your light.” Someone who means what she says in every way possible.

It was the best compliment I had ever heard given to an artist. It was a compliment not only to his work and his talent but his existence. Because the master uses light, needs light, reflects light and is light.

It may make a nice underpainting for something in the future.

In the shadowy outline on his canvas, I saw so much in me—so much potential for a finished piece. So much potential for a finished person—though we are all a work in progress. It was definitely me, or at the very least the me the people passing by could see as their eyes widened in disbelief. It reminded me of that fresh feeling you get when you step out of the shower and see yourself for the first time in the steamy mirror. You can’t see it yet, but you know you’re under there and all you have to do is sweep your hand across the cool glass to reveal it.

So many feelings in a glance. I had to look away. It was too beautiful. I practically ran outside to text everyone I know how awesome it was to be sitting for the master. The truth is I was afraid to see what he saw. I covered it up with small talk and giggles and he knew it too.

I lost the likeness of you.

I’m going down a path here that’s getting a bit steep, but sitting for the master always is isn’t it.

At home now, I realize I was afraid to see my own potential. But in that light, I felt that someday when I’m brave enough, I’ll look myself in the eyes and allow him to show me the beauty he sees. Until that day, I’m quite comfortable practicing my own perfection faithfully in perpetuity. I will continue with the daunting, joyful task of living and creating new things in absolute faith every single day of my life for the pure joy of it. Because life would not be worth living without it and despite the fact that though I may reach seemingly unattainable heights I may be the only one who recognizes it and that has to be reward enough.

Thanks for sitting for me tonight.

No thank you. It was an honor.

Pretty Cool Feeling

Waking up to a brand new day

Taking the time to revel in it

Stretching out your thoughts

As far and wide as you can reach

    Expanding

Bringing it all back in

Accepting

    Understanding

Knowing

    Trusting

Starting again

Counting your blessings

Taking control

    Giving it up

Letting it ride

    Keeping it cool

Embracing the throttle

Rolling it all the way back in

Swiftly or slowly

Hearing

Sensing

Seeing the road stretch out before you

As far and wide as you want to go

Reeling it all back in beneath the seat of your consciousness

Practicing

    Believing

Stopping

    Owning

Turning

    Changing

But always

Moving forward

Yep.

Pretty cool feeling!

An idiom by any other name would smell as sweet

[caption id="attachment_371" align="aligncenter" width="497"] Nature abhors a vacuum[/caption]

The juxtaposition of rock, decaying mulch and vibrant new plant life drew me to this area of the backyard very near where target practice is held. Every evening as the sun finally drops behind the wooden slatted fence, rays of light leak through and illuminate things I've never seen before. Things that are there every day but go unseen by anyone until I take a picture and share it. There is nothing else in this bed but more decaying mulch, a few empty pots and a fallen ornamental peacock. His pride prevented him from inclusion. I walk past this rock 16 times to the target after I shoot and 16 times when I return with my arrows. I walk past it 32 times a day, 224 times per week and 960 times per month and every day I see something new.

[caption id="attachment_373" align="aligncenter" width="497"] Mother's jewels[/caption]

The bluebonnet flowers have since been provided with rain and sprouted. The tiny droplets of water they caught more precious than diamonds. It's the only plant I know of that holds water like the Star of India holds light. Their beauty too wild to confine to one garden; they've taken over the entire side of the back yard leaving me only a footpath to my target.  A path I've walked so many times the flowers learned to bloom around it, up to my knees though I never trampled them. Strange the other side of the yard is completely barren but for the weeds.

Enlightenment: That awkward moment you realize your kid knows more than you because you taught him.

Living the dream

So, I know this guy and whenever you ask him what he's up to, he says: "Livin' the dream." And he smiles this sardonic, sarcastic smile that reminds me of the scar tissue on a bleeding ulcer. But it's true for him. He is living the dream of the typical American - work hard, make tons of cash and save, save, SAVE for retirement. Except he works so hard at working that he has zero time for a home life where things continuously and predictably fall into disrepair. He works so hard at working he has no time to eat or exercise so his body falls into disuse and disease. He works so hard at working that his family sub-conciously creates disaster crisis scenarios for him to fix because that's the only time he responds to their pleas for attention. And every day is a crisis because the guy is a genuinely good guy and people want him in their lives.

He thinks himself different than most because he practices austerity. He fixes things. He knows how to cook a good, healthy meal for his family and he does so on all the very special occasions or very nearly. He buys things with cash. He has no desire to wear the latest trends or sport the newest ride. But he's no different from anyone who ever mouthed the words, "I need to be financially stable to feel secure."

What does that mean exactly? For me, it means cutting my expenses to the point where I know I can get a job anywhere, anytime to meet them and gaining the experience to do whatever job might come my way. To him it means $300k a year. To you it might mean, $56k but the fact remains you're putting a numeric value on security. Security which by every standard of American living in the last century was all but guaranteed to you if you "worked hard".

So what is working hard?

Action is what we take when being is taken for granted.

NYT Best Seller

You read me
Cover to cover
One rainy afternoon
In February
You turned the fireplace on
Tucked in your toes
and pulled your favorite fleece
Up to your chin
Stretching the fabric taut
Over your body
On the long leather couch
You settled in
And let out a cozy sigh
Before smacking your tongue
Against the roof of your mouth
But this book is only one of a series
The whole story is far from told.
It’s the one you open
Anticipating the best.
It’s the one you close
Begrudgingly because you long for more
But you simply can’t imagine
What else lies in store.
It’s the one you wait for.
The one you pre-order
In advance of general release
Not just to beat the crowds at the store
But to be the first to know,
The first to hold the secret in your hands
And let it reveal itself
With the simple turn of a page
And it’s worth it
Every time
Though every time you wonder
How can it get better than this
And every time it is
You dare to ask for more.

It’s an adventure.
Choose your own.
Read the lines.
Come with me.

It’s a fantasy.
Yours and mine
Mine it and I’m yours.

It’s a grand escape
From reality
Where all roads
Lead to here
And now is the place
You never want to leave.

It’s pure science fiction
But the fact is
It doesn’t matter
Because it’s more real
Than the dream you had this morning
When we woke up
And it was raining
So you started a fire
Cuddled up
And began to read
An interesting story

Yesterday's secrets are today's virtues.