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

The Ladies (19 March, 2004)

Meredith is pretty
Meredith is witty
she will make you come
when she plays her drum
she will make you mellow
when she plays her cello
she will make your knees go weak
when she sings
when she sings

Dana is so foxy
Dana's got some moxie
she'll make you feel naughty
when she paints her body
she'll burn you to the wick
when she talks politics
she'll have you chomping at the bit
when she knits
when she knits

Melanie is silly
Melanie is frilly
she will make you swoon
when she's in costume
her body you will ogle
when she's doing yoga
she'll put you in a trance when she
begins to dance
begins to dance

On Turning Thirty (18 March, 2004)

the maiden's day is coming
the candles will be lit
the boxes will be wrapped
in bows and pretty paper
and everyone will have cake

bouquets of icing roses
will sate the greedy masses
and I will be in the spotlight
pretty dress
hair a mess
a goddess dancing madly
in a bacchanalian sport

where has my tiara gone?
it's tangled in my hair
the chandelier mocks me
sending little rainbows
to frolic on the walls

this revelry is all for me
maiden
goddess
decadent queen
and like a fancy bird
I'll preen and smile for the camera

I am a woman now
I roar a guttural cry
of absolute ecstasy

my scraped knees are mended
lollipops become martinis
I throw Dolly to the curb

I am a woman now
and I like it

Birthday Party (23 March, 2004)

Nine little candles
stood neatly in a row
I huff and I puff
and take them out in one blow

a bright party hat
perched atop my crown
pin the tail on the donkey
drinks all around

I spank the piñata
with a big orange stick
duck, duck, goose
who shall I pick?

they all gather round
offering gifts for me to take
everyone's at the table now
Let them eat cake!

Sappy Poem to Say Goodbye to a Guy (11 April, 2004)

go now
on your own adventure
find out what delights you

steer clear
of thieves like Fear
don't let those monsters bite you

I'll try to remember
just what you look like
I'll try to remember
just how I felt
when you touched me
I'd tremble ... I'd fly ...

But I can't promise
that I'll be waiting
when you come back
so, I guess, love, this is goodbye

it's time for your transport
to hop the Atlantic
I'll kiss you like a soldier headed for war
so passionate and frantic

what you won't see is how
when you take to the sky
I break down and cry
til I'm dry

Random Snippet (2003)

I am Failure's muse
dancing and bruised
just wondering how
I came to be
entangled in this ruse

Two Stars Falling (2003)

Catastrophe after catastrophe
invading my blissful apathy
you reach down in
this hell I'm in
and pull me up so I can breathe

Asphyxiation left behind
so much worry ... never mind
you pluck these burdens
from my should ... yes ...
hel p me to find wholeness

See these two stars falling
leaving takes in the night
dancing, intertwining,
weaving spells in silent flight
lighting up the dark
see them spark
these two stars falling

snippet 3 October, 2003

I rue the hour
when spun sugar houses
were my refuge

not sweet, but sour
the walls collapsed around me
where were you?

6 June, 2004

telephone wires
putting out fires
at least for the moment

continental phrases
fiber optic mazes
just for a moment

worldwide travel
sitting here
while my armchair
begins to unravel

but I can hear your breathing
in my ear
and I can at least imagine
that you're here

Unfinished Story (26 August, 2009)

Freddy Flapjack sat at the table
looking at a ball of clay.
"What shall I make of you?"
he said to the lump.
"What would you like to be today?"

He waited for answer and
waited ... and waited ...
but the clay just sat there, quiet.
So Freddy Flapjack started offering suggestions
to get his ball of clay excited.


"How about a fire truck? A birthday cake?
Or maybe a nightly lion?"
"You could be a cowboy hat
without hardly even trying!"

The lump of clay did not respond.
It just sat there on the table.
"You can be anything!" Freddy cried,
"A tree!  A bee!  A horse in a stable!"

Still the ball of clay said nothing
and Freddy was getting frustrated.
The lack of motivation was the
kind of thing he hated.

Freddy Flapjack looked at the lump of clay
who hadn't changed a bit.
"Why don't you do anything?" he shouted.
"You're full of potential!  Why waste it?"

What Freddy didn't realize,
was that his ball of clay
had not, in fact, been ignoring him,
but had something it had to say.

It tried and tried to find the words
to explain everything to this friend.
It knew it was more than just a lump,
but it didn't know how to begin.

"I think," said the clay, after long, careful thought,
"that I might need some help from you."
Freddy Flapjack had never considered this,
and asked, "What can I do?"

"I've tried to change by myself," said the clay,
"and that, my good friend, is no lie.
But I just can't seem to make anything happen
no matter how hard I try."

25 April, 2008

Have I been naughty?
Silenced the mind
gave in to the body
words and deeds
in direct opposition
the man over me
in missionary position
Have I been bad?
Should I feel guilty or sad?

4 December, 2007

I know a woman
she is strong and beautiful
and has a mind
like the broadest horizon
and a soul like
a sister twin
that can read the words
of my inner workings
as if she sent off for
the decoder ring
that accompanies them


What a rare and precious treasure
was unearthed
when she came into my house
my life -
that chill October evening
carving pumpkins
imbibing wine
sharing time
at a farm table full of friends

together we are mistresses of
mercurial colloquies
discoursing like dervishes
sharing great though bubbles
that span the years of our experiences
and fly out into the unknown
like icarus with great
broad wings of invention
and possibility

she gives ear to my
complaints and confusions
voices her own to the privilege
of my eager counsellor's heart
like I,
she does not cower from questions
so we two seekers have joined
in the sacred conspiracy of sisterhood

and we are planning to conquer the world

A Moment's Pause (29 November, 2007)

Contentment comes to visit me
usually in fleeting, small moments
which I, in my busy chaos,
skim over silkily
like the otter skims over a mud mound

but on rare occasion
she flies to my consciousness
a hummingbird
whizzing at my ear
staring me in th face
a little gift from the world

here I sit on my porch
no moment extraordinary
and life around me
stills and purrs
sweetly for a moment
contentment, fair and simple,
sits with me for a spell
and I embrace her.

Hidden Hell (26 November, 2007)

dew drop
rain drop
tear drop
mine

no, don't worry,
I'll be fine

I'll put on my helmet
and wield my bright shield

over my ruins
I will rebuild

a beautiful fortress
portcullis and moat

to hide these dull demons
that paw at my throat

3 September, 2007

Beauty is the eye of the beholder
beauty in the hand becomes spoiled
creation is the heart of passion
desire is the blood newly boiled

rapture is my secret that's been hidden
waiting for the day it can be told
for the piper to seduce it from its hiding
and polish it to a shining gold

this work of art is unfinished
there's a story deep within still unwritten
a spirited romance disguised as tragedy
just waiting for someone to look and listen

10 September, 2000

Depression comes in and sits on my chest
I fight and flail, but she gives me no rest

She's heavy
I'm striving
Not breathing
But trying
So scared
Am I dying?

No.

The rose may be thorny and may make me bleed
But the blossom is beautiful, the aroma sweet

So, Depression, dark goddess, I woo for a time
But know that soon Salvation is mine

She'll unlock the manacles clapped round my soul
And I'll sprout new wings embroidered with gold
And I'll float to the forest of dreams
Quiet ...
   ... as a ...
      ... ghost.

A Snippet from 2008

I'm dancing in a tin cup
to an orchestra of bees
humming madly round my ballroom
with an effervescent ease

Days of blissful ignorance and innocence (17 September, 1995)

It's a beautiful day today.  The sky has cleared and now is a beautiful cerulean blue with both puffy cumulus and wispy cirrus clouds.  I love the sky.  It's absolutely amazing.  No matter what the temperament it retains an exquisite sense of beauty.  I wish I could fly.  I think that may actually be why I love the story of Peter Pan so much.  I envy him because he can fly.  (And because he can hang out with faeries and has a vivid imagination.)  Sometimes I wish I could go to Neverland.  But, then again, it's got its problems, too.  Every place has an antagonist, and as so Neverland has Captain Hook.  I'm sitting gin the park as the day is drawing to a close.  The trees are shading the little broken bench upon which I am perched.  The birds are whistling their cheerful stories.  (It's really quite a lovely chorus.)  The weeping willow behind me gracefully stoops as if trying to touch my shoulder in an attempt for some consolation.  But I don't even think the weeping willow could be sad on a day so lovely as today.  The grass is green and high, and is speckled with the white buds of wild thistles and the crisp brown of dead leaves.  A soft cool breeze is blowing through the trees, though my hair, touching my face with its soft kiss.  There are children's voices echoing from the playground over the hill.  The laughter of innocent, protected children ... What a gorgeous melody.  The whole scene makes me hopelessly nostalgic; although for what I can't say ... I think basically for those moments in the past when I felt completely safe and loved.  Days when I never felt lonely or strange.  Days of blissful ignorance and innocence.  Why must we all become of jaded and closed as life goes by?  It seems the older one gets, the more one learns that life should open up for us and engulf us in its beauty and in its endless amazement.  Instead we become trapped - forgetting to explore, losing the love of adventure that guided us with unparalleled force as children.  We become lost.  It's a shame.  I miss my childhood.  Growing up is very difficult.  I only hope I can have the courage to keep exploring, to keep going on adventures and to keep being amazed and awed by the simple pleasures and lessons of life.

Weird Snippet (17 September, 2006)

I'd like to write a story
about a man named Jack
who broke his back
in a spontaneous hiccup attack.

he would hiccup and wheeze
and he'd roll up his sleeves,
but, in the end, he'd be crippled
by this strange disease.

Some Haiku (2006)

lightning seed blows free
delicate in my garden
dancing on the breeze


one time in texas
i had a yummy breakfast
kerby lane cafe


let's make some music
let's paint our naked bodies
rainbow girls dancing


i can see through you
my eyes are my best feature
why are you hiding?


stripped of our freedom
military commandments
where is our hero?


farm fresh eggs for sale
yolk as yellow as sunshine
warms me up inside


this makes me happy
writing haiku poems down
in my worn journal


the sea sings to me
lullabies of salt and sand
waves rock me gently


young alligators
swim around in the marshes
sometime during spring


i love my charlie
he is the light of my life
cheeseburger charlie

Ode to the Moon (2 April, 2006)

the moon is reclining on her back.  she fades in and out like the fickle grin of Alice's cheshire cat.  i am gazing up at her through the windshield, and she is smiling on me through the artificial glow of headlights and street lamps.  she is smiling as if in mockery of these feeble attempts to capture her glory in sparks of amps and wire.  and she is right to much this.  for no mere mortal can capture the beauty of the luminescent cheshire temptress.  she is light ephemeral, ethereal.  she is sight in the dark, and feeling before knowing.  she is truth unveiled and mysteries decoded.  she is the moon goddess, and she is brilliant.

A Moonlit Prayer for a Lover (9 August, 2005)

The moon tonight looked a sliver chiseled out of the most perfect and luminous pearl ever slept twixt an oyster's lips.  Her soft glow lit the night sky in a cool effervescent embrace which left me melancholy in spirit and plucked at the strings of my dusty heart.  Oh that the Lady Moon would shine her light upon me so that My Love might find me and we should share the night and all the nights beneath Her together.

24 February, 2005 (for grandma)

This little Burd, she passed away
a year ago today
she whispers in my ear
tells me what i need to hear
even sometimes shows me what I fear

how I wish that I could touch her
wrap my arms around her
like I should have done more of
when I had the chance

But now she's danced her last
she left behind her 54-year
romance

30 November, 2004 (J.C.)

Who is John Galt?
he is my imaginary lover
he flirts with me
electronically
and suddenly I am smitten

But, who is he, really?
a figment from my past
my hopes are fading fast
as they had risen

I don't ask for much
just the secret rush
of feeling wanted
a loving touch

not to be haunted
by this sadness
and this emptiness that
chills me to the bone

But, who is he, really?
an optimistic dream
that makes everything seem
that I could have love, too

6 July, 2004

I can't help but feel that some grand and important part of Life is eluding me.  And I'm convinced that the prison gates keeping me trapped are of my own devices - only I'm too close to them to see.  I long to dance and explore through the gardens of my fancy.  From the window I can see myself out there naked and free.  But I never can feel the earth under my feet, or the wind against my breasts, or the heat from the fire that's beckoning me.  I want to experience new worlds - new places - new people - new pleasures.  I want to experience LIFE.

24 June, 2004 (M.F.)

I'm wishing on a vagrant star
nomadic thoughts freeze my heart
tattered dress
face a mess
could I be Picasso's art?

pieced together like a toy
broken by this fading joy
not all gone
but done all wrong
gave my heart to the wandering boy

this dream was mine for for the waking
hand to mouth with fingers quaking
fate is sealed
wounds will heal
shades and secrets ever fail me

7 June, 2004

Whisper me secrets
miscreant weakness
feeds my head

world is spinning
I am grinning
chastity demons
guard my bed

wanton visions swirl beneath my nightcap
sheets get tangled up so tight that
I can't breathe

will asphyxiation be my Destiny?

on the playground of this dreamscape
sugarplum visions
make me blush

watch them dancing
freedom's fancy
naked prophets
make them HUSH

Dionysus dances with his ladies
Persephone is walking out on Hades

will the crossroads lead me to my Destiny?

or will Destiny find me?
in the temple of my bed?
in the dreams inside my head?
or will I find that Destiny is dead?