Posted in Poetry

tragic.

Mirror,

how do you
tell yourself truth?
in bite-size portions, snacks
in-between meals or buffet-style realization?

The never ending comparison
words written
as if boobs matter.

Who else makes such remarks?
If not for Anne Sexton, i
would have no clue why
i am or am not.

Anne said it best…

“Perhaps I am no one.

True, I have a body

and I cannot escape from it.

I would like to fly out of my head,

but that is out of the question.”

let confusion continue.
you believed the wrong men. the girls
crueler than an autumn sun
toying with warmth.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

My heart is a corridor


I cannot seem to walk past a door
lonely, in the pursuit of time
the wind’s impatient brush with forever

we stood in the hollow
bodies carved from sharpened rock
and painted yellow
the dim-lighted blackened space

You obviously see me
spared the chance of fading out
the rain washes our conscience clean.

Posted in Art, Poetry

Did you come?

Flicker 4/20/2020

Can anyone hear the lark sing
I wonder. The rain knows
the words that twirl
to form the song
inside this vacant heart. You
removed all the furniture

placed into another room
wallpapered with old paintings. Never
knowing which was your color
i painted the reds of maple blooms
spring leaves only a few days old

they held no shape for us to know
how these days would go. And
now they bleed into years
of birthdays spent walled between plexiglass.
Yesterday’s reflection lied

as eyes peered to watch a head linger
a long pause …
the window hurts from all the noise
it rattles from my fist
poised to strike against me.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Escape

Escape
I never felt so lost
as all the seas are twisting
the souls forever daunting
amongst the tangled weeds
perceived to be my bed.
Instead,
I find my feet dangling
atop a sailor’s head
and all because I have
no love left to pretend.

The seas had been emptied
to drown the crowded sorrows
and all the earth has dried
to crumbling bone. Crushed!
That is the sentiment
heard
around the world
amongst cries of starving hands.
Sand sifting through fingers
atop the mountain peak.

Beware! A man comes from the east
to tempt you with her feast
of golden hues and noxious smells
of burnt sugar.
Their evil plan
dispels the glamour of romance.

Take me now! Let it be done!

The minutes are literally ticking away second by second. I am not lost in a satisfying romantic dream. Rather I am locked up in a reality that steals every comforting thought. To escape this would mean freedom. Imprisoned in my mind is a small child being forced to eat man’s stale bread.

Reader, If nothing makes sense it is simply because I am half awake and writing this as it appears in my mind. Hopefully a deep slumber overtakes me soon. An escape to some other moon. The pink one is expired.

Posted in Photography, Poetry, quotes, Soul Journal

My Promise Garden

There exists a place
where grace imparts
a smile on every face.

Where flowers bloom
and chicks do roam
and honeybees buzz about.

The woods they speak
of you and me
we set a spot of tea.

The wild creatures
come and romp
dance so gaily.

And in the end
our heads will root
between the dappled sun.

I am always grateful the days depression departs my soul. Today I feel free… How are you? 🙏🏼💙🌊

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 Photography, Poetry

Dance Upon the Waters

Wayward Be. Being Me.
Because life is random.
What of the melting snow
and drifting sand?
He ponders the arrows
of a cloud’s gripping hand.
Watches wind shake her hair.

To spy the girl
steady on the cliff
she guards a boat
where sea roses bloom
honorably for self and man.

She whispers in his storm
“Let me be.”
Forever wayward
in search of soul
yet able to find her way
back home.
Posted in Poetry

Moth Wings

Dedicated to a faithful friend.
My eyes flicker in the light.
I venture closer
to find you quiver
pencil lines draw a smile
where my lips once drew life.

A beam shines behind you
me dressed in blue.
We watch our dance
in front of a door
hinged by crafted iron
while shoes fit for horses
don our feet.

We gallop off
to find refuge
in silk threads
and pray our faith shelters
a promise made
a few days before
the doctor diagnosed
our heartbreak.