Posted in Photography, Poetry

Joan

Is this it?

Is this 
your last laugh
to end my misery?

I never felt
so alone
with Joan
huddled in the corner
afraid to make contact
with anyone.

Her dream came to me in 2006
and fourteen years just isn’t enough time to tell you how much she cared.


I tried.
I tried really hard
to let you know
my love for life
was all i ever lived.

If you never hear from me know whatever i neglected to say was that i believe Jesus
was who He said He was.

And i was Joan.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Prayer

spring sprouts forward
Praying, lying in the grass 
watching time turn green
I notice last years growth
decomposing, making room
for fresh perspectives.

I absolutely feel ready
to fall apart myself
but then again
i most likely will wake up
and carry on like the wind.

All the while waiting
for God to strike me dead.
Posted in Poetry

offering

i wish
i could say
i understand
rather i drown
beneath this invisible cloak
knit with a double cable stitch
made to keep me warm

i suffer in the humid summer
bit by mosquitoes who crawl through the yarn
shiver, afraid to emerge
ever be seen…
silence takes my voice
and everyone else takes my blood

Posted in Poetry

suttee

Afraid
to let you go
i twine the words
of complicated grief
there was no goodbye
never another hello

and then i made it worse
opened myself
wide
displayed before savage eyes
killed myself slowly
with little pride to show

flames shooting higher
than ever thought possible
i sold my soul to the devil
who paid a hefty price
to lick bitter tears shed for us
and consume his last meal.

Posted in Poetry

peril

The deepest,
darkest
rises in the fog,
burned away -hidden desire.

Oh, why feel
so free
behind the screen?

And how our creator
tapped into the sensual,
leaves us mourning
the loss of soul.

Posted in Art, Poetry, travel

Raped

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well-lived.

word orgies
leave us naked
empty days and nights

your feasting strips humility
scraps of audacity linger-longer

recognize Christ?

Standing outside, admiring Joan Miro’s outdoor sculpture…


Miro’s Chicago

we were invited into The Chicago Temple by a passerby. It was absolutely beautiful inside. Ornate wood and stained glass warmed the interior and our noses.

Posted in Poetry

Do i dare

emerge from -shadows,

drink deep

from the well?

Wind clappin’

slappin’ my face

You offer -me

am i real?

a figment

of our imagination?

Wind clappin’

slappin’ my face

Drink deep -crimson

less the world

worn and heavy

rape your soul.

Wind clappin’

slappin’ my face

Save yourself.