Baby I'm home

Where is home if not here?

I guess it's an ancient place.

The calm that is both before and after the storm.

When regressed memories find the old souls reflecting.

We have found each other.

Grandmother's Book

Inspired by this book.

Grandmother had a book,

my favorite story that we would curl up and read on dismal days.

"Hey Annie, let's take a look"

she'd say adjusting her glasses and bringing me a PB&J.

It was about a mischievous imp,

living in a caldron pot that danced through town.

She would read it until my body went limp,

and she would carefully lay me down.

Sometimes the story would carry through my dreams.

Fantasizing about a little demon that would give me what I want.

But fiction never gave me anything to value, so it seems-

although the impish comradely always haunts.

As a child I'd wish for a bicycle, a mansion, or train-

anything that barely made sense.

Now greater needs plague my brain,

the plight for love leaving myself quite dense.

I recall the imp in the pot-

saying "hucka pucka, hucka pucka" before it robbed the rich.

The rich man's "coat tales flying" was the line I liked a lot,

as the imp threw him in a ditch.

Then the caldron would hurry home,

to the poor family that needed the treasures the most.

All along the poverty stricken countryside it would roam,

to find the most needy host.

Where is my imp to grant,

Wishes of adult wants and longing needs?

While people who seemingly have everything make me curse and rant-

I don't care for their prayers and creeds.

I have been on my knees asking above,

to quench what is my only desire.

To deliver unconditional true love,

Grandmother's book has me considering deals signed with blood, and eternal hellfire.

Dreamland

Yearning for nonsensical fantasy.
I want to close my eyes and go there.

Peacock feathered sky-
and soft long grasses.
Spinning in prismatic sunshine-
and falling backwards into comforting arms.

If only I could sleep.

Music Metaphor

I really enjoy listening to this song...
I never had a copy of it, no album to call my own-
But sometimes it would play in public.
Causing me to tune everything else out,
and focus on that one particular melody.

Then one day, it was given to me.
I was unsure of the meaning,
yet I turned it up full blast.
The stereo knob fell off.
I put the speakers in a closed room so I could muffle the track.
Sure, I could have just turned it off, or pulled the plug...
I never wanted to completely get rid of it.

So now I always hear it.
I think it will always be my favorite number though I have to admit,
I wish you could have danced to your song with me.

Draw like a child.

I colored outside of the lines.
You never deciphered the big picture.
Scribbling maniac.
I draw vivid sinfulness-
while you pretend to only enjoy refined art
in museum light.

Running around a masterpiece,
stales enthusiasm and victimizes hopes-
Yet sympathizing the abstract doodles:
Smiley faces...
Stupid little hearts...
and fanciful ways to write the initials of your name...
I will color for you like a child.

Carry me away.
Tie rocks to my body
as you toss me in a painted stream.
Just like the great masters.
It was a more tasteful work of art than
anything that exuded passion...
I suppose.

Settle restless etchings of good intentions,
you've seen one too many amateur artists.
You think we are all the same...
but oh my dear,
I may draw on my red lips inspiring drab
nuances of the careless
because
my world is colorful,
and you stay in only black and white.

Wearing Dirt

Wash and rinse.
Repeat, repeat, repeat...
I can't seem to get rid of this filthy guilt.

The master of disguise carries bags of dirt.
Their earthy, primal scent entices,
and sends me to recall-
the times when I seemed to have a childish need-
to dig holes for myself.

Here I will hide from virtue.
Some how, I found comfort in my earthen hut.
Among the muddy walls and emotional mire,
the dusty flow of air that follows in-
fills my lungs.
You have always taken my breath away.
It can't be that healthy.

As I bask in your presence,
I imagine the hypocrisy as beautiful gray snow.
Earth smeared face.
This dulling film covering my body....
My favorite outfit to wear is a shroud you created from
granule sweepings.
The debris you shook out onto me...
You run my muck.

Crucial Amnesia

I need a hypnotist.
There's a demand for a severe case of amnesia-
Perhaps an exigency for a lobotomy...
It's imperative that I forget your face,
Your eyes,
Your...everything.
If solid black and white flips through my mind,
the picture book tirelessly misbehaves.
I have been considering blunt force trama to my head,
or drinking until I am completely stupefied.
What's the solution to killing your memory?
Magical trances or drug induced comas...
Decisions, decisions.
Plucking out only your image, and leaving no trace.
Determination.....stubborn petitions..... It's critical.
Staring at fuzzy televisions.
The universe can be so cruel, placing it's little reminders...
Turn off the music.
Drawing back pocket watches to see if I can will myself,
but the time it keeps will still bring every second,
every minute,
every god forsaken hour...
Back to my humiliation.
Hypnotise me please,
serenity come.

I wanted to...

I wanted to...

There were many things I wanted to do.
Some were so simple.
Things taken for granted but-

I wanted to...

Dance with you in the moonlight.
Count the buttons on your shirt.
Know how much larger your hand is compared to mine.

I wanted to...

Talk with you about everything.
Study your face.
Find out the worst thing you've ever done.

I wanted to...

Watch you write a note.
Put my ear against your chest so I could hear your heartbeat.
Make you laugh so hard, your eyes would tear.

I wanted to...

Hold you during a thunderstorm.
Sit by a river together.
Guilelessly enjoy your scent.

But it was all too much to ask.
It never mattered how much I wanted to.
Only the pitiful ways you thought I needed to.
You can look down on me if you like, but it's only understood as flattery anyway.
I wanted to mean something more...
As you barely even notice-
If love is something I could tear out of myself, trust me when I say,
I wanted to.

Far Away

Far away, towards the sky-

Lives my love for you.

I don't keep it here, 

planted on the ground.

I was supposed to forget it.

But it's seen from here, and that's enough.

The atmosphere let's it breath,

but down on earth I still sigh.

Spends time blowing in the wind.

I continue to feel the breeze.

That wind gets strong sometimes.
So I just close my eyes,
making sure aspirations stay on a cloudy shelf.
It's dangerous when it rains.
Thoughts rain down on me.

Cold Night

Golden leaf like the moon-

Pale, lifeless, but still in motion.

I dreamt of the spinning loom,

of sequined starlight that was knit across the dark sky.

Memories are keeping me warm,

despite this cold night.

Wishing I could transform,

tattered pictures and daydreams into reality.

The cold is harsh: fleeting on some days, and then returning violently-

especially, and quite ironically, the days I missed you.

The frosted car windows are being scraped,

by early morning workers as steamy breath escapes their lips.

I fashion myself a blanket cape,

as I look and tap the wall thermostat.

The sparkling shimmer of the lawn,

had me contemplating other things that shine:

Brass bells, glittered children's drawings, sunkissed dew at dawn-

sugar cookies, handsome eyes, the tinsel that seemed to be everywhere except where it should.

Seasonal decorations adorn matchbox houses.

Their lights twinkle into patterns that seemed to follow my heartbeat.

Wild north wind blows and flounces,

forgotten mail, lost scarves, and tree trimmings down the snow covered street.

Footprints in the powder remind me again how I am alone.

For if comrades and lost loves stayed by my side, I could always feel an eternal glow.

I have to wear layers of sweaters that hug my body like seafoam,

since the doldrum of this beautiful season offers no tender arms for me to rest in.

If the cold night could bring us together,

I'd lock and bar the doors so comforting sidekicks would share all of our heat.

Again I watch the lifeless moon.

The stars never leave her presence.

Staying together through ecstasy or doom-

I would love to be weaved together in such a way.

Diamonds in pockets... not pennies that spill onto my bed.

Magnificent cold winter's night isn't very kind to me.

Warmth has to come from my dreams instead.

Moonstruck

Dear moon...
glazed in foggy mists.
We laugh wildly and face the electrifying wind.
If wolves howl at you,
my rampant hearted cohorts and I-
shall spin and dance.
Sing loudly!
Giggle like youth in sun streaked fields.
Kiss me warmly-
for now it is the precious frosted night.
Lights dance in the gusts down the weaving street.
Reflections off windows memorize.
Clouds quickly rush past the goddess's silver disk.
Renew me again.
This magic night brushes troubles away.
For in the past I mourned these surreal moments.....truly,
but with my rejuvenation shared with forever friends,
artistic comrades, and beautiful souls I find.....
love conquers again.

Stagnancy

Paralyzed waters.
A stagnacy of sorts.
Nobody knows when it's going to rain.
Circumstance is a bastard.
The unknown bares no words to justify.
Only whispers that barely stir waters and,
nonsense that brings a horrible stench.
Seldom words ripple and barely penetrate
the surface.
Bothersome muddy waters...
Clarity can never be seen through egotistical muck-
Even when it seems intentions are clear.

Rare

Traveling through the membranes of your soul.
It's deep in those eyes.
The lowest, cavernous deep had rare gems.
You usually keep them hidden
behind fear of confinement.

So restless.
Hush meandering soul,
as you are never mine,
but I will adore you,
as your footsteps trace the earth.

Carry those rare gems
and collect new ones.
I will view them preciously,
and never take for granted that you showed them to me.

3 am Miracles

At 3 am silence erupted.
Miracle, and the devil sat in the corner.
My mind flashed with persuasion, vehemence,
and hopeless love.
Peeling my blackening blankets from my face,
the taunting conformity begins.
My heart pounds.
Teeth clutch.
Tears draw tell-tale lines of repetition.
Benevolent hearts.
Resentful chemistries.
Poor, hapless chances of luck.
Bombardment is a quick fledge of angry wolves-
Running up my sides, tearing off my skin.....
Here comes the drain.

Staining sweated sheets, and
muffling squirms.
Snapping back in aggression-
I cave and calm.....
It is just shock.

Wided eyed in panic,
I scramble for plans to
obtain your needed mercy.
Miracle, sweet miracle that
has enlightened....

I wonder if I press your hand
against my chest
this human heart
could bring
my dear, sweet miracle.

Clarity erects the tombstone.
Seems my blind heart never
gives up.
As I pathetically weep,
I pray for a miracle
that I
can fight the devil
away.

Wrench

A wrench in the words.
Work out the gears that stop life abruptly.

Rusty corrosion grinds and pushes me to a hault.
I no longer want to oil this tedious machine.

If a little friendly grease lubricates our issues,
be sure the wrench will be thrown in again.

It's a faulty contraption...
this life of ours.

It is the flat tire.
Empty cigarette packs.
The woman who stole your love.

Pockets full of pennies.
Illness and storms.
Lack of alcohol.
Everyone who forgot your birthday.
Broken drafty windows....

The gears jump the track.
That wheel off kilter.

Spoiled milk in your coffee.
Deadbeat fathers.
Shut off notices.
Neighbors who cut down your favorite tree.
Locks with lost keys.
Wet newspapers.
Barron dirty refrigerators.

It all ran so smoothly until those loose
tools came along.
I'm amazed I ever kept this vapid machinery moving.
I take a deep, diesel contaminated breath-
reach my hands to pull out the travesty,
and struggle to nudge these fittings forward.

Incubus's Curse

She said, "We find love in the most disgusting of ways..."
As her forlorned face dropped
because she knew we both felt violated.

I thought of all the vial,
discussing beasts that cower in the night.
The same ones that continue to drag us down.
They are greasy and cold.
He rips you up.
Stares at you, while slicing the knife.
Turning the once elegant into mutalated fools.
Be straight and narrow and don't fall into the rot!
I felt how we were nauseous with our own foul ways,
But the tribute twists on.

We're depending on grotesque imagery that
cannot offer any condolences.
Thrust on tears, as your eyes turn to
dull, dumb, quick advances.
Car accidents that have no survivers.
Train wrecks that took away your only friends.
Curse and shake as we clean up the gruesome mess.
Beat me shockingly bloody
so I know you really care.
Our monsters contorted their
faces to show some kind of fake compassion.

Pan hid the grail of love in the most
ill reputed, pornographic, and
self hating of places.
We are being dragged through the
mud by our broken ankles.

Infections of sweet dreams
stop any motivation.
Days are filled with forcing ourselves to eat.
We are frozen in torture.
Prized admiration of the morbid.
Dance the dance with these dead enemies.
Heinous terror lingers on even after we 
promise to keep our eyes
squeezed tightly shut.

Puzzle

Puzzled free spirit-
The pieces that are missing cannot be found.
It makes an ugly picture.
The main design cannot be seen.
Ambiguous pictures front fake meanings.
Piece them together as I unwind.
Do not force them to fit.
Question what mystery hobbies of boredom show.
You may never truly know me.
Accept the daunting challenge.
Those missing parts I only give to the determined.
I hold out for trusted recognition.
When I give up the total picture,
Be assured that I am the most miraculous thing you'll ever see.

Beaux Yeux

Beaux Yeux saw right through me.
Dance on pretty words so I can reveal miracles.
Old dusty constraints keep language in limbo.

Beaux Yeux, spend time so thoughtfully.
It's painfully short and discerning on dark days.
I run on short contacts sinfully gossiped,
And somehow, lavish with guilt.

Beaux Yeux, press on as nothing seems to phase you.
As you read me, I read you.
Your novel is ever changing,
So I stay concentrated.
Is there an alternate ending?

Beaux Yeux, be the interpreter.
I can't seem to speak to your longing soul.
You transfer everything I need to know through assorted looks.

Beaux Yeux, don't turn away.
Focus on the here and now, and never tomorrow.
Exchange conversations with stares so clear,
I'll never need to translate.

Beaux Yeux, I will always try to see what needs to be known.
We hold dialogue in silence.
See the value that I do.

Butane

Engolf me white hot flames-
For you are the butane and I stand patient with an unlit match.
Come near the anticipated bonfire.
It will grow so exuberantly, smoke will be seen for miles.
All in your heartbeat;
Existing in tensions unfathomably described in lustful howls.
Burn violently, so no energy will be left.
Sighs and ash float on hot air.
Mustering up courage to blaze again will require just simple embers.
They always stay lit in souls.
Fan them wickedly as I fully ignight again.
Stoke my intention under kindlings of your maddening attraction.
Grip all this cremating fervor,
By handling my shell of dust.
We can still mingle together as beginners of life.
Short lived or long lasting-
My inferno, to your butane-
smolders all primal desire.
Let it always be considered with bitten lips and white knuckles,
and wanted as you shiver from the loss of sweltered coitus.

Distances

I'll circle like hawks surveying the land.
Keen sight had me confident I'd find you.
My vision couldn't determine the distance,
So I traveled for extended time before I could reach you.
A straight line to your heart would have been so easy.
Valuing the challenge, the mileage, and the course:
The struggle has meaning.
I trekked through grown over terrains hidden in captivity.
Retracing my steps frantically,
I assessed where I made a wrong turn.
Here, I trusted the stars to point the way.
North star set me unbalanced.
I'll follow Venus in her nightly glow.
Constellations followed by the wise still mislead.
Dull headed with no sense of direction,
I continued to follow dim light.
We should be star crossed.
Maybe the equation of distance,
should never have been added into my reflection.
I will turn to acknowledging that the difference in inches to miles,
Never changes sedimental memories.
You are always right here in my thoughts.

Dystopia

Pessimisim blows out the fire of my existence.
Lug the ancient feelings of reoccurring dread.
It exsists in disgraceful proclamations-
Monotonous and routinely garnishing simple hopes.
There should be none.
Already intrinsic thoughts mashed my positivity.
The dystopia is in my vision.
Foul and sickening, loveless and promiscuous-
Emotions are for the weak.
How strange are the romantics with their moronic stupefaction?
It will never end that way.
The journey will defeat you.
Unrequitable feelings slap you in the face.
Turn the other cheek.
Offer it to save face.
Be lacking in personality, it's your rescue to failed comradery.
See the landscape for what it is.
If you cannot see the future, I'll share my binoculars.
It comes: the dystopia!
Gray clouds roll in on inspiration.
Stagnancy of blessings peel back truths.
Ethereal unions are fictitious.
Throw away the rose colored glasses,
they are uselessly worn to add to falsehood.
Cut out these aspirations, they dissapoint.
I'll hand you the knife.
Best to be unexpecting any magical gifts.
Don't wish on stars, save your prayers,
Tragedy is forever on it's way.

Bittersweet

Hey sweetheart, why do I dare look you in the eye?
I'll stare past you so you have a to dig in the candy jar.
There's apparent jawbreakers in there.
Confessing sweet sediments will sour my stomach.
Bitter nags nauseate my joy.
A swollen sore tongue slurs what I need to say.
Candyman, tempt me.
I'll eat up the worth of your company.
Listening to your sourness completely sweetens my disposition.
I'm still here after our rotten teeth and bloated bodies struggle to go on.
The malnutrition of empty words still fill me up.
Hyper from syrupy emotions, buzzing with casual tart remarks-
I can only taste this sparingly.
Too much would keep me dazed and stupid.
Be my occasional indulgent regret-
When the stomach ache wears off, I'll be back for more.

Lion Heart

Subduing a wild urge.
Caged up in my sediments.
Steel bars and concrete cannot jail my thoughts.
I will waste away here in solitary confinement.
For misconstrued actions still burn away at these ropes that bind me,
And taming lion hearts can only tear away at the common essence of the beast.

They are strong.
Roar and show whetted teeth.
Frighten the phlegmatic as they hide in separate caves.
Not knowing affectivity creates separate cells.
You can only wish to engage in admiration like mine.
I stand defensive and proud of these qualities.
Attributes of soul rebels confuse.
Hearts that vibrantly blaze can force you into a tomb.
It's a life not for the restricted.

My ferocity causes the need to be softened.
Kindred carries the scourge.
I am resenting the constriction.
Be brutal in forcing my rebellion into retreat.
I will still return as you drop the lash.
Ringmaster hears the growl.
Offer no recognition.
Vicious hearts are too dangerous.
Do you want to live life passionately or contentedly mundane?

Lick the wounds that coward's generate.
Salt them too, with mistrust.
My ribs still imprison rabid, wild, lion heart-
And It will beat too forcefully to be a reconciled.
Behave, under close guarded contacts.
If it is unleashed, you will be torn to shreds.

Soul Sedation

Hidden imp of slumber,
Rest these sleepy eyes.
Veil in piety so I know longer have to enchant.
For I too, need rest-
And the clock's arms don't wait.
Time becomes as clouded as my judgment.
Propriety runs the hourglass.
It sifts conducive moments.
Wasted interfering monologues are dancing in my head.
Tired, bruised personalities keep insomnia in motion.
Duck out of finding the meaning.
Dreams bring them to life.
If I could just escape to that world,
Maybe it would make sense.
Bloodshot windows to my soul haze concepts I wish to simplify.
My heavy eyelids nightly spill.
I whisper my desperate plea:
What are you hiding from?
As if you hear it in the wind.
Waiting for replies steadfast, but not strong.
I repeat the words as I close my eyes.
Gently share your reality.
For if you come with vengeance, overtired affliction is far worse.
There in the land of nod we are both present.
You still run away.
 I awaken, unrested and still unsure.
Analyzing thoughts, burying my head in my pillow.
I hope this isn't a diabotical plan to keep me awake.
Where are you comforting embrace?
Hallucinating after days, hoping to forget.
Responsibilities keep guarded truths at bay.
Depravation is where you hide my questions,
The answers seem impossible to grasp.
Rest is hard for fierce hearts.
They are constantly trying to figure out what to pursue.
Imagination lulls me unconscious.
I am robbed of what may be the truth.
Thought terribly hurts exhausted minds.
Comatose, my bliss continues to vibrate the blood in my veins.
Anxious for it's long awaited arrival, I cannot lay still.
Sleep, come with me to intoxication for it's the only way to stifle this lonley inquisitive soul.
Dumbing down and backing off requires sedation.
The vacant minded slumber is where I wish to stay.
I will relish in letting go.

Bipolar Express

All aboard the bipolar express!

Elated to ride the thunder that rumbles in the pit of my stomach.

Today I was so happy to be in your presence.

So much so, the trip had me high on pleasant emotions.

Hopping down stairs, getting strange looks from other attendants-

Aggravated because they felt the same way....just 5 minutes ago!

But now we pull out of the station,

Depressive and in critical need-

To fill that pensive irrational point of view.

Who drives that engine of extremes?

I see it is the menagerie of bittersweet fights.

Faceless until you focus on your own thought.

A juggling clown or the grim reaper.

Boarders are laughing with tears running down their faces.

Half way through their shared delight,
We all realized it's short lived.
Chug on because we have to.
The super fine line of bliss and madness-
Corrupts us all, fulling the fire, and causing our backs to me thrown against the aged seats.
Manage to pull yourself forward, just to be tossed back again.
We turn and look at each other with the same concerned expression on our faces.
It's time to get off of this hell ride, but we know it is impossible.
Shout to the conductor!
I want off this one way voyage.
The destination was never determined.
We pass by every stop, excited then deflated.
The driver is pleased.
"Ah ha! You cannot stop your vehemence!", he shrewdly responds.
Mournful sighs fill the cabin.
So the train runs between our woes and delights everyday.
I knew my personal conflict but could see no end in sight.
Praying for derailment.

Every Song

My eyes squint under blankets,
And before my feet leave my bed-
There's already a song playing indecently,
Painfully decernible-
In my lecherous capacity.
I slowly rise, as every song haunts my well being.

A picture player flickers in my mind.
Static rips the imagery.
I hear pops and crackles, yet the verses run so clear.
Those moments described thouroghly by every song.
Ditties about the unrequited tendencies:
Throwing oneself in the line of fire,
The needs of humans,
Mishaps of mankind-
All in the format of every song.
Turn it up.
I am deaf to the melody.
I only hear the words-
Oh how wretched-
My favorite lullibies cause grief.
Every song was seemingly written for you.
Mental notes of phrases that seem to be so fitting.
I sing them all day.
I sing them to the hungry ghosts.
Feeding on my broken heart, they wait.
I'll feed them my confessions.
They'll know when the feast is about to be served.
As I hum and mutter the perfect description of how I feel.
They rise to bite my every song.
I am left listless and shaking.
I pour my soul out.
Sing! Sing about the obscurity.
Small puddles vanish as the tunes fade into the background.
My head sways as I prominade out the door.
Every song carries the visitors of tragedy.
The pedestal I have you on casts a shadow.
There, the operas bounce back.
Devoured by what lingers.
At night, still plagued by every song.
All so tiring, all immensely gratifying-
Just to know I was not at all alone in all these ridiculous feelings.
Contemplating my truths, tapping my feet as spector's sit patiently.
Picking the next soundtrack to convey what you have ignored.
It doesn't matter.
Because it is without a doubt, every song.

The Navigator

He set forth, dragging his feet.
Apathetic, unapologetic, and selfish.
On a mission to navigate.
Searching through the maps to find his perfection-
The ideal.
Did he know what angels can turn to after all is lost?
Shame and no self worth.
No rapture, just hellbent worry.
So cut off their wings.
Chain them behind you.
As the clanging, stinging sound makes them weep.
And there I was.
Reluctant to join them, but his eyes made me spellbound.
When the sound of children laughing offers no joyous emotion,
And the beauty of life can not be fulfilled-
It was because the Navigator hid in the shadow of my heart.
He was there, with all his prisoners.
Dragging all their baggage and packing it alongside mine.
I was lost, following his faulty compass.
His quest continued.
Despite my need to turn away, I followed.
Trying to be his transcendence.
Suddenly it was my mission.
I needed to be the red "x" for his destination.
Filling my pockets with magnets, I could make that compass point my direction.
Still my beloved helmsman looked far away.
Is there nothing else I can offer?
I was not her, I am not them, and that seemed to be all that mattered.
Uselessness, trotting along.
Sadness that is seemingly unoticed.
He instead throws little signals along his journey.
And now it is I who drags my tired feet.
All for his bounty and claim.
To be cut free would now leave me aimlessly circling.
Lost without the Navigator, I still have no peace.

Love for the Contradiction

Hold me, and push me away.
Smile and quickly frown.
Compliment then insult.
Love and then mourn with guilt.
Walk by my side, and then right past me.
Enjoy company, tell me to leave.
Laughter followed by silent crying.
Blush and say goodbye.

Dance, then sit in silence.
Touch, and regret the moment.
Talk, but ignore for days.
Be my friend, and slander my name.
Forgive, but never accept apologies.
Say hello with sarcasm.
Hold my hand, and hide.
Try to turn away, still beating a dead horse.

Ask to serve, but be the master.
Live, but act like you're dead.
Burn bridges, yet ask for help.
See signs, get lost along the way.
Anger, pretend everything is fine.
Say you don't want me, jealously.
Stand by me, then walk backwards.
Feel something, then nothing.
Look at me, squeeze eyelids shut.
Gaze, shake your head.

My little contradictions, tied up my brain.
See-saw with my heart, so when it drops I can look forward to the rise again.
I can expect the fight of direction will always swindle you.
The absolute escapes me, as insanity drags me away.

Dance With Me

I want to dance with Andy Warhol.
I want to see the world through your glasses.
All blurred and strange-
To know the ridges of your face and smudges that annoy you,
While your living daily life.
If I could sing a love song like Billie Holiday I'd lure you away to catch a beautiful moment.
Then artist's meals of cheese crackers wouldn't seem so sad.
Living off the happiness that the muse brings; I won't need anything else.
The soul can still dance as I sit firmly in my chair.
Dreaming little dreams, and sighing at which I wish to be.
I want to dance while smoking cloves in asbestos attics.
Remembering the quick kisses and uncomfortable silence.
It's all nourishment for this spirit,
As I glide towards the present tense.
Angels and demons both softly caresses and claw wildly on the tight rope wire.
Balance the weightless and extremely heavy.
Pointed toes dangle off of the mattress as I struggle to find the way.
I want to dance in your presence and hope you see the light.

Man of Brick

The man is made of bricks.
Stacked up walls of eroded bricks.
Heald together by his convictions.
Stand tall, as the crumbling gravel dusts my feet.
Be rigid and cold, rough and unweilding.
As the wind blows, shelter me.
The mortar chips away revealing something hidden.
Buried for ages. Forgotten.
The woman run and start to pick the structure apart.
Find it, find it.
Who will find it?
Bloody hands still dig.
And I look onward at the man's ruins.
Now he is frail, barely standing among the wreckage.
White faced and uneasy, I will hold you together.
Weathering the storms, leaning against your warmth when the suns rays blaze your once strong foundation.
In a small crack, there layed his compassion.

Anchor

Causing ripples because l dropped into a sea of curiosity.
It was just an inquiry,
but it bursted into a funnel.
No intention for it's creation,
but since it's here let's enjoy the process.
Sucking you in.
Making you scared.
Your heart pounds,
and yet there is calmness.
Now the horizon is spinning.
Twirling on heavy words.
The carnival rides should be this dizzying.
In my head,
as if intoxicated,
I nervously try to claw up....
I ache and yearn.
Grasping the fierce competition underneath,
I fall again
rippling and floating on strange thoughts.
Nudging the querier as he sets onward to the turbulent bounding main.
I see the rusted anchor far beyond my reach.
The waters churn.
Mists and siren echos draw away my best efforts.
I'm eagerly waiting now at the bottom of the blue brine.
For the strength to lift this iron to the faulty raft and stop the motion for just one second.
I'll keep swimming against rough currents.
I will find you, adrift on choppy seas.

Burnt

Out of loud retrospective calamity
and a furious wind of lust
there's a tinge of awareness in the air.
The sting of the fire, and the shiver of worry.
Viewed through biased eyes and the shameful recipient's lips,
a petastel of invulnerability.  A thrown of disillusion.
Masks of unhappiness.  Cold and unscaved.
Much far beyond the romance of twilight saturated with
envy, anger, and apathy.
When did it arrive?
Beyond the forced smile and gentle laughs-
There is liberation, if you can see through the fog.
Though it swells and swirls everbearing the illusion of perfection,
we will wait until fragile bones cannot hold tight gripped teeth smiles,
or physical attributes never obtained by the the fighters of love.
For we will crawl tooth and nail.  Bruised and aching, up to the knees of the careless.
When air that blows the breaths between words
 reaches your cheek and warms the face
speaking in ways only the believers can hear
slowly and methodically like a drip in a tin can
and filling in the sound until it's pleasant.
For your negligence is uneasy to bare,
and your intelligence insulted by this irony.
Stare at screen, play with your phone so you don't have to live in this moment.
The ease of distraction can lull you into a comma.
Where has the time went?  And when did the person by
your side become such a nuisance?
Goodbye to your love, and meaning of life.
The slander of your friend is enticing when not face to face.
To be a hermit, abstract and not deal with the problems,
is the way we will survive pathetically.
Behind the "smoke and mirrors" that we call "magazines and internet"
sad teenaged girls stop eating and we compare ourselves with that
which should never be compared.
Phantom images of what we looked like linger only in
misty black and white photographs in stale attics.
But oh, how that tormented ill reputed siren can seduce the likes of man.
No matter the chaos of his affairs, since it's a symphony of battered sadness.
To enjoy the company of loveless nights in fast forwarded motion.
In depth hope for the right moment to change the twisted and obscene.
While the stargazer waits, heart heavy, and holding onto lost breaths.
The treasures of the world couldn't turn us away.
Atmosphere bursting out intense waves of wanted solitude,
yet keys never completely out of grasp.
The user can wait, with sharp tongued lullabies until he is no longer needed.
A spiteful claim, but a tender reminder.
That there's no rest for the hopelessly wicked,
and vengeance highlighted.
When men are falling to their drone lifestyle never recognizing the full truth.
Because they are forced by devious items once inconceivable.
Hopeful survivors will be the only ones to move forward,
and for that, we must suffer the future burden of humanity's fall.
Then we will meet again among tall grasses and birds singing in chorus.
Tunes never heard off of a digital device.
The calm will remind us of who we were.  Souls united.  We will live in peace.

Crunchy Moms, featured in Rev Rock Review

Crunchy Mom vs. Starvation

Being a Mom who has a multitude of health problems in the past I recognize the importance of health and diet.  There have been a lot of times where I slaved to cook nutrient packed meals for my 5 year old son only to have him push it away and not eat anything at all.  As I connected with other Moms, I realized there were many who were a part of this new movement called "Crunchy Moms".
Urban Dictionary definition:
Crunchy Mom: A member of an increasingly growing group of moms who are neo-hippies.
They generally believe (for varying reasons) that there is something bad or less beneficial about buying mainstream products or doing other common activities in the mainstream way.

Now while I do admit my parenting is not exactly conventional, I wouldn't refer to myself as a Crunchy Mom and this is why:  When it comes down to it, there are times when you have to feed your kids no matter what.  You have to make sure they have clothing, warmth, and provide care for them when they are sick.  I know I'm not talking just about myself when I say that sometimes when you have $5 to your name and you have to make it stretch for 2 days you aren't going to just make your kid go without just because you had to buy spaghetti O's instead of cooking your own tomato sauce, and purchasing organic spaghetti.  But I have been snubbed when it comes to these situations.  It's the same mentality in other areas.  If my son is sick with a cold and the normal home remedies aren't doing the trick, you better believe I'm going to the store for some brand of cough medicine.  Do I like it?  No.  But being a Crunchy Mom can be very expensive.  Ironically, even though you are supposed to be making everything yourself as this type of Mother the cost of all the supplies is sometimes staggering.  Some argue that it's a matter of quality vs. quantity.  Sure, I agree, but a lot of Mothers out there are struggling to make the dollar stretch as far as it can go.  Would you rather eat for 2 weeks, or eat a very healthy meal for 2 nights?
There's also the problems with buying "mainstream" items.  For this I'll refer to the Mom's who won't dare shop in the biggest retail chain for any clothing.  I try hard not to do this as well for reasons that I tend not want to support major cooperation that support unfair labor whether it's by their employees or by the factories full of people who make next to nothing to sew t-shirts.  So I get most of our clothing from local thrift shops, sometimes splurging at a local organic/free trade/natural fibers only store.  I do this because not only are you recycling when purchasing an item that might otherwise end up in a landfill, but it's cost effective too.  Nevertheless, there are times when you can't just get something at the thrift store.  Socks, undergarments...yeah you're going to have to break down and buy them somewhere.  Where am I going to go?  Your local chain of course.  Are people really bad for doing that?  Am I a lesser Mom because I had to buy socks at Wal Mart for my son?
The truth is, most of want only the best for our children.  As parents I don't feel we should be against each other to meet their needs.  If you really feel that a parent that you're friends with isn't caring for their child the way you do would, snobbery isn't going to make them change.  Offer good suggestions like showing them how to make your healthy and inexpensive pizza crust recipe, or exchange clothing with each other instead of consistently buying more at the mall.  Working together to ensure a better future for our children should be a mutual collation for us all.  Uniting us through this joint effort could only ensure the positive outcome of this goal.  I hope I've inspired you to consider the wisdom that can be passed to generations long after you've passed.  Humility is crucial for humanity.

Reflection on the Beach

Let's dream of thee ocean,

far beyond the waves and chaos.

To remove all the hectic mishaps,

and enjoy the smooth sailing.

Great peace and delight when the moon is 

reflected on the dark water.

Silence among the great force,

for underneath there can be enormous stiring.

But if we rest on the top of the water,

staring at the stars-

now nothing can hurt us.  

Floating on silver stardust,

to lift me into the sky.

The misty clouds holding every tear,

that rained down into the mystic sea.

Returning to the unsettled waters-
where they will rise up and crash on the beaches.
If you walk with me there among the salty sprays,
kicking around the treasure of seashells-
there might be a moment of simplicity that this too shall pass.

The Fumble

The Fumble


To throw it out there doesn't mean it will be caught,
you can struggle hand over foot, sliding awkwardly across the floor.
The breeze it created so close to your face you never thought you'd miss it.
Grasping the air and swinging your arms-
Like a bird learning to fly.
Sweat beading on your face and exuberantly hyper driven-
If I could just reach out a little farther-
I touched it with the tip of my finger.
Caught the end of the words that were thrown out,
still hoping to get the whole thing-
but it flew right past in a fast forwarded motion.
A let down of epic proportions,
no victory dance to be had.
I can hear the music playing in my head,
but I hang it in disgust.
If you can't catch it, they'll never throw it to you.
The simple or heavy words, never will be said.
So sit on the sidelines and expect to be ignored.
Maybe it's just this season, but don't be surprised if
it lasts forever.