To the reader

Some thoughts, I cannot keep.

Friday, October 19, 2012

Imagining Her Insides

There is skin
and muscle and bone,
the walls that contain her
are most pleasing to the eye.

The lacy filigree of blood,
red swirling rococo
from her toes to her tongue.

Her heart, that mighty engine,
pulses like a fountain
in the courtyard of her ribcage.

Her brain is a maze,
I wander through the hedgerows
and pause to admire
a most beautiful thought.

As perfect as Versailles,
she turns to see her reflection,
and frowns.

Monday, October 15, 2012

heavenly creatures go home early

they fade like the moon
pale faces resting in death
such beautiful girls

elegant sadness
is the art of young ladies
who wish to vanish

and here I remain
ordinary but breathing
too ugly to die

Monday, October 8, 2012

we are ghosts

what remains of us?
words float away on radio waves,
circling your heart like a school of fish.

where do we go?
we are the final trick in the magic show,
you fold into a box as softly as a dove.

and when we love,
does it live on?

beyond the now,
the echoes sound
a million hearts
are beating out

and haunting
every living lover.

who lives in us?
I know the song your soul is singing
we are ghosts of a past, remembering.

what remains of us?

Thursday, September 27, 2012

I was your secret

Meet me
at the bottom of a still black lake,
that is where we still live in love.
You were always my night watch,
where light cannot touch,
you are still my breathing god.

we will never make,
silent and deathlike our masked faces,
I never forgot you. I return now to pledge
my fidelity to this bitter war we have waged.
I will drink your hate,

I remain a hole
where you pour your discontent.

They were always heavy,
the words we meant,
and I mean them still.
I am yours to take,
if you meet me at the bottom
of this still black lake.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

The Liar

A great eagle is resting
on my shoulders,
his talons are tapping
at my collar bone,
his beak is plucking
at my brow.
He beats his wings
about my ears,
my head is pounding.
Heavy, he rustles,
his feathers tickle my cheek.
It is a great weight,
this majestic creature
on my shoulders.
I know he is bloody,
I see it in his claws.
He turns his head with mine,
as my gaze falls on you, love.
I carry a hunter,
and he will feast on your heart.

Thursday, September 13, 2012


I dread the stink of money.
When I find a pure thing, a perfect thing,
it is not long before it's delicate flavor
is ruined by money.

Many of my desires and fears smell of it. They equally reek.

How do I free myself from money?
In a world of so many empty mouths,
every crumb and drop has a price.

Death also reeks, and I would not have that either.
So I bathe in coins and smell of the world.

That comforting hope

Sailing over a broken sea,
with high flags flying.

I cannot bring the breeze
but I can let out the sails,

the winds of change are coming.

They always come, my love,
they always come.

Find Yourself

Where is your heart now?
You have hidden it so deep,
even your sadness
cannot find you.

Thursday, September 6, 2012


I went into that sacred place,
that glowing strand of soul in me,
and asked my quiet self
if I had understanding.

Like a rolling wave of grief
that crashes on Love's shore,
my secret self gave no relief
and I was afraid.

Fear made my hands closed fists,
and my mouth was an open scream,
things poured into me from the world
that had no meaning.

I listened to that fear rage
like a gale that breaks buildings
and I shook until I was broken.
Again, there was silence reigning.

Only then my glowing core,
that is me at last and was me before,
smiled and said, "You will fear no more,
and you have understanding."

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

And suddenly, you're soaking

How many droplets
must fall down before we say,
Now it is raining

Friday, July 20, 2012

Play It Safe

I am going to sit in a chair,
she said, 
when I grow up. 
I'm going to click my finger and stare at a screen,
and go home and make dinner
and fall asleep.

I am going to sit in a chair,
she said,
and never stand up.
I'm going to always jump when they say "jump",
and go home and drink a bitter cup,
and drink deep.

I am going to sit in a chair,
she said,
and I said fine.
You must not whine and you should not pine,
you chose your choice as I choose mine,
and the price is steep.

I am going to be safe,
she said,
and smart and sound.
But no risk is still risk when you have a hand,
and never play your cards when you know you can,
so it's cards you keep.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

On Fire and Burning

We light the lamps
that never go out
and pray
for the blue sky in the morning,
but the sun rises
brown and red and grey.
They say
and so we march,
the horizon isn't fast enough.
We'll make it come closer,
we'll make it stay
bright, then brighter.
We are on fire
and burning.
Nothing stands in the way
of feeding the embers with green and gold.
All the forests and all the rivers
were made to snap and crack
and sway.
The world is ending,
so they made
a ladder higher than the others.
Run towards the planets,
run away.

Monday, July 2, 2012

This is how I die

Here I am
all the atoms of my body gathered together
inside the fist of God;
to escape
and spread
like diamonds across glass
over the face of the universe.
I think that when we die,
it's like the unveiling of stars at night
to the vastness of eternity.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

the two who become one lose half of themselves

You offer me peaches and turn down the bed. We are soft to each other,
we use our palms, we serve. We speak at half volume
and words are careful. 

I go to sleep early and you work late. I wake up late and you leave early.

I clean your plates and cup your cheek. We make delicate plans,
we check in. I leave my phone in my pocket. I forgot to write down the song I was
singing in the car. I was going to paint. You wanted to hear your new record but you wait.
We had planned to go to the park.

It's not important. How was your day?  

Monday, May 7, 2012

The Tired Woman's Song

Give them your skin, mother,
give them your hair.
Give them your youth, mother,
give them your care.

Once you were rocked
now you are rocking,
once you were listening
and now you are talking.

Give them your heart, mother,
give them your eyes.
Give them your hope, mother,
give them your lies.

Once you were beautiful,
now you are kind,
once you were yearning
and now you're resigned.

Wiser and weary
and broken and lovely,
your joy is your labor,
your labor, your glory.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

The first note

I get ready. My knees pop
and in the silence, it is like the shot before a race. My heart takes off
for the finish line. I do not breathe.

This is why I love it. I forget.

I open my mouth and here comes the first note.
Too loud,
offensive, almost. It is such a surprise.
It moves, washing over upturned faces in the dark and silting down at the back of the room.

I shake with the birth of creation and awareness, I feel hunted and worshiped.

The first note is the true gift, the sounding bell of pleasure for the
ones who listen. A connection exists.

It is like the first touch
from your first love, 
when you suddenly knew
that your heart was too small
to contain
the riot of your soul.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Christmas Eve or Jazz

the notes trip over themselves
busy shoppers in a narrow hallway of a measure
bee doo doo doo da bop pop punches
a woman and straight to the front of the line
we go.
Endless movement of shuffling and murmuring
dominates the line
the line with no end, the swift and uncertain
chasing of happiness,
the mindful chaos of improvisational
journeying, the end goal
a perfect piece that satisfies,
the reward is a smile.

Friday, February 3, 2012


The first slumber is jarring,
you rebel. You shake like a prophet.

The second time, you knit your brows,
concerned but unsurprised.

The third time you sigh.

Oh my soul, that sigh was like a dying breath. You are asleep in your own body.

The song of life is no lullaby for your heart. Life hums and buzzes
with the work of billions,

and the keeper who sleeps by the hive is a dead man.

The Messenger

Backlit against the sun
like a black angel,
I am a dove beating her wings,
olive branch
delicate and new in her mouth.

Salt cracked lips smiling,
tears blown away by the sea wind.

I am the first of a generation
seeking land
in a flood. All the rest before us
angered God
with their greed
and their bile
and their endless talk of money.

They are washed away, and we float
above the drowned echoes of their voices.  Still,
we are lost.
I am sent to look for solid ground,
and I return with the first branch,
stripped from the first new tree.

Already, you demand a sacrifice.
We will never change. 

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Moving to a new blog home!

I have a new blog! To read up on my current adventures and lifestyle, continue following me at! I'll be chronicling the things I like, whether it be music, art, food, fashion, travel and decor. Life is so busy and full of adventures, but we should never forget to stop sometimes, and document the awesome things we're seeing.

This will still be a blog for poetry. I think I like separating the two.