When salty stars ask me to change
I pick prisoners from the stream.
They laugh like glass.
They are old,
My velvet secrets.
Remember the translucent smile.
This sacred voice,
warm, slow, moist.
the lingering throb.
Pictures that seep.
They surround you with rot,
a prisoner beneath the glass.
This is a dream,
I'll do what I please
and so I dance like a fool
on that street.
It may be nameless;
if it has a name
I don't care about it.
The windows are open in those
cookie-cutter houses made of gingerbread,
glues with frosting and too beautiful to eat.
Child eyes stare
as I scream
"Bloody murder! Lord please save me!"
I don't believe in God
but this is a dream,
so I'll do what I please.
If she could see me now
"You've finally lost it." She'd sneer.
Her laughter maniacal, angry.
But this is just a dream.
I lay in the street, Read more »
Maybe you are leaving.
And it is the maybe
that kills me.
That enormous perhaps that hangs over us
like a fog.
We rest in its midst,
forced into silence.
I didn't love you enough,
I know that now.
But isn't that always the way it is?
We've touched lives
gracefully and courageously.
We have sobbed together,
and yet we do not see the weakness
that hides deep within.
I knew you would leave someday.
Just remember the dreams we made,
formed and molded to each other.
Just remember me.
I'm going to consider podcasting this soon
She was a dreamer.
A run-away, hide-your-face girl.
She lived like an orphan
in a house down the street,
and fell asleep in her own world.
She wasn't easy.
Her face was a graveyard,
her heart like a canvas
And she'd been forgotten by the whole world
Oh, lonely eyes
kiss me goodnight,
I pray by your window that you'll see me
And when you are drowning,
let lonely arms hold you down tight.
Dear I can save you,
with only a glimpse. Read more »
The world was grey
the day he left.
The day he "up and floated away"
like those old southern belles turned housewives would say,
pouring iced tea for their youngsters.
It looked like rain,
and the world was grey,
and the Earth couldn't feel him
Perhaps he was caught off guard,
perhaps he screamed like a madman,
clung for dear life to this Earth he loved so. Read more »
But from here I can only see her eyes,
and they are smiling.
If you could read his mind
his thoughts would be routine.
She's always got to have things her way.
She's still got those nice eyes.
But from here I can see only his smile,
and it speaks volumes.
This is love in it's seniority.
It forgets the minute details.
I pretend I am asleep
on Friday nights after Mum leaves
for the night shift
and Daddy snores on the couch.
I pretend so I can see Darcy,
silent and sad,
prepare herself for the evening.
I watch her color her cheeks pink
and smear black on her eyes.
Her ritual is unknown
by all but me,
and I love the secret we share.
My nerves tingle in my belly
as Darcy climbs through the window
and is consumed by the night.
Daddy forgets her has to love his girls
I see it in his eyes
when Rory smacks a baseball into the air,
so far away Read more »
You cannot touch it
but it lives.
Eyes wary under fur caps,
hands settling on knives buried deep
A land shrouded in
Minarets iced with whispered words.
Can you taste the lies on the wind?
let them mingle with your breath.
Lies in your lungs, in your blood;
let it take control.
It is what they want.
Welcome to Mother Russia;
icy breath to kiss you goodnight.
Love disappearing fast,
carried away by a winter breeze.
inside a smooth white pillow case
pressed tight to a sweet smelling mattress,
there is a story
Locked tight between leather-bound covers,
it is a tale of martyrdom,
a sadness deep and perplexing.
And it is brought forth by a voice so small,
pried open and exposed by
a little girl so sweet,
but scarred beneath the skin.
A long time ago,
we were a happy family.
Mum and Daddy always smiled at us,
whispered goodnight kisses on our cheeks.
I knew him as
Never was he mine.
A boy who soaked in sympathy.
Mind foggy with medication,
eating at my inside
to stay alive.
Caress my insecurities with guilty fingers.
I forgot his past of beer-stench and
bloodshot female eyes.
A room of glass he built around me,
held in my cell, and I forgot the voices, faces
of all those whose love I knew before.
And with these words
I break the glass,
for never was he mine.
The blind artist
standing at the corner
of an avenue that used to be
so much more than it is now.
Eyes shadowed, but on the inside
pushing against eyelashes
and then blown away.
Such a sad man,
lost behind blank canvas
and forlorn faces in acrylics.
Brushstroke eyes, lips,
wind in swirls of white.
A home invisible
but on the walls the color of his mind
memories of his life before,
which now he cannot see.
The Blind Artist,
the Deaf Musician.
And I a mute poet,
only yearning to speak
the way I think.
Staring in the mirror.
The past in the shadows under her eyes,
the quivering of her hands.
stomach sick with guilt, with grief.
Laying in a bed cursed by insomnia, searching for an answer.
Tears when she cannot find anything at all,
when her dreams have been buried
under a layer of dust.
But no longer,
feet planted and eyes bright,
hands clutching the locket at her throat.
the taste of a smile,
soft and spreading.
The light of unfulfilled dreams alive
in her irises;
something to work for, incentive to live again. Read more »
Her name is Heather
and she is five.
Hands outstretched, palm wide and fingers splayed.
She is the baby-watcher,
legs tucked beneath her, cooing at the blue-eyed infant.
"His name is Garrett."
Nearby Sister is a princess,
swirling in long dresses before a mirror.
She longs to be older and beautiful, a princess like Sister.
Hand pressing against the air, she is only five.
Strangers smile at Baby,
who gurgles and nibbles on her fingers.
No one remembers the baby-watcher,
Mamma's little helper, guardian of the newborn life. Read more »
He has touched Heaven.
It was only for the briefest of moments,
the tips of his fingers brushing that pure sky.
But you can see it still,
in his eyes.
Can see the yearning.
Yearning to be so happy, fading away.
He pleads with you
in every touch, in every breath.
"Just take me back. Let me feel it again."
Every word whispers, so faintly,
"Perfection is unbearable."
He has touched Heaven,
and collapsed beneath it's weight.
I hold him up,
hoping to feel paradise through his fingertips.
Hoping to feel paradise.
I want to feel your anger,
heat on your breath
and eyes a bonfire drenched in pupil-night.
I want to feel my stomach
tied in rugged knots,
the tears ready to spill.
I want to be terrified.
Just now. Just once.
So I can know I am legitimate,
my mind not left to rust itself away.
So I can know that I am real to you.
to overcome all hate.
So color your eyes red
and let corneas singe.
Please touch my with your anger.
Perhaps we just fell apart,
left for too long in an attic ripe with air
Dolls in a cardboard box fading to grey.
But we still savor every memory,
morphed into something beautiful
despite any petty human concern.
Simple beings, lost in love.
And no matter our struggle
to find the greatest happiness,
to prepare the brightest future,
we will prevail.
You've taught me to want the simplest of things.
I only wish to hold your hand.
Can you hear her?
Whispering to herself
in the corner,
windows closed and curtains shut tight.
Lost in time, in space.
Maps cover her walls,
and she travels them in her mind.
"Have fun alone."
And a kiss upon her cheek.
Affection to cover up the carelessness,
to hide the deceit.
And so she charts African deserts
behind heavy drapes, and simply imagines
It isn't always the rain that makes one fall apart.
Her head heavy and hanging from a slender neck, eyes pouring oceans of tears that bypassed moon-white cheeks and puddled on the kitchen table. Her reflection was the subtle slope of nose, swollen lips painted red. Eyes downcast, with emerald irises behind the shade of eyelids ripe with purple veins. Auburn hair a shield, hiding her from an empty house, an empty street.
The world stopped when it rained. Read more »
I need to save the world.
To cast my arms away like life boats
and reel you in.
All of you.
But my heart has been captured
It is owned by another.
He holds it in the palm of his hand,
and it is my greatest fear that one day he may
Can you listen to my voice
and let it lead you to shelter?
Fear keeps me from reaching out my hand to you
but I refuse to let you drown.
Paddle, please paddle,
until your world is dry once more.
Everything is not always
as it appears.
A flick of the wrist and daisies sprout
from thin air.
A beautiful woman holds out her hand
to assist and elderly couple on a busy street.
Reality shifts and twists itself
to fit your basic comprehension.
And so when you grow older
you are suddenly confronted with the sick,
plastic boundaries of society.
In my world,
reality began when I was six-years-old.
I remember long ago,
when my father loved me.
He pulled my into his lap
and wrapped his big arms around my thin frame.
He whispered to me
about the night sky, Read more »
I am terrified
of losing everything
you've ever given me.
And no matter your assurance
I will continue to be frightened.
To cry myself to sleep.
To beg and plead at you.
You may never understand
that my unhappiness is deep,
but it would be deeper
should you leave me be.
We are ever-changing
and I grow tired of this dance.
She breathed her sweet breath upon me,
an angel barely there.
She seemed mute of color; so pale-skinned
but for her eyes and flaxen hair.
Such devotion, such desire,
To "love" those eyes is a phrase understated.
They peer from beneath furrowed brows.
I feel sure that our meeting was fated.
The soft scent of her tresses,
a mass I wish to inhabit my whole life through.
Falling like stars on midnight sky,
those locks to beautiful to be true.
I lay awake and feel her exhalation
imagining the life we could lead in days to come
I love this girl with all of my aching soul, Read more »
who you are.
that you live here, nearby
but just out of reach.
i put you there,
on that horizon line.
so i could
allow you inside
me. the memory is a flood.
i lost you long ago.
it was not a mistake
because i have seen perfection,
i have held the hand of
and it warmed me,
warms me still.
i am not sorry.
you always thought i wasn't quite good enough.
and now you are looking in the
and i am standing behind you
just out of reach.
always out of reach. Read more »
There is innocence in childhood.
It shades reality.
Blends it with pastels and fur.
And underneath its barrier, there is warmth.
Underneath there is no death,
tears are only of joy and the smallest scrapes,
Mothers wrap you in blankets
and smother you with kisses.
There is ignorance in childhood.
Daddy and I
were best friends
He used to let my twist his golden wedding band
around and around
his thick fingers.
I used to color his fingernails
the contorted creases of his palm.
He would watch me play,
his hand my favorite doll. Read more »
She's not heartless
it is black and stone cold
but it's there.
And occasionally she'll remove it from its box
coughing, sick heart
and she will use it.
Spluttering back to its beat.
And the crowd around her
stops and stares.
That smile is so foreign,
That tone of voice so
And then, the moment over,
placed back upon the shelf.
Shade and stale air
Her heart left cold and lonely
and forgotten without a care.
She never needed
That Kind of faith.
You believe in yourself,
in the world and its magic
or you believe in the Lord.
She never need
Silence calmed her, let her breath.
Let her speak.
And always there is love
to fill the occasional gap.
She never needed
They were standing in the middle of the wide street, laughing. The road was empty, and the moon aglow with soft light. They were alone and their laughter was a cacophony and it never seemed to cease. I cannot imagine the hilarity that came before; before my unconsciousness took control. Before when I was lying sleepless, eyes upon the ceiling.
My thoughts veered into the land of technicolor; what wonder they must have seen before I entered. Perhaps jugglers throwing flames, the awestruck faces and beginning of smiles as he nonchalantly risked his very existence. Read more »
The last breath of warm wind upon your cheek
among branches you sit and watch and wait.
Your song is soft as if from a bird's beak
and from below my breath for you does bate.
You are so oblivious to my passion,
always looking upward among the clouds.
And it is my habit and my fashion,
to sit here from below under a shroud.
So dear, would you please hear these words I speak?
I may be quiet but I will stay close.
And join you upon your lonely peak;
nothing can sing as sweet as you, my rose.
And as the sun does set we will rejoice,
for in each breath of wind I hear your voice.
Sidewalks inch by, the tension of feet resounding on concrete like a clogged artery. Men speak their business speak; properly inducing their surroundings into a lull of boredom and indifference. Wide-eyed children clasped and chained to the hands of their parents. The smog has no effect on the dazzling stench of candy oozing from the occasionally agape sweet shop. Their minds scream with tempation, but they're held by flesh handcuffs; "there are a lot of creeps in the City." Read more »