Sister Sensuality: A Snippet

Sister Sensuality
wrap me in your mossy earth cape
and engulf my naked Self
chew me up
spit me out
and share me with your friends

volcano

my heart was

ripped open

and there was

darkness there

and salt tears

poured forth

and i begged

to be seen

but no one saw me

until i let them

Praise for Pele

fire and water colliding
in violent ecstacy
a union producing mists
to rival Avalon's

air and earth supporting
glassy crags and chill-kissed breezes
holding my body
as I ponder in wonder

surrounded by Love
by tribe, by family
cracking wide open
and spilling forth

thank you, Pele
fiery mistress
thank you

Big Island

this place
so magickal
suffused with Spirit
open palms inviting
me in
further
deeper
wider
perched atop
this crystal made of love
my heart swells
with Aloha
i am home
i am now
i am here

Johnny (23 July, 2006)

Cupid's gone and lost his bow
I found it in your kiss
it tastes of prose and cigarettes

a past painted with battles
of fate of fame
of expectation

peace in the present
a sweet recognition
the pirate finds his freedom

a libertine
who teaches me to fly
to see the world for what it is
not what it is not

this cautious hero
sets a quiver to my knees
cupid's bow smiling sweetly
for the tabloids

Really crappy snippet (22 July, 2006)

happiness is a beast
that ever eludes me
and I, like a rabid dog,
forever grasping and
clawing at it torrid tails

I would that I could
wrench this tormenting
cavern from my breast
and replace it with something
warm and soft and sweet

bring to me my baby
my joy my light
my star in a hundred
heavens shining

(18 December, 2006)

I revolve through the doors
my heels tap tap
on the slick marble floor
my body slinks silently
into the soft leather club chair
it's black like my dress

adonis is at the piano
his nimble fingers tickle the keys
a lock of his hair
falls carelessly down his forehead
it's black like the chair

my eyes burn great fissures
in the man with his instrument
hot as the flames of the torch songs he's playing
I've come just to see him
I'm eager as the moon

Hello Lovely (24 June, 2005)

the slugs they leave a fairy trail
it sparkles in the moonlight
I skate across it like a frozen stream in winter
it reminds me of you
so simple and easy and beautiful

I see you in the morning
lying naked in my bed
I turn to you and say
"hello lovely"

we'll ride on plastic pastel ponies
dancing round the issues
I put my foot down to sidestep vertigo
we waltz with the jazz band
keeping time with the chirping crickets

I capture your reflection
in a perfect bead of dew
I drink it in and say
"hello lovely"

my pages blank
my story unwritten
your pen in my inkwell
read to me fairy tales
will she live happily ever after
with this prince disarming?
how very charming, she says

the beltane fires burn
and we're dancing wildly round it
I take your hand and say
"hello lovely"

(8 July, 2005)

the morning bells greet me with the dawn
there's a breeze blowing through the window
making the drapes dance in merry waves
I stretch and yawn and rub the lingering sleep
from my eyes
and greet the newness of the day

the table is set with lilies, oranges, toast and honey
the teapot whistles a steamy tune
of fragrant herbs and spices
the world outside my room is fresh and new
I drink it in with the breath of possibility
and exhale yesterday's disappointments.

All About Me (26 June, 2005)

I talk to the fireflies
as if they were passersby
a wink and a nod for the caterpillars

lightning storms
on warm balmy morns
are some of my favorite thrillers

I dance with dandelions
abhor branding irons
sing like a jazz queen in the shower

I dream with abandon
my tangents are random
I feel safe in the presence of flowers

I'm a paradox
I'm a weapon unwieldy
a force to be reckoned with
not to control

I'm like Goldilocks
my life's an adventure
I've got sass for the masses
I dig rock & roll

I'm a writer, a reader
sometimes a fire breather
I speak what I mean with few filters

to some it's quite charming
to others: alarming
and I'm always a little off-kilter

(16 July, 2005)

set this eagle free

and I will fly to you

with carefree speed

olive branch in one hand 

and a weil across my mouth

to gather all the tender words

I've spoken

thinking of this space

I memorized your face

and though it's far away

I feel you here

a queen within my heart

and I am on my knees

in hopeful supplication

help me find salvation

Untitled Marisol Story (July, 2005)

Marisol was reading in the garden
her parasol providing needed shade
some crustless sandwiches for hungry nibbling
and a tall refreshing glass of lemonade

today she will read about adventure
upon the high and treacherous black sea
yesterday she fell down a wild rabbit hole
and joined some curious characters for tea

Marisol had grown to love the library
with it rows and rows of musty, dusty books
filled with interesting people
like cowboys, fairy queens and shifty crooks

little Suzi Knightley spied young Marisol
perched all comfy cozy 'neath her tree
and asked her to come join her and the others
for a rousing social game of hide and seek

Marisol considered well this invite
but politely said she couldn't be disturbed
for Suzi Knightley had just interrupted her
as her pirates' ship had pillaged some rich burg

so she stuck her nose right back between the pages
of her favorite new book just as before
and held her breath in great anticipation
wondering what new plot twists were in store

merrily, she sat and nibbled biscuits
as she lived page after page of this adventure
she was a pirate queen with every freedom
but her mutinous crew just sold her as indentured!

she raised her pirate sword in threatening protest
and the crew, they raised their cannon in reply
then ... gasp! ... at once young Marisol was startled ...
a croquet ball had landed at her side

Charlie Mitchner trotted up to Marisol
his croquet mallet smartly held in tow
he invited Marisol to join their tournament
but she returned the ball and nicely told him no.

the mutiny was just as she had left it
sword in hand, she made ready for a scrape
she raised her head and took a slow, deep inhale
breathing in the salt sea air, and ... CAKE!

Sugar pancake scents were wafting 'round her
and then she heard a strange sound on the breeze
a din of ponies neighing and of music
and children laughing gaily as you please

all these things meant just one thing to Marisol:
the traveling carnival had come to town!
so she closed her book and gathered up her parasol
and set off for the brightly lit fairgrounds.

there she saw her friend, young Suzi Knightley,
and Charlie Mitchner (now without his mallet)
she joined the on the pretty painted carousel
and they laughed and squealed as round and round they galloped

Marisol looked over at her playmates
she wondered why they hadn't got together sooner
she knew the both of them would make for fine adventurers
and the lesson she had learned could not be truer:

books are lovely tools for entertainment
and they're fabulous for learning 'bout new things
just be careful not to lose sight of reality
don't miss out on all the fun the real life brings!

(August, 2005)

Betty ties the apron round her waist
ties it tight so it accentuates
her perfect pin-up figure

she sets the china on the table
it is chipped and she's unable
to hide the tiny flaws

so she touches up her lipstick
puts away the bisquick
and then pours herself a dirty martini

and toasts her death

Satanic Verses (20 February, 2007)

an angelic grip
asphyxiates demon
my lover
he chokes
and sputters
the angelic beast
crouched over his body
lustily
thrusting
in battle

blackness engulfed
in diaphanous gold
two dancing
behind
closed shutters
dagger is bloody
a sceptre is broken
the victor
climbs into
the saddle

speak me your verses
my beautiful fiend
your side of the story
remains to be seen
sing your satanic verses
sing your satanic verses
sing your satanic verses
to me

Snippet (30 January, 2006)

I am alone.

the beast called Community
gnaws at my sinews
and belches me up
like an irrelevant gristle.

I am alone.

But still I am hopeful.

Unfinished Story (January 2006)

Louise absently tucked a rogue spray of auburn hair back into the loosely bound knot at her nape.  It was just before noon and the heat of the midsummer day was stirring the mercury in the glass to climb toward to sweltering apex.  The park was unusually crowded.  The breeze carried the taunts and squeals of children out over the emerald lake to land among the mermaids disguising their foreign songs. Lightning seeds danced in the airline little faeries in ballerinas' garb, and Seymour, the dog, made diligent efforts to catch them for his midmorning snack.

Louise was casually reclining on the white blanket painted with poppy-colored blossoms.  The basket at her side held the day's ammunition of berries, bitter chocolate and a bottle of the cheap red wine with the charming bicycle on the label.  There were also books in the basket:  a journal for recording her thoughts, a dog-eared copy of a beloved work of fiction, and a couple of self-help books which were carried neither for prevention nor redemption.  Louise was simply the kind of woman who had lost herself on the train ride of life, and she was willing to look for clues - to where her true self might be hiding - in any place she could fathom.  George Bernard Shaw once said:  Life is not about finding yourself.  Life is about creating yourself.  Unfortunately for Louise, she had not been informed of this great truth, so she lived out a life of quiet mediocrity while dreaming of her True Self out in the world living the life she was too afraid, too lazy, or too ignorant to create.

This day was no exception.  It was Sunday.  And every Sunday Louise packed a picnic and strolled to the park, an eager Seymour dancing excitedly at the end of his leash.  Louise liked the park.  It was simple and beautiful there.  And when she was there, surrounded by the children at play, the lovers in love, and the little old men playing checkers, she was able to forget - for a few moments - how lonely she felt in the world.  Sometimes she'd bring work with her allowing the fresh air to clear her thoughts and spark her productivity.  Bt today Louise simply sat and observed the workings of the world around her.  Sometimes she made notes in her journal about the passage of the seasons, or sketches of the ever-changing landscape and faces.  Other times she gossiped with Seymour about such shocking events as the new youngster who usurped Old Man Johnson's title as "City Park Checkers Champion".

Seymour was feeing particularly energetic today.  Despite Louise's  plaintive cries for quiet repose, Seymour was tugging at her skirt hem relentlessly coercing Louise into action.  "Okay!" she sighed finally, "We'll take a walk around the park's perimeter.  But, then, we take a rest ... deal?"  Seymour sounded a bark of agreement, then promptly set about bathing Louise's sandaled feet with slobbery kisses of gratitude.

Seymour was quite familiar with the Sunday afternoon park scene.  He had keenly put to memory the lay of the land with its details and irregular regularities.

16 June, 2009

digging through the trunks of my past
filled to overflowing
worn out versions of myself
crammed semi-neatly
in the attic, the closet, the garage
dust mixes with humidity
the slimy grime
leaves a residue on my skin
filmy memories cover my eyes
like used contacts
skewing my vision oil I can see
the ghosts of my life
all around me
shades of the people, places, experiences
that have touched me
and shaped me
molding me - creating me
so many moments tucked away
trapped in these trunks and boxes
carelessly, or selfishly,
I'd forgotten they were here
wasting reminders that rattle
their chains in my dark quiet places
I know now what is to be done
the time has finally come
a good cleaning is in order
so, gingerly, I pack up these memories
I embrace these old ghosts
and thank them
and release them out into the world
I sweep away the cobwebs
open the shutters
and let the light bathe me
in the promise of new treasures
to come.

Snippet (2015)

Rain!  Yes, Rain!
Come dancing
on my roof tonight!

Tap out the code
to my Destiny.

It's getting harder
and harder
to decrypt it.

Mid-Life Crisis (9 September, 2015)

Sitting in a coffee shop -
a nod to my younger self -
but there's no coffee, no cigarette,
no easy flowing inspiration.

Oh, I'm still full of angst,
just a different kind ...
That turbulent, emotional storm
that used to fuel creative fires
has now mellowed into a series
of melancholy days
of wistful nostalgia
and aching boredom.

I long for the rose-colored simplicity
of my younger days
when my body was lithe and nimble,
my mind was open and wild with Ideas,
and I was blessed with a circle
of co-conspiring friends and family.

How have I come here
to this table for one
alone and stifled and softer -
so much softer -
around my bones?

It's not the aging I mind so much,
rather the brazen limitations
of a life of routine and practicality.
I'm afraid, one day soon, I may die of it.

Journal Entry (11 July, 2012)

I'm feeling it again ... that infuriating, skin-crawling, eye-scratching yearning for some unnamed experience or state of being.  It always seems connected to the late 90's somehow.  I suppose this is what a mid-life crisis looks like from the inside.

It's a swirl of rose-colored melancholy and midnight blue angst with a spattering of honey golden memory.  And like many things in this life, it is beautiful and heart-breaking.

13 November, 2015

gentle winds blowing
limbs scratching at my window
I light a candle for your soul
take a nip and then go

out to walk upon the dell
toward the gray horizon
where long ago through wind and snow
roamed horses wild and bison

the cold it bites me on my nose
and tickles my fingertips numb
but my heart it stays warm as sweet apple pie
just waiting for you to come

run to me now as the snow turns to clover
and kiss me hard on the mouth
then let's stroll together hand in hand
as we mosey back to the house

Manifesto 2015

I want to dance under stars
and make out with salty boys
and write poetry in cemeteries
and weave deep connections
with others who still feel hope
and enchantment in the world.

Letter to a Lover (22 October, 2007)

My Dearest,

I am writing this letter to you, and I've never even met you.  But I know you exist.  You must. I refuse to believe that my life will remain a lonely hollow shell as it so often feels now.  I know you are out there waiting and dreaming for me as I am waiting and dreaming for you.  Thank you for that.  Thank you for the 100 kisses you give me daily in celebration of the hundreds of days we spent waiting for each other.  Thank you for always supporting me and challenging me to reach ever higher to dance among stars I never dared dream upon.  Thank you for sharing your fears and insecurities, and for helping to face and conquer mine.  Thank you for holding my hand during sad movies and walks in the park and for holding my heart when i'm feeling fragile.  Thank you for letting me be your confidant, counsellor, lover and friend and for being all this to me and more.  And, perhaps, most importantly, thank you for loving me and letting me love you in return.

Yours Devotedly,
M

Nevermore Neverland (16 March, 2004)

Wendy, darling,
where are the Lost Boys?
the hook has taken it's hold

tick tock, goes the croc
it's nearly 3:30
the moment has come to be bold

my shadow got into
the fairy dust stash
and now she's flying away

there's no one left here
to fight this last battle
no one left here to save the day

Attachment (20 March, 2004)

attachment is a nasty thing
it turns my hands to claws
grasping for the slightest morsel
tossed in my general direction

it makes me greedy
like the cock in the hen house
strutting and preening
and declaring my importance
with great screeching cries
and displays of domination

its hold is like a viper's grip
taunting me
threatening to swallow me whole
until, all consumed,
I am crushed and devoured
and all semblance of me
is extinguished