around the eyes

you look tired, my dear,
a little peaked around the eyes,
a little pinched around the mouth…
are you well?

i am, i am well,
thank you,
and i am tired,
but i am worn through
for all the right reasons.

there was fresh air to
and birdsong to hear,
there were beetles to say hello to,
flowers to admire,
sunset reflections in
stagnant ponds
that caught the world,

there were words to speak,
laughs to have,
blisters to be gained
from too many steps,
too many miles,
in cheap shoes.

an offering of love,
warm skin,
hard muscles and rough hands,
deep breaths and soft sighs…

sleep, when it finally arrived,
was well earned;
i have earned my tired eyes.

Categories: Poetry | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

Love Begins, and Ends

Love, a tour de force,

A phenomenon,
juxtaposed in nature,
it strives,
digs roots,
lazily reclines
outside its den,
it sleeps, and it wakes,
a beast and a bunny,
it dances and stumbles,
and dreams

When love came to roost,
to make a home,
as it were,
the predators
circled around,
sunk claws
into soft spots,
and found the heart

it fluttered for a moment,
magnificent in its struggle,
then wilted and lay still


As soon as I read the prompt line for the speakeasy #159, for some reason I immediately had a vision of love as a wilting flower ( Shakespeare’s birthday, mayhap? ). Hahaha, I meant as an influence, not that I channeled The Bard in my nonsense 🙂

Categories: Poetry | Tags: , , , | 17 Comments

The Tree of Me

There are mistakes that I have made.

Like a giant and ever growing tree,
whose roots are my roots,
whose trunk is my me,
whose outstretched forked branches show me
where I went wrong in the outcomes of ‘coulds’ and ‘dids’

Some of the branches are gnarled and barren, and I fear
they would not take my weight;
they end in skeletal fingertips that tsk an Ah-ah-ahhhh! at the past;
This was a did that should not have been done.

Some of the branches end in an escapade of colors, an ebullience
of effervescence that says You have chosen….wisely.
That was a could that I did when I should.

Gurus & geishas & grapplers have all offered advice about your past:
dissolve it, embrace it, let it go, ignore it, forget it…
Me? Me, I want to pluck some of those brilliantly hued leaves off
and make some fucking tea, read the story in the leaves,
and figure out how I got some of these things so very right,
and some of these things oh, so very wrong.

There are mistakes that I have made.

I want to lie in the fork of a wrong turning and mourn,
weep over what could have been, and wallow in the hurt that was.

Then, when I climb upwards and reach for the next limb,
I will know to go right instead of left, and I will understand why.

There are mistakes that I have made, that I do not intend to make again.

Categories: Non-Fiction Nonsense, Poetry | Tags: | 8 Comments


grain by atom by sub-atomic particle,
a slow flood became an avalanche once spotted;
wormed an unconscious declaration, didn’t you,
as love overcame annoyance, at your feet,
on my side of the bed


This, Week 113 at the esteemed http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com, we found ourselves asked for 33 words exactly that included the word
Worm, using it’s third definition: 3 : to obtain or extract by artful or insidious questioning or by pleading, asking, or persuading —usually used with out of

So, here’s 33 words about when I realized that I really was gone daddy gone over my guy 🙂


Categories: Non-Fiction Nonsense, Poetry | Tags: , , , | 13 Comments

Broken and Rebuilt

shadow sky

i am shadows
i am crumbled bricks
and base elements,
i am broken down to my beginnings.
i am gritty sandy mortar dust;
trod upon, i fly to far flung places
on the bottoms of bare feet.
i make my nest within shards and splinters,
snuggling my demons close
like an over-washed rag doll,
much loved.
i turn a pale and wrinkled face towards the light.
don’t judge –
even the Phoenix looks ugly,
when first it rises from the ashes.
i am broken.

i will protect my ruins,
as fiercely as my temples,
my stained glass beauty and palatial strength.
my dirty garden of shattered things,
liquid pools of sad eyes,
betrothed to wallowing, and to me.
i am rebuilt.

This is my entry for Trifecta, Week 85 – go here, read these things, there will be something that you will love http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/2013/07/trifecta-week-eighty-five.html

The word this week is fly:
3a : to move, pass, or spread quickly
b : to be moved with sudden extreme emotion
c : to seem to pass quickly


Categories: Poetry | Tags: , , , | 25 Comments

Who knows…maybe I can.


The sun makes a lazy attempt to shine

And gives up the ghost,

Returns to its bed of pillows, goes back to sleep.

I would lay my head back down, too, if I could

On a pillow that was always cool,

And delve into dreams that don’t make me whimper

and throw elbows,

Protecting myself in nocturnal sojourns that I don’t remember,

If I could. Who knows….maybe I can.

I would wake refreshed , stretch long limbs

Like an elastic cat, kiss the stubbled cheek of a healthy him

And roll to my feet, loose, like a boxer ready for the bell,

Ready to fight

For my daily dose of peace of mind

Amidst the pieces of my mind,

If I could. Who knows…maybe I can.

I would journey out of this half world,

Hobo pack hitched up on shoulders that would put Atlas to shame,

Stuffed full of intention and ambition, integrity and gratitude,

A patchwork of all that I would like to be

Travelling the path of my own making, forged through a jungle

Choking itself on the mundane, I would climb the trees to the sun’s front door

And ask it to come out and play,

If I could. Who knows…maybe I can.

I would put yesterday’s mistakes into a box and label it

“Lessons Learned”

And put them away in the back of the closet;

I would put today on a pedestal and stand like a bastion before it,

Feel the wind tickle hair tendril hellos on my neck, slap some color back into my face

And drink in the two-toned spring light,

If I could. Who knows…maybe I can.

TrifectaTrifecta Week 73: From 33-333 words using the third definition of the word color:

3: complexion tint:

Categories: Non-Fiction Nonsense, Poetry | Tags: , , , | 25 Comments

To Dream is to Wake








if i squint just right

and discern the truth of myself,

not the prepackaged one displayed on the shelf,

i can dare to break the mold

and truly live before i grow old


“It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”
― Paulo
, Alchemist


33 words exactly inspired by the above quote.  My dream is just to live, through mania and doubt and anxiety and joy, to feel the sun on my face in the worst times and remember the cold on the best ones.

Categories: Non-Fiction Nonsense, Poetry | 19 Comments

Burn for me







You could never love me enough


I want you to drown in it,

revel in it,

as your head goes under the waves


I want it to burn in your gut,

to flame through your eyes, and your fingers,

your skin reflecting the glow of a thousand embers

as you reach for me


You could never love me enough,

there is no such thing

Categories: Poetry | Tags: , | 4 Comments

Blog at WordPress.com.