freedom

Woke up
detached
today free
Edinburgh in my smile.

Why not?
No lover holds me here.

Pushed my nose deep
into too warm flannel
craved sleep
to take me
just a little longer…

No lover.

No lover holds me here.

as they tend the fields fertile

Honoria leans along
the balustrade
in a long white gown
gathered
between her legs
baring smooth thighs
high up
and a bit of hip
feet swinging
slow.

Honoria watches
shirtless men
as they tend
the fields fertile.

she lets you

Midnight
twilight
too far past dusk
to be appropriate

you call her
you ask her
you beg her

darlin' can I come
to you
darlin' can I come

And the moon in her eyes
never sees the lies

only knows

you call her
you ask her
you beg her

you want her

she lets you.

Cowgirls cain't never hide from Electric Demons' fire

Armor rent
lance broken, old six gun smokin',
burnin' scars in one hand.
Electric Demons laughin' fire.
The Cowgirl takes a bow
retreats from the field
of play
and drags down the lane
her heart heavy behind
like a sack a kittens
ready for the river;
boots kickin' up the dust
as she spurs her sweetness
too slow ahead,
and thinks…
It's as good a time as any
for a nap in the shade…

she loves anyway

Bright and warm
to her
her lovers lend
strong their arms
or lean
their length

and when away
more evident
the lack of
the heat they
deprive.

Though cool nights
relished, she
sleeps alone,

eves in their arms
etched sweet
in twilight dreams;

words
flesh
drifting
in and out of sleep
too aware
of the body beside
or their leaving
too soon.

And her heart?
loves them all
sorely, restless,
confused;
the one that drifts
the one that won't be
the one as yet
undefined,

but all
that rarely call.

daddy said

Water out
electricity out
Holiday
and sore news;
a culmination of things
and I cried myself sick.

Time with my lover
my only savior
that he doesn't hold back
that I
am free in his arms
pressed to the kiss, giving
innately I need to give.

Then more
more
always am I bearing more.

And to choose the hard road
at this age, but…

Daddy said

just follow your dreams,
he sacrificed so much and never did
but if I can follow mine…

he said
all those years…

just follow your dreams.

little voice

Someday
the silence will engulf me
and I will beg them
to slice
me open
risk
facial paralysis

for the chance
to hear again;

the warm moan
against my cheek
as you come

dirty words

and the sting
of slapping flesh

my own
little voice
crying.

yule

When in the winter
she retreats
Yule
her solace

and it is coming
so soon on the morrow
rebirth
goodness

another year
without brother
without sister
without…

the years
of burden.

She turns
a slow pivot
toward
the dew lit
morrows

toward new souls
to which she draws

blessed.

and the hours

And I was so happy

hopeful,
watching the world
with wonder
so young
so eager

but always

your anger

so quick

I learned
to lean
forehead against the window
to look out
the world more gray

and dream

the bright inside.

too fast
I resigned

and the hours
turned to years.

tomorrow

Today
she was asked
if she had seen T.C.
today.

Yesterdays
of hope
and sorrow
filled her thoughts
of yesterdays

reminiscent of
todays.

Tomorrow
maybe she'll stop
the cycle
tomorrow

and be loved
be a keeper
tomorrow.

too many times

What do you think
when you touch her hair
or kiss her flesh
and call her baby

while she sings
the blues?

What do you think

when she worries
that to touch a heart
not yours
is to tease

or to spread
her heart too thin
she will fade
from all

and turtle-up
as she does?

What do you think
when she's doin'
what she needs to do
not to think of you?

morally reprehensible

Can you put it on a credit card?
"No," I said, "I don't have credit cards."
Well can you borrow it? From a friend or relative?
"What?"
Can you…
"I heard you,
you should be ashamed…"

friday I’m in love again

I eat my chili
with pico and white corn tortillas
or thin tortilla chips

drink coffee
and
eat catfish and gumbo
in August
on the patio
in the heat
of my glorious Texas summer

dress
incredibly out of style

admit aloud too much
too crass, too vulgar
yet hilarious things

touch
my friends to show my care

love
where my heart leads me
though rare does it lead

adore, glory in men
like snowflakes
on the tip of tongue
a thrill gone to soon
I let them go

and love?
ibid, see all above.

De-feat is not a river in Egypt

When the wind blows
she bends and sways
and with the rough waters
changes course
day by day

but this way and that
she dances round,
dizzy and frizzy
until the roughest of winds
blow her down

sink or swim baby
though you never
were taught

you'd think she'd drown
let her life be for ought.

let me go crazy

Oh baby I know
we prob'ly ain't
ever gonna be goin
anywhere

but just the thought
of sittin still
oh I

I just wanna be
cra-zy
about you

just let me be
cra-zy

I wanna be
cra-zy

won't you let me be
cra-zy

about you.

shell

she rarely spoke aloud
but when she did

Be quiet!

rarely showed her excitement

Calm down!

was rarely demonstrative

Go
just
do something!

she learned to hide
learned to read
did not learn to socialize
and dreamt
so many things

her passion
her zeal
her awe
and joy

faded
she learned to watch
to think
to prod, to poke

to break
any goodness
undeserved

but really, wasn't it all?

shell

she rarely spoke aloud
but when she did

Be quiet!

rarely showed her excitement

Calm down!

was rarely demonstrative

Go
just
do something!

she learned to hide
learned to read
did not learn to socialize
and dreamt
so many things

her passion
her zeal
her awe
and joy

faded

there's a sadness and joy to nonconformity

November 7, 2008 - Friday


she listens

She
never thought twice
about living in the now
she knew the odds up front
so she could love with abandon
deep and pure
knowing
it would end in time.

But faced with forever
she falters
heart guarded
the potential for hurt so great

she thinks…
'that boy's gonna break my heart'

but her hearts say…

"just let yourself go girl
just let yourself go"

and late one Friday night
she listens.



control

Mind
Body
Spirit
Heart
Soul
Libido

shards of a burst
suspended mid air
bright a shimmer
slightly shaking
in their ninja stance

await they to re-form

but for the moment
they watch ready
to strike, watch

me skid on concrete
arms and palms
outstretched
knees bloody
as my Will attempts
to control

when they are too ready

for the falling
for you.



October 30, 2008 - Thursday


Grace; or the internalization of God

I didn't think
long and hard

though I had studied
religion and church
for so long and even after

but the internalization of God
(the Christian God perhaps
but many aspects of others)
came easy when time was right.

I had long felt
we had labeled something
personified
that piece of self
we could no longer rationalize

we had cut Grace
from our soul
like a limb
from our body

when we swallowed
evil whole
embraced that which
kills and maims and harms

there simply was no room

Grace was spat out
on the street
cherry flavored chew
or wintergreen

but I picked her up one day
brushed her off
bathed her in rose and verbena
gave her a home.

I would rather there No god
out and about in the world
if Grace could but grow
in the heart.




seventeen

she
hasn't been this insecure
since she
was seventeen

and met a boy
skateboard in hand
shirt worn like a turban
drove that
monster old truck
worked
at the carwash
not quite nineteen

her first husband

no
she hasn't been this insecure
since she was seventeen


October 27, 2008 - Monday


lyric - guitar softly

he said

you're a darlin'


he meant

I won't be staying



and then the joy of the night it fell completely
cause she'd heard that line just too many goddamn times.

and all the nights
he filled with wonder

became
another mem'ry

so when anyone one
calls her sweetheart

she thinks
yeah here it comes

cause when he says you're a darlin'
does he mean he won't be stayin' the night

and sure as hell not forever?




and all the nights
he fills with wonder

and all the nights
he fills with wonder

and all the nights
he filled

with wonder

and my heart, my soul is restless

October 20, 2008 - Monday



in fevered dreams i spoke


the daughter I never had

but named before she took

stood in the door, twilight lit,

hand on the jam

as if pausing



the daughter I never had

looked at me intent

expectant, anticipatory;

over my shoulder

toward the girl, hair long,

loose, tied back in bow,



the daughter I never had,

"go to sleep honey,

maybe we can try again

soon…" soon.

in fevered dreams I spoke to



the daughter I prayed for



once but never had.



October 8, 2008 - Wednesday


papilion


La belle dame

sans merci,



Je vous vois

choisir

dans la danse d'air

compagnons

attente ailleurs



morphed du

cocon

dans la beauté

combien de temps

vous seul durerez?




October 3, 2008 - Friday


but sweet that hot day


Curious, toe to water

cold, cold

but sweet that hot day

September

when we sought the river



I recall

the ease

with which we relate

always

thinking the best of another.



Day of little words


today

I am happy

in a soft glow



of truth to self



and joy



for friends

who take me as I am.



September 28, 2008 - Sunday


and into the sun


In a search for self

I broke

me



and broke away

from prevalent social ideologies,



detaching from the world

and yet more aware of it;



in breaking

and breaking



I stepped outside



id and ego



and into the sun.




lyric unnumbered


thinking about

yesterdays



I have had these thoughts before



don't say

goodbye



don't say

goodbye



just fade away



don't say

goodbye



just fade away



leave me

in the dark



where the nights were too sweet




September 23, 2008 - Tuesday


I, Honoria


You,

women,

slivers of my heart



strong

I so admire

and honor

meekly



you are a mirror

reminding me



I am you,

we are,

we are.




I, Gloriana


The killing spree

is not over;

the second in line,

mother, on the morrow beacons



any day

any day, now



and I will do it

not for you, for me



because I have the strength

and a world

of love, now

to see me through it.



I will survive you,

have survived you.

lyric 12 and 14

September 2, 2008 - Tuesday


lyric 14

Hard to believe it's not just
another distant space
and then you're running
back to me

But now you're gone
and I'm alone again
i'm just me again

This day
was always there
Always
On the morrow

And

You were always leaving
I even tried to set you free

Once

But you'd come running
back to me

And I loved you
And I let you

And

You were always leaving
I even tried to set you free

But now you're gone
and I'm alone again
I'm just me again

Just me
again





lyric 12


If I could live
one more hour
in your eyes
under your skin

I would live
a lie too sweet

all the nights
we made love
my heart was free
I felt complete
and you were there
in the moment

all the days
you thought about me
in your world
when I felt
you ignored me

I was confused
all the while
until we touched
again
and again

If I could live
one more hour
in your eyes
under your skin

I would live
a lie too sweet

1:49 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

august

August 29, 2008 - Friday


letting time pass slow

September comes
on the morrow three
and the heat
no abatement alludes

too warmed bones press out
drying flesh
parched lips
never quenched thirst
organs boiling

lover – if that –
from the past
sought; fractured
allusions to the one just gone

Texas, my land, my heart
is sore in her summer
of cracked black gumbo
cicadae soft

yet perhaps the latter
is the years
and my own impending
silence

this year
I wilt with my summer
with my land; fan the gnats away
brain a drift; indifferent

languid
letting time pass slow



August 28, 2008 - Thursday


parts work

I didn't even mean to fall-in with this one guy
we don't even really click so much
but he's a good guy and
on the rare occasion we actually hook-up,
great fun
gets to me every time, which is not that easy.

That's all it is really
except I do like to hear him talk,
really like his writing
and can see what he meant that first time
(a few years back)
when he said don't fall for him.
I can see how most girls do.

The other day someone had asked a friend
"Who's she seeing right now…"
I replied with a "Why do I always have to
be seeing someone..."
I suppose it's that struggle for self-identity
after a long marriage that was kickin' in,
but in case some of you wondered...

Me?
I'll settle for not clicking on occasion;
hell, at least my parts still work.

july

July 16, 2008 - Wednesday


the weight of the air

In the denotative
sense of the word,
the action
'to kill"
I have killed a man.

But what books don't say

your drugged out stupor
yelling
you were not ready to go
as I watched from the hall
accusations
to the vacant room

and the weight of the air
at the threshold
where I took a breath
but could not enter

and the drugs
as they left you
as I took them away

unable to speak
save
for your eyes
pleading.

I have seen
my father low,
sister falling,
mother going mad,
and in the denotative
sense of the word,
the action
'to kill"...

I weep for my brother.



July 11, 2008 - Friday


the way brothers do

Big Brother says,
"keep doing what you're doing
and you'll keep getting what you're getting."

Of course my verbal reply
was "six hours of amazing sex
with a lover I adore?" and a wicked smile.

He frowned
the way brothers do
knowing I knew better.

And all through frowns
and smiles
I was thinking,

'don't you think
I wish I weren't
some pup….too in awe of men.'



July 7, 2008 - Monday


poem for t.c.

nose soft
along his jaw
his ear
on his collar
faint scent
cigarettes
and pot

and on his tongue?
suckled I
faint again
cigarettes
and cherry beer

flesh
long and lean
I devoured

lovers few
and far between
but each
I never forget
too much
around me
to not recall

nights
of wonder
and how
I found me
in your arms



July 5, 2008 - Saturday


transient

I sold books today,
my desk last week
to buy gas (if that)
hopefully paint
so I can
rent my place

go to another
ghetto, one of youth
instead of hookers
cheaper, North
away from my city
my city
I mourned you
these last years anyway

books! words!
of others
my life blood
once
I consumed like
beer
chips
and salsa

another life

before
I came alive
before
I found my own words



July 4, 2008 - Friday


in the ghetto

In the ghetto
guns

are poppin' off

drunk
on meat and sauce
happy

we make
our own
fire in the sky

in the ghetto
in the ghetto

with my degree
and grad school
application



fireworks in the distance

Do you remember
that year atop the Texas Star

(oh we were
so young then)

and the fireworks
in the distance.

It wasn't all bad,
my husband;

it was just
the fireworks
were so far away

or perhaps
the manifestation
of my own desire.

If the latter
I am sorry

so sorry.

July 2, 2008 - Wednesday
strong
I was young
oh
a girl of twenty
maybe

and we
had been together
three years already

why that year?
I can't say

but I was crazy about you,

the receptacle of all my giving

my husband,
mate…

until the day I knew to leave.

Then suddenly
I was not so young
a woman
of almost thirty-four

who left
knowing

her desire
could be consuming

but willing
to face the world
alone,

strong.

june

June 28, 2008 - Saturday


and August days with hours

He could not compare
– that boy of summer –

to Ra in his brilliance,
blonde hair
spread wide against cool white linens
while we slept
for all there was, was sleep
and innocent nights, few;

but he would stay
– that boy of summer –
a thousand times longer
holding back the winter
with August days
with hours

from which I would awake
dizzy, breathless,
spent

heart sore and not the one.


this girl she is

she never meant to follow
the academic track
or Quest
for knowledge and meaning

to get her life together
however long it took
(and it is taking
overlong)

she never meant
to have a lover
in her bed
for hours, days on end

never meant
a short list of them
or to give her heart
to any

or to feel so cruel
the absence of one
from her bed
even longer

she never meant
to thirst
or dream

or be this girl
she is



June 24, 2008 - Tuesday


over and over

Over
and over
the lyrics

the songs

until one day
– when the lights die
and the words
will spur the rhythm
and the beat will stir
from the depths,

strong in her being –

she will face the dark.

But today she wists
in the half-lit night,

over
and over
the lyrics

the songs

her tears

the dark looming.



June 17, 2008 - Tuesday


sine nauseam

living on tortillas
oatmeal
vitamins

vitamins from the discount store
birth control
from Health Services

ad nauseam
the sight of consumption
without thought
without means
in debt bondaged

oh sweet my life
where guilt is coffee
nine dollars a pound

to wash down
the tortillas
the vitamins

something with taste
to accompany
laughter as I live

sine nauseam



June 14, 2008 - Saturday


the years

I
slim
she walked, eyes cast down
slight and gentle
the cut of her jaw
long blond hair
past her waist
past her hips
slim again
bright the green
Murphy eyes
that girl
of twenty-two, reserved
shy;
the years still ahead
of finding grace in crowds
and ease around men

stunning
any would call you
looking back
though you never knew it
for no one ever told you


II
swaying
she walks,
short blond hair
bright the green
Murphy eyes
shining
lively
a woman
of thirty-eight, alive
full breasts
curves
at the hip
the belly
jaw line full;
behind her
the weight of hours
of finding grace within
and ease around men

lovely
some would call you
though you barely know it
you do try
for friends surrounding tell you



June 6, 2008 - Friday


off the shore of the long forgotten

off the shore
of the long forgotten

battlements of Vieques

far enough
the land was small

I gazed out
upon
a wide vast ocean

and knew
I was just a speck
in it all



June 5, 2008 - Thursday


I had not imagined the first

perhaps I had been waiting
these three odd years for them
these days since
the house now gone

I didn't know it
couldn't

but the fireflies came
finally

in the heat of early June
this eve
and they danced

near enough
yet far away
though only two

they
were still a they
confirming
I had not imagined the first

and on the wind away
away
they drew

in my heart
in the faint lit night

fireflies bright

for which I had been waiting
only never knew



June 4, 2008 - Wednesday


she wonders yes

on occasion
every year
or two or so

she comes
across a heart
she has to touch

then lets them flee

recalls them later
smiles soft and wonders
she wonders yes,

but fleet

may

May 16, 2008 - Friday


lyric 7 - without guile

I am yours, we both know

lay me down, cover me

your body
heavy on my heart

suddenly, I am far away
floating in the possession
of your smile.

and if this breath that leaves me
never comes again

hungrily we loved
without guile.



May 14, 2008 - Wednesday


lyric 6

like a moth to a flame-<
and on past again>

but for a while-->
she flickers in his light-->

wings beat and broke>
as she flutters next to close>

and her scent of burning-->
on the breeze-->

oh----
oh----
oh-----
she's a woman---now>

she comes and goes—>
comes and goes---->



May 10, 2008 - Saturday


May is here

May is here
and your would have been forty-second birthday
is nearing
but now you are ever my younger brother
not my older

And the days are fading
when I think of how your death made me
but I still think on you
on my decisions and your slow leaving

on my decisions and your slow leaving

and how your death made me
made us all



May 4, 2008 - Sunday


lyric four

young girl
alone in her bed

little heart
beating

little hands
finding

she slips away
humming
strumming

gently

wanting
wanting

white space

In the white-space
between the words between the lines
where ink cannot go
steadily
steadily
the artist's passion flows;

the thing they attempt to draw
strive to convey

the soul of their child
prostrate to the world
dismembered.

Look past
into the white-space
where you will see a Glowing.

May comes tomorrow

April 28, 2008 - Monday


onions and graphite

writing
late into the eve
of a day of
slow stewed savories

wrapped in warm
chenille I fell adrift, room
aglow; faint scent

onions and graphite
on my hands
filling dreams



April 24, 2008 - Thursday


breathing the good wet earth

Through the tall wetland grass she glides
bare legs, limbs, nosed sun-kissed

long hair a glisten
on toward the herd,
the baby white she calls Hopi, the people.

From the rocks comes the baby snake
skin new and body blue organs,
eyes milk white, gleaming blind
into the warmth of her palm.

The way was leaving
and her mourning would go long
into lives as yet unknown

where she would dream her days
of breathing the good wet earth.

And where she walks, with Hope she goes…


lymerick 121 (yes that’s a random number...)

little girls dream of Princes
little boys dream of luck

but the gender nutritive
on the whole,
they're more oftly fucked.



April 17, 2008 - Thursday


bright penny

I
nary the first to come away
unstick from the mess that binds
that took a life to ingrain

– yet like a child to the sun
her first bright penny –

she looks on it all with wonder

II
and what it took to unconform;

those things that should frighten
release her heart to soar.

in her new day
no other's



April 16, 2008 - Wednesday


a strange malaise

knowledge, comprehension,
bring about a strange malaise

as if something detriment
to innocence were lost
with their gain;

sad and bittersweet
the joy of her ascension

how she loves her way.



April 15, 2008 - Tuesday


her heart’s unrest

There was a comfort
to the lack of want
and the
– not so much denial of self –
but a firm hold on the reins
on the strong will that said
conform

an allowance
of observation of others
that keeps you unnoticed
of liberties the norm
cannot come away with

but I was not free
perhaps never would have
in completeness

if not for another paying

the death toll

oh my heart knew peace
(of such without tactile
pleasure)

my heart knew peace
but my spirit was not free



April 11, 2008 - Friday


if i could breathe water

If I could breathe
Water
the moon to drink
your smile sweet
though brief

fleet


logic’s child

She stared
about the room
wide-eyed
ready for things that go bump
things that may come
in darkness

Logic's child
knowing otherwise
she may be hacked to bits
off-guard.



April 8, 2008 - Tuesday


and the world suddenly

May steals soft into my heart
stalking it creeps along
the shadowed rim
just outside the light;

Robert
brother
death

that first May cruelly

these years of becoming

and the world suddenly

too wide

the nights of wonder...



April 6, 2008 - Sunday


she seeks

Her inheritance?:
a heart too wide

Yet
when her mind stills
brief
knowledge interludes

and The Quiet
is deafening

The Quiet
The Quiet
feels more like destiny
the harder she tries to spite it

And transcendence?:
The Little Death
far and few between

she seeks.



April 1, 2008 - Tuesday


A question to Mrs. Parker

Oh Dottie,

Did everything throb
that first time you read the author’s name on a book and the inscription inside…
...to you...

Did you adore him?
Were you near enough to reach out
and touch his
…heart…?

Did you desire him?



March 29, 2008 - Saturday


missing in America

the call came one night
around one or two

I awoke my husband who didn’t want to wake

didn’t recognize her in the bus station’s exterior
amidst the crowd of street-lit downtown
faces searching for lost hope
as I kept my gaze low

there she was, down-trod but not beaten
bright eyes in a body hitting forty
always a dreamer
with a scheme up her sleeve

but all I had was credit
and she wanted cash

so at the end of the week at the hotel
the end of the week of getting her clothes
new documents to replace the lost…
food, a hot pot, and anger
at the little cash I could spare going
toward cigarettes
half drunk bottles on the dresser
skimpy swimsuit on the towel bar

gone again

my sister

missing in America



March 28, 2008 - Friday


not what i meant at all

sometimes I
look into things
like health insurance
or birth control
that won’t make me feel
so fat

but I come to no decision
and nothing changes

in fact I come away more confused,
the questions to the answers I sought
not what I meant at all

and the answers?

I’ll never know them anyway.



March 19, 2008 - Wednesday


The Summers of My Youth - short excerpt/non-fiction

March 02

You know, it didn’t stop raining for days in March that year. But it wasn’t a gray rain. And when it stopped, there was Texas in a beautiful spring. It hadn’t gone straight from winter to summer as one would have thought. And though I don’t recall a spring in Texas before that year, it seems like we’ve had several since.


this day

this day
six years ago

when all the world was raining
and all the world was green
flowers, startling abloom

the smell of damp earth

everywhere
everywhere

and then we buried you.



March 14, 2008 - Friday


i have become

sometimes
when I am happy
I cry – senseless deep sorrow.

it’s for you and you
and how you used me
that one of you knows it
the other will never cop to it

that brother is dead
sister is Missing In America
father is happy at last
mother may never know
only she can help herself
that My Husband Once has grown without me
because of me
is the one who knows he used me

that when this one man holds me
I feel as beautiful as I believe myself to be

and that I have come this far, baby
can do anything
be anything

I have arrived
have
become

and cry perhaps
for the sorrow and loss it took to get here.


mind a drift

My Husband Once
had taught me how
not to pre-wash dishes,
not even to knock the big stuff loose
what a time saver!

and the dishwasher
took care of it

and we could be out and on
to other senseless tasks…

but in my little place now
where when things break I fix them

or not

I am learning

I loved my hands in water
and the clean smell of soap
puttering, doing, making

and the time

to think

in my little place
where these little things please me

and I walk-about

singing



March 11, 2008 - Tuesday


otherwise

Last night I dreamt

of Medieval things.

They came at me full on

in blood and glory,

Honoria with her sword

and the fire burning...



Words for the visions,

aglow in air came streaming,

I the vessel to convey.



And I awoke weeping.

All I want to do

is write these things I dream.



But the world won't let me;

it would have me otherwise.

"and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar"

March 2, 2008 - Sunday


strong in our being

some of us
are so strong in our being
we have no niche
no stereotype within which to find solace
and comfort

the confusion to others –
of our identity, their inability to label
or find basis for connotation –
leaves us in wanderlust
searching

and them
thinking we are not in need
and never understanding we do
want
desire



March 1, 2008 - Saturday


for Mandy, et al.

Some of us,
we are low, yet others?
Are coming into their well deserved good fortune;

All of us, though, we are blessed
with good hearts
and friends surrounding

that see
that love
that will endure the years.



February 28, 2008 - Thursday


with a taunting glare

I came across a day once
it was easy
low
drank my ice tea
with a taunting glare
and I ended up back fisting the son of a bitch
for being a tease
but my drink was gone
then the day was gone
but my itch was still there



February 24, 2008 - Sunday


oh ye strong women

There's a little heart
that shines

under years of dust
and grime

but no one cares to claim it

no one cares
to claim it

and the girl sleeps alone



February 20, 2008 - Wednesday


bright is her forced disposition

it is not a good tired
the kind that lets you sleep through
it is a senseless thing
where the mind never stills
and the body remains weary



February 12, 2008 - Tuesday


lyric

Sometimes<------- lovers leave<
and sometimes<-------
lovers leave>

but in between>----- was you and me
late nights early morns> and

oh------------------
sweaty sheets]


How<
we loved<
my baby>

Oh----------
How< you made me-----

blue>-------


conundrum

these last few months of disassociation
and the heart numbing toward him

and he is not going

and surely I will not let things go on as such
this last year and a half

but I adore him
I adore him



January 31, 2008 - Thursday


as I made ready

I waltzed in, quiet and low-key,
filled out paperwork
looked at the dog I chose
from countless others
and took her home. It all seemed so easy
I felt like a thief and left giddy, scot-free.

Then I took stock
while my new pup waited in the car:
leash, harness, food, comb, shampoo
stuffed snowman, new and fuzzy,
unaware of his pending dismemberment,
gutting, and decapitation; poor bastard.

At home I foraged.
Would this bowl be better or this one?
And a blanket? Oh hell, two or three
old ones I pulled from the drawer.

Chelsea Fay Ray Princess 'Rat Dog' Buttercup
gazed on curious, still in her shell

as I made ready my heart
to nurture and love.



January 25, 2008 - Friday


your girl sometimes

I didn't mean to be
your girl sometimes
but it was a
second week thing
and never got better

oh but those nights of long hellos
and wallowing inside
each others heart;
mornings of reticent goodbyes
while you tried to sleep
after my failed efforts
on too sore flesh

madness
could you blame me
for wanting more
madness

but I was only your girl
sometimes
on occasion
when you called

except in my heart
where it's always.



January 22, 2008 - Tuesday


snake totem

One day a young girl came across a snake at rest in a warm dark place. It was a baby white snake, an albino with shiny light opaque blue eyes. She caught the snake by the tail, trying to carrying him away to a safer, more snake-like place in the bright sun. But the snake was crazed with its tail pinched between her thumb and forefinger and writhed until free.

The girl awoke from her dream to her bed, an intense fluttering along her neck between shoulder and ear. She moved each pillow one at a time, pulled back the covers, turned on the light, and found no snake.

That afternoon she was shopping, which she rarely does and found a dainty silver ring, a snake wound head to tail. His head, a light blue opaque stone. It fit her finger snug.

That night, the pain in her side worsened, she stopped to wonder and blushed a strange way of peace and sorrow for the life she would shed but smiled, a keen desire for the unknown.



January 16, 2008 - Wednesday


journalesque - The Heart of America is Breaking

My first day of teaching this semester, yesterday, I had left a class of fourth graders that jumped right into things. They were bright and engaged. The principal sat in, walked around, nodding, and the children beamed under his and our attention. I had little to do with four of us watching over like mother hens.

At three p.m. I frantically drove from Mesquite to Oak Cliff, only to walk in to a room of first and second graders. I had been expecting third and fourth. They were so little, so quiet and some, incredibly, visibly afraid. Ms. R, the main facilitator, was slowly engaging some to participate. A teacher came in to take names, the principal sat for a few minutes. Those previously engaged, found their shell again, began to retreat. I wanted to cry for them. Instead I set to work.

These are bright children; staring mute at the page, unable to write in English, yet when coaxed into Spanish, brightened and set to work. We are teaching these kids how to form sentences and paragraphs in order to pass tests when we have not given them the basic skills with which to communicate

The first day of teaching is a strange mix of confusion and sink-or-swim. We're only there for an hour a week for four to twelve weeks. So often I've just remembered everyone's name when it's time to leave them.

An hour a week is almost more than I can bear. The heart of America is breaking and it's a hard thing to watch.



January 13, 2008 - Sunday


morning

I thought to wake him with my mouth
my hand closer

but my proximity already had him stirred
and the rest
was gratuitous and greedy on my part
as I took what I pleased.

In six or eight weeks
you'll be gone and I

will exist on recollections of madness.



January 7, 2008 - Monday


Journalesque - a personal admittance

I didn't mean to be a poet but I suppose for anyone with the innate need to write, a broken soul that leads to broken thoughts leads to poetry. Thus my predilection for enjambment and verb noun displacement I suppose.

You're asking what the hell I'm talking about, how do you break a soul and if I didn't mean to be a poet, why have I written thousands of poems. (You haven't stalked me well enough if you haven't found my blogger.)

Many of you know my brother died in early 2002. Some have surmised from my writing and blatant admittance (if you paid attention) that I had to step up to adulthood and make the decision to end his life. It was difficult to watch my husband grow distant. It was difficult to see my father unsure and so frail. It was difficult to take such a thing on alone. And though no daughter should see her father as frail, no Father should have to end his son's life. So I did it. In the denotative sense of the word, I killed my brother. No, don't sugar coat it…it is what it is and your loose connotations of moral turpitude don't fly with me.

I didn't mean to go in to all of that but I'm in a funk and it has been almost six years since the funeral. Some strange things have happened: I cheated on my husband of sixteen years, got my first tattoo, divorced him, (he remarried awful quick for someone I apparently hurt beyond belief), I became a poet, my ex and I became good friends, I got my degree, went from four piercings to nine, got my second tattoo, quit my job to write, had five or six crushes along the way, took four lovers (three briefly and one…) I fell in love and let that love go.

And that's all after the age of thirty-two. Watching my brother die was the lowest point in my life, though, obviously. The low point of low points that made all the other low points seem like happy recollections. I am haunted daily: was it the right decision? I can't say but it was the decision I made. So…the broken soul…I started journaling seriously in early 2003 as a way to heal. I would have started sooner but it took me a year to stop crying every damn day, morning, noon and night. Journaling turned to poetry quickly.

So I didn't mean to be a poet. (But I'm sure Dahmer never meant to turn cannibal.) I set out to be a novelist; science fiction, fantasy, gore and yes, even romance though that latter genre bores me infinitely now. When I was young, I cut my teeth on C. J. Cherryh's "Drinking Sapphire Wine" and "Down Below Station", on Asimov and Heinlein and somewhere along the way, I became learned.

It's a silly thing but after Robert died, I whispered to his spirit, "I will live for both of us." I can finally admit it was not all his death that drove me to tears but the turning inward and facing – that I was not living. What I had was not a life but an existence.

You know, a broken bone can mend crooked when left unattended and sometimes has to be reset to heal straight.

I don't know. I suck at metaphors.



January 6, 2008 - Sunday


and her tail wags

she comes to me in the living room
dropping a mouth full of food at my feet
looks up at me
and proceeds to eat
one bite
then a glance my way
another bite
and a glance
then nuzzles my hand
as I turn to scratch hear ears
the top of her head
the soft spot between her eyes

she still doesn't trust me with the comb
but we have time

"what a good girl," I coo

and her tail wags till her body shakes.



January 5, 2008 - Saturday


the whole of the moon

In this winter of discontent
under the gray grey ash
of a once bright flame
lay red hot coals aglow;
a slow deep simmer
of a blushed heart free
and on the brink of a madness
well deserved.



January 4, 2008 - Friday


in absentia

I

pretty soon

there will be no one left to work the land
to walk the earth
to dream
to cry

for the others
for who they become.

II

I am in this limbo
graced

something brilliant gleams
in the corner

his words eat mine whole
I want

to be eaten whole


it was a very nice week

some of us never lose hope
but accept things as is
on some level

and then a thing happens
you question as is
only to realize

you want
you want this thing bad.



January 1, 2008 - Tuesday


knock knock

what do you do when your lover who is leaving in two months messages;
I love you
and your admiration for the thousand mile man is growing?

have coffee with cream and raw sugar
two toasted English muffins with whipped butter
write poetry that no one will ever read