Saturday, July 17, 2010

Water Reprieve

Water Reprieve

a muggy chaotic sky forms
and threatens rain,
. . . we wait . . .
on rain we need or
just want,
rain which remains above us,
in refusing clouds . . .

. . . we wait . . .

then it teases
with a thousand sprinkles
spotting steaming pavement
and bone-dry dirt with polka dots
that change into tiny puffs of
earthy perfume. They rise
with our wishes . . .
then the droplets grow,
multiply, fall and fill
streets and earth,
curbs of thirsty life, and us . . .

with reprieve.


[Sent via iPhone]

Sunday, July 04, 2010


1. You Stripped Me of My Sanity

2. Caged Birds Dream

[posted via iPhone]

Friday, June 04, 2010


Torn apart
in angered rage,
my dreams reside
in disarray.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

:: (rectify and simplify) ::

When life's a bitch
and ya wanna die
save yourself
don't take that crap
(just simplify)
(simplify, just simplify)
cut those ties
cut that loss
cut that drama
and lies that cost
bail on out and simplify
mend your soul
angered mind
mend your soul
count your time
(just simplify, simplify)
you're a precious soul
that fades too fast
and you'll find yourself
a shell and mass
a thing no one
can recognize
(so simplify, just simplify)
or lose yourself
in a whole of black
you need to live
so come on back
get rectified and live your life
free yourself
and do it fast
free yourself
erase that past. . .

( you're rectfied! )


[posted via iPhone]

Monday, May 10, 2010

The Ending

of dreams, of trust...
Roses mean nothing.


[posted via iPhone]

Saturday, May 08, 2010

Sunday, April 11, 2010

VANISHING _ after Frida K. _

I was in the morphine loop,
the angelic phase,
the distance from pain that one
desires, feeds for, hopes for,

I was inside my songs, ones that brought me balance, relief, and
were equal to the loop
         on any other day,

I saw stars, oceans with red beacons,
heard lapping waves and 
the calling chatter of gulls,

I tasted the scented lilacs of Omaha,
I was bathed in bliss and fanned 
with wings of dragonflies
from the beaches of Waveland,

All Things
came together and released 
my body
          from pain. 

[posted via iPhone]

In My Memory :: poem for Front Beach

in my memory,
the deep aqua sky was severed
from the intense green
of The Emerald Coast that was laid to bear
the color of death,
the silence covered the skeletons
of oaks and
six gulls flew over nothingness, the sand
emptied of life,
and only a person with some bread to throw.

[posted via iPhone]


One ocean - a visual communion,
My communion,
where sky and I meet that capacity
for magic
which removes the world
and my soul feels Life, and remembers
when that water touched me ~

I was two,
when Biloxi and the water
stole me.

and though I left,

I never truly left. . .

[posted via iPhone]

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

NAviGAting - Alone

Six (1)

i was forced to navigate alone
through unfamiliarity of first days to school , some blocks away,
i mapped my way through imagery
the texture of sidewalks
color of cement
cracks and lines
the number of curbs
and crossings of streets
navigation was a white fence with wooden pickets
(like Donna Reed's)
that captivated my hand and soul
i rubbed my hand along those pickets 
felt it's ribs as they anointed my pain,
smelled lavender, violet, white, and pink –
scents that drenched the fence and me
perfume like nothing  I'd ever encountered
the lilacs towered over my small birdlike body
with scented  florets in the thousands,
i would stand  and stare up into that heaven-
forget the pain, the isolation, 
the harsh words,the compassionless voice 
pushing me 
from my nest.

Six (2)
Walking alone in Omaha snow
sidewalks invisible,
paths invisible,
i had to guess my way along
Navigation was a precarious whiteness,
a beautiful cold, a soft and wet cold
and one could easily 
slip through it all. . .
i comprehended this on  my own -
the hole swallowed 
my booted foot
up to my knee
i was a bird in the hard moth of darkness
i was vanishing into another terror,
a trapped fragile bird in a metal grate,
one leg out of the nest
the other in a black hole
escape was a struggle
i was alone on the street
no one heard my small voice in the stillness 
of deep snow
i was disappearing
who would know where I'd gone
or why?

Six (3)

Dressing Up
was a navigation of imminent importance 
charged with responsibility
be something proper
be photogenic, smile your way through the lens
beyond the pain
behind you,
keep yourself smiling
wipe off that smirk, that intolerance,
that stubborness and fear
keep smiling until the film hits 10
and you walk away, leaving the posses 
for navigation. . .

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

___ BOrDerLiNE :: DaY ____

light of copper on the sea
tainted now in memory
boulevards of live oaks dead
from salty surge
and dancing nights
which in the end
cut the sky with sharp words,
cries of loss,
and flowing blood. . .

latched doors, from inside,
won't let you in
and though you try
. . . just knock no more
and end
this pitiful war.

Monday, February 01, 2010


Above all else

Black Hole

i, the unsuspecting bird,
have fallen again
into the widening mouth,
that deafening silence,
that gravity,

and found, again,
the wrong truth. . .

that persistent Black Hole
pulling me in

[posted via iPhone]

Sunday, January 24, 2010


. . . 'cause when i'm gone
You'll be callin' but i won't be
at the phone."

(from the song, "I'm Good I'm Gone" by Lykke Li

Monday, January 18, 2010


Two Crows for Joy

[I had dreams (asleep and awake)]
the clock stopped
but time spun round, passed me,
cut, with it's hands, the sweet desire into bareness,
fleeting chances, vanishing beach,
and shadows that killed faith,

our parrallel regions of dreams

I am vanishing
yet searching. . .
Two Crows for Joy ::
. . . and flight down the road south

small sustaining elements...

enter the insides of the camera to see steel,
Bitterweed thriving in cracks of dry asphalt,
I-beams and trash,
another daily quest for The Real
within the virtual, numbers and
a word, an out-of-place enigma
and images melding with
a message only you understand...
and how much you needed that.

give my poor heart rest

and someday I'll paint my pain's release
as lilacs and blue hydrangeas, a crescent
moon in August or November
over Front Beach breezes humming
through Live Oaks. . .
such solid reality can be sealed in
repetitive motion, sacred scents, memories,
and the chorused songs of seabirds floating.

Time Stolen