workshop
five weeks.
it's an awful long time, if you ask me.
all the worry and the nerves and the upset
they were all for naught -
and that's a good thing, too -
because if one day is closer to happiness
imagine what five weeks mean.
five weeks mean everything has faded
five weeks mean there is hope
five weeks mean maybe she won't be embarrassed of the overhead light
and five weeks mean
the chance for five more.
At the rusted gates standing, alone and naked
-
jeered at by the guard who thinks I won't make it
-
what they don't know is assassin's blood
-
that flows through me in tornadic flood
-
-
The fantasies and stories and campfire tales
-
are my history, mystery, science, and sails
-
I fight dragons with penstroke, and ogres with keys
-
their legends my life, their tall-tales my breeze
-
-
Mother's bane
a total disappointment.
Combat boots
and studded jeans.
The perfect contradiction
from multicolored hair to tattooed feet.
Poster child for emotional chaos
tradition's worst nightmare.
Rebuking society
stereotypes gone to hell
Leaving unforgettable fingerprints
the writing's on the wall.
sure my mind is a jigsaw puzzle what it says when heaven knows I fill in all gaps where the rivers flow and that you do know shall post some more guffaws all will love all my flaws then go rolling on the floor what do they say rfoll etc or lol be it so be it happy shall compose more as i get out of thei going and coming like one does on a see saw or sea shore and soon I will compose myself as before what a poetic wow
rivers of leaves
falling like snow
their shadows like notes
on the promenade
rails
the surf
captured
in its race
towards the north
islands of clouds
subdued
Gitane and Chanel
seasons of the sea
cascading
like brilliant jewels
insoluble
in heartsong
vibrant and headstrong
She walked the world in servile frocks
and slept on cottage floors,
beneath the sun and bonnet rims
behind the hovel doors she slept
but oh, she must have dreamed.
She must have lived another life
beyond the rags and blazing hearth
She must have loved with loves
she never dared to look
right in the eye.
She dreamed of ghosts,
she wrote of them
and now, like them she roams
from mind to mind,
and places dark and lonely as her grave.
Where Eagles Fly
I am an eagle flying
elliptical
taken by the wind
in a dance of one
fading into forgetfulness
with the setting sun
hunger took the first step
this fast had to be broken,
a chicken burger, fries
and a coke my order
leaning on a plastic table
I wait and watch
a woman two tables over
tries to coddle an angry child
her temper harnessed
still throbs at her temple
sitting at the counter
an old gent reads his ipad
lifting his head to watch
the unfolding drama
at the next table
a young rebel knows it all
chewing his pen starving
for a cigarette, his eyes
Flat room, tiny walls
intricate design.
Folded over
closing in.
Sculpted by a life
we actualize.
Rigid shapes
defined by creases.
Little boxes
so confining.
Breath by breath
oxygen sparse.
Suffocated by
our choices.
wealths spilling through the lawn glades forgotten
the timer weavers shower
a carcass of emotion baths in a televisions ether
like the broken second floor lamp
the open question
extolled
pressed light
in answer
between the empty mirror
and the safety switch
valladium
rosewood
intimacy
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