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.