Tuesday, December 27, 2011

When I am Gone

When I am Gone

When I am gone, my life bereft,
lying eternal in the ground,
will my bones be all that's left,
beneath the stone and earthen mound?

Lying eternal in the ground,
at last, to shed my human skin,
beneath the stone and earthen mound,
I dwell the forest, deep within.

At last, to shed my human skin,
covered by the scattered leaves,
I dwell the forest, deep within
the arms of grand and mighty trees.

Covered by the scattered leaves,
my eyes, now glimpse your pallid face,
in the arms of grand and mighty trees,
entwined, my love, in your embrace.

My eyes, now glimpse your pallid face,
will my bones be all that's left?
Entwined, my love, in your embrace,
when I am gone, my life bereft.

(trying my hand at another pantoum for dversepoets.com open link night)

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Luxury of Morning

Luxury of Morning

rich luxury of morning,
no scheduled place of arrival-
over a hot cup of tea
and some poetry books,
these moments richer than gold-
like church on Sunday,
without it's dogmatic droning,
what is truly spiritual?
of the present moment,
keenly aware
it too shall pass,
as afternoon, again,
becomes evening.

(Posted for dversepoets.com poetry prompt "contrast")

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

She Woke up Naked by the Sea

She Woke up Naked by the Sea

She woke up naked by the sea,
to cast her shadow in the water,
gathered small shells for memories,
dreams that led her to the slaughter.

To cast her shadow in the water,
lured by the distant piercing call,
dreams that led her to the slaughter,
lulled by sorrow, drown them all.

Lured by the distant piercing call,
a distant storm, dark clouds descend,
lulled by sorrow, drown them all,
the breath in which her life depends.

A distant storm, dark clouds descend,
oblivion holds no clemency,
the breath in which her life depends,
foreshadowed sense of urgency.

Oblivion holds no clemency,
gathered small shells for memories,
foreshadowed sense of urgency,
she woke up naked by the sea.

(Trying my hand at another Pantoum for dversepoets.com open link night)

Thursday, December 8, 2011



Does the butterfly remember the caterpillar,
at the moment of emergence from the chrysalis?
Spreading brilliant wings-
I walk around this house, still and cold,
a museum for the dead.
Framed photographs of a young couple,
smiling for the camera, preserved,
I don't recognize her face, my face,
looking like me, frozen in time,
surrounded by souvenirs, mementos,
objects collected on shelves,
collecting dust, my personal effects.
All wrapped in spun, silken thread,
awaiting metamorphosis.
Apparitions stir in the odd corners
as I try to remember the caterpillar.
My wings unfold, test their strength,
the chrysalis discarded,
the sky calls me home,
flapping against the panes of glass.
Now, how do I tell him?
How do I tell him I am leaving?

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

'round and 'round

'round and 'round

'round and 'round the tumbled page,
all broken glass and subtle rage,
in throughout the night begins,
the plot unfolds, my thickened skin,

the peace I seek, in dark of night,
endless woods with moonlit bright,
I dreamt a path I could not go,
I woke to find the answers though,

most things you find behind the veil,
the sins and monsters hiding there,
leave the brightest cheek turned pale,
a ghost to haunt the shadowed trail.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Now, It Is Done

Now, It Is Done

Now, it is done.
The sun's warmth heals
my battle-worn body,
soothes deep wounds,
penetrating my skin, my bones,
my connective tissue,
stitching together my disconnect.
The final stand made,
I will endure all consequences.

Now buried,
left for dead,
I shovel the last wet soil
upon my sepulcher.
Lungs fill
with the smell of raw earth,
time for lamenting has passed,
all the mourners gone home.

Now risen
with the misted moon
and blackened sky,
linger, until morning lifts
the diaphanous veil of night
from my eyes,
breathe deeply,
the light of dawn.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Take Me Now

Take Me Now

Take me now-
my blue-eyed lion,
devour my flesh,
for when the goddess awoke,
the seductress woke with her,
filled with an insatiable hunger,
an unquenchable thirst.

Take me now-
my blue-eyed lion,
I offer you my throat,
I offer you my wrists,
for my heart pounds inside these veins,
life's blood pulses wild,
devour this fire,
that threatens to consume me,
reduce my body to embers.

(Offered up for the poetry prompt "Wild" over at Dversepoets.com)

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

wind howling, concrete morning

wind howling, concrete morning

wind howling
concrete morning
pushed from sleep
jar of dreams
collected, sifted
bellowing smoke
ashen concrete
tepid coffee
weak in the knees
trying to fight sleep
on subway cars
stay awake
pushing dreams
and the urge
to stay upright
fresh graffiti
seated beside me
strange markings
primitive art
from underground tribes
marking territory
drumming rhythms
clackety-clack, clackety-clack
in distant tunnels
pushing dreams
down my throat
clackety-clack, clackety-clack
forced to look
through the darkness
what is seen and unseen
clackety-clack, clackety-clack
unreal, unkempt
disheveled, unknown
clackety-clack, clackety-clack
mechanized blood
speeding through man-made veins
clackety-clack, clackety-clack
we are mere illusions, illusive
ego-driven, driven crazy
clackety-clack, clackety-clack
dreams kick in
pushed from sleep
sitting on subway cars
fighting the urge
to stay upright
sipping tepid coffee
wind howling
concrete morning

(Posted for open link night at dversepoets.com)

Saturday, November 19, 2011



Lethal injection,
to stop a beating heart,
shattered mine like glass.

My decision-
to end the life
of my sweet friend.

I hold myself accountable.

Word of the Day: heart-rending. (adj) causing much grief or mental anguish.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Silence the Voices

(This is my attempt at Staccato form poetry for dversepoets.com
I only was able to complete the first stanza. I decided to post it anyway. This was not an easy form for me, but I'm always willing to try new ideas.)

Silence the Voices

Silence the voices, uproarious crowd,
shout to be heard, I abhor noise this loud.
Be still! Be still! Quiet the din,
whispered through the glorious wind.
Sent the crowds home early, dispersed, dismissed.
Be still! Breathe in silent, soft morning mist.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Called Myself Jezebel

Called Myself Jezebel

"Called myself Jezebel",
words from a song
caused a head-on collision,
anger and sorrow,
a sledgehammer to the sternum,
struck an opposing force
that yielded before me,
losing my balance,teetering,
p l u m m e t i n g...

"Called myself Jezebel",
I carved deeply,
the letter on my chest,
each slow, deliberate cut,
scarlet rivulets of pain,
keening as crimson rivers ran,
my self-imposed punishment.

"Called myself Jezebel",
on my knees, asked forgiveness,
for all the hurt I've caused,
l a m e n t i n g ...
Now, ripped wide open,
raw and bleeding,
r e v e a l i n g ...
first seeds of hope,
planted long before winter
held the ground suspended.

(10,000 Maniacs, "Our Time In Eden", song "Jezebel": a beautiful poem/lyrics, referenced in my poem)

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Idiomatic Ideology

Over at dversepoets.com, the prompt is "idioms".

Idiomatic Ideology

When it's down to the wire,
my ideas dropping like flies,
I was still determined,
come hell or high water
to come up with a poem.
Back to the drawing board,
I knew I was against the clock,
must cut to the chase.....
Here goes:

If I wear my heart on my sleeve,
it's bound to end up in the wash.

Elvis has left the building.*

*(No poets were harmed during the making of this poem)

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Words, Like Petals

Words, Like Petals

like petals,
fall from my eyes,
lifting my gaze

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Outside, January Morning

Outside, January Morning

Outside, January morning,
crisp, still air of dawn,
hoar frost blankets the rows
of green and purple lettuce.
The sun hasn't climbed the wall
to greet the garden
with it's brilliant yellow light.

Inside, I wrap my hands around
a warm, golden cup of tea,
breathing in curls of opalescent steam,
taking in that first, wonderful sip.
Sacred ritual of morning begins my aubade,
quiet contemplation, silent stillness
before I am kissed
by the climbing yellow light of day.

Word of the Day: aubade. (noun) a piece sung or played outdoors at dawn, usually as a compliment to someone. ORIGIN:French, equivalent to aube, the parting of two lovers at dawn.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

The Pattern of Thoughts

the pattern of thoughts

paralyzing words, in a coma, enigma,
games of the flesh, a cacophony of sound,
dances, my heart floats downward, a spiral,
a staircase, in any case, descends to the ground.

perpetuated by noise, it grinds at my eardrums,
the beat hums, between thumbs, bangs and guffaws,
the clatter, the matter, caught in the dead space,
like echoes, it beckons, a discordant note between walls.

jumpy and frightened, my language will dwindle,
my world in a coffin, where soil meets the sky,
disappointment and joy will laugh in a spiral,
it sings my heart happy, yet the pain never dies.

this poem came out of an interesting stream of consciousness exercise where you write one page each day, for ten days. you don't think, just let your hand write whatever comes. you put each page away and don't read them until you've completed all ten pages. then you go back and read what is on the pages and highlight the words or phrases that speak to you, write those down and reread and edit until you come up with a poem or seed of a poem. this was so much fun and i was surprised by the results. the above poem was almost completely there on the first page i had written and i don't even remember writing it.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

The End; a Beginning

Based on a prompt over at dversepoets.com, I am attempting a poem using conflation. A version of this poem was written when I was going through panic disorder and was finally fed up with being terrified all the time. I recently found someone's "cheat" notes, written on small pieces of paper, outside of a local school and decided to combine the two ideas. I'm not sure if it works, but I'm submitting it for this challenge.

The End; a Beginning

Plot: series of events
that make a story.
Watch the knife,
split the flesh.

Foreshadowing: clues to
what will happen later.
Crack the bone,
pierce the heart.

Internal conflict: between
protagonist and her feelings.
Shed the blood
like waves of scarlet demons,
causing my heart to pound
hard against it's cage,
hard-wiring my terror.

Climax: the most exciting part.
If I am so afraid to die,
die now-
at your own hand.

Resolution: the ending;
show how conflict is resolved.
Release the demons,
expire the breath,
still the heart,
end the torment.

Plot: series of events
that make a story.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Standing by Your Grave in April

Standing by Your Grave in April

Black earth, white snow,
whispers come, echoes grow.
Specters veil their eyes, portend-
blood red rose,
the winter's end.

Word of the Day: portend. (verb) be an omen or warning of.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

I am Only Free

I am Only Free

Emotions blown
by the tumultuous wind,
pushing me in all directions.
I am only free
if I truly believe I am.

Word of the Day: tumultuous. (adjective) 1. full of tumult or riotousness; marked by disturbance and uproar. 2. raising a clatter and commotion; disorderly or noisy.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

An Offering

Over at dversepoets.com, the prompt is "taboo" subjects in poetry. It took me a few years after rediscovering my love of writing poetry, but I started to tap into more deep and personal themes. Here, I am sharing two of them:

An Offering

I come to you, an offering of flesh.
Climb the landscape of my body,
unfold me layer by layer,
open the petals of the rose,
to reveal its desirable fruit.
Take me completely,
rip open the raw desire
vibrating on the surface of my skin,
the swell of my breast in your hand.

Midnight Desire

I want to run naked in the moonlight,
night wind caressing my raw skin
like a crazed lover.
I want to feel the mossy earth
between my toes,
let the darkness find and open
all my secret places.
Violate them-
turn me inside out,
leave no place to hide my longing,
I want to be pure animal,
a visceral, snarling beast.

Friday, October 14, 2011

My Gift to You

This poem is not a direct imitation of a specific Rumi poem, but highly influenced by
his search for the Beloved. Rumi is one of my favorites. This post is inspired by a prompt at http://dversepoets.com/

My Gift to You

I have died to myself, so I may live.
You are the purest love,
a gift so selfless and generous,
I am washed in your light.
Together we can live our days in poetry,
our nights in passion.

I have died to you, so that I may know
the warmth of your touch.
I long to live in the depths of your eyes,
break my heart wide open,
shine light into all the darkened corners.

My gift to you is my love, pure and simple,
it is surrender.
My gift to you is my heart,
poured out into words,
breathed into poems,
the purest source of divine love.

This poem is dedicated to my soul mate. I am grateful for whatever forces brought us together in that one moment, so we could recognize each other across eternity. I look forward to many more years together(forty, at least) and anticipate lots of love and joy along the way.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Welcome Autumn

In honor of the first truly Autumn-feeling day in the Arizona desert, I thought I'd share an Autumn poem and one of my watercolor sketches. Enjoy!

Welcome Autumn

Welcome Autumn,
fiery bright,
shadows find new
slant of light.
Cooling nights,
shortened days,
dance of leaves,
Winter betrays.
Soon enough
the snows will come,
dulling leaves
to be entombed,
beneath Winter's white,
crisp chill of night.
Welcome Autumn,
fiery bright.

word of the Day: bluster. (verb) to roar and be tumultuous, as wind.

Friday, September 30, 2011

My Poet Woke Up

My Poet Woke Up

My poet woke up
to the vibration
of the first words
in my throat,
the exotic familiar
taste on my tongue.
I see words strung together
in a series of sacred moments,
I want to build a temple for them.

Word of the Day: detritus. (n) 1. debris 2. rock fragments

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

This Road I Travel

This Road I Travel

This road I travel,
the path within,
filled with light
contained by skin,
wrapped 'round bones,
my armature,
within my soul
I'm so much more
than what the human eye can see,
the body ends,
the light set free.

Word of the Day: preternatural. (adj) 1. existing outside of nature 2. exceeding what is natural or regular, extraordinary 3. inexplicable by ordinary means; especially: psychic

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Sheer Beauty

Sheer Beauty

Sheer beauty,
sheer beauty,
my soul deep within.
Covered by doubt,
I grow a thick skin.
Pray no one hurts me,
hope no one gets in.
Sheer beauty,
sheer beauty,
my soul deep within.

Sheer beauty,
sheer beauty,
I tremble and hide.
It's unsafe to cry out,
tuck deeper inside.
Remember the pain,
drops of blood as they dried.
Sheer beauty,
pure beauty,
I tremble and hide.

Sheer beauty,
sheer beauty,
Your light shines on my heart.
Reach toward the brilliance,
Break the darkness apart.
Reveal an absolute pureness
of love as it starts.
Sheer beauty,
sweet beauty,
Your love opens my heart.

Sheer beauty,
sheer beauty,
My soul deep within.
Touched by the brightness,
the healing begins.
I'm uncertain, at first,
of the warmth on my skin.
Sheer beauty,
sheer beauty,
my soul deep within.

Word of the Day: inspire.(verb) 1.stimulate, as to a creative effort. 2. arouse (a feeling) 3. inhale

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Scattered Whispers

Inspired by a poetry prompt at http://dversepoets.com/2011/09/08/formforall-pantoum/ to write a pantoum, I finally composed one and thought I'd share it.

Scattered Whispers

Scattered whispers breach my dream,
linger cold among the trees,
drop like petals in the stream,
carried on the bristled breeze.

Linger cold among the trees,
discordant voices dreamt of this,
carried on the bristled breeze,
a beautiful, resplendent kiss.

Discordant voices dreamt of this,
now dreadful cold and bitter chill,
a beautiful, resplendent kiss,
rendering my lips utterly still.

Now dreadful cold and bitter chill,
wake to feel the bristled breeze,
rendering my lips utterly still,
whose voice I hear among the trees?

Wake to feel the bristled breeze,
drop like petals in the stream,
whose voice I hear among the trees?
Scattered whispers breach my dream.

Word of the Day: resplendent. (adjective) dazzling.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Urban Tea Loftiness Poem

Bamboo teapot

Urban Tea Loftiness Poem

Green bamboo coil
steaming hot chai
simple white teapot
cobalt blue sky

Word of the Day: lofty.(adjective) 1. very high 2. noble 3. haughty

Sunday, September 11, 2011

In Memoriam

In Memoriam, 9/11

In the ninth month,
the eleven fell
hard to earth,
billowy smoke rising,
mouths agape,
stunned to silence.

Word of the Day: terror. (noun) intense, sharp, overmastering fear: to be frantic with terror.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Shines the Moon

Shines the Moon

Shining, swirling ball of light,
shines the moon of pitch black night,
extend my hand to catch your secret,
visions elude me, I regret,
I haven't risen to the place,
where, dare I feel the light of grace.

Word of the Day: Luminescent. (noun) giving off light without heat.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Blue Gold

Blue Gold

Blue gold
drawing from the very old.
a subtle breeze,
erasing thoughts that bring unease.
All the moments disappear,
only flesh and blood left here.

Blue gray
gone away,
memory for another day.
Clouds of doubt,
draw it out,
sit and stare,
another route.
Tomorrow is another day,
the flesh remains,
the mind decays.

Word of the Day: dementia. (noun) loss of mental powers.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011



end to
my spirit

Word of the Day: exile. (noun) a prolonged, often enforced, living away from one's country.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Brooklyn Laundromat

Brooklyn Laundromat

Fish eye lens,
Distorts the view
Into the sudsy, white vortex.
Fluorescent drone overhead
Mixes with stubborn smells
Industry, old coffee, stale frying oil,
All adding to my stratocumulus angst.
Drops of sweat
Trickle down my back,
To my crack,
Soaking my shorts, stuck
To the red molded chair, bolted
To the concrete floor
Of the sweltering Brooklyn laundromat.

Word of the Day: pensive. (adj) thinking deeply or seriously, often of sad or melancholy things.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Feet on the Earth

Feet on the earth,
Head in the stars,
My body,
Somewhere in between.

Word of the Day: leviathan. (noun) something large or formidable.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Another Potluck Poem

This poem is in response to the poetry potluck theme of "love and the loss of it".
I wrote this poem a while ago and the reason I remember it so well is because it came to me while I was walking. Having nothing to write with, I had to memorize it as I walked. Each time I would memorize a line, another line would come to me so I had to memorize that line as well. I don't know if that happens to anyone else but poems come to me when I walk or exercise at the gym and when I'm driving. I should probably get myself one of those hand-held recorders.

To You

To you
I come
Seeking shelter
From the storm.

In you
I sense
The need,
Same as I.

Clipped of flight.
Battered by winds
And cold rain,
Seeking time to heal.

Love's touch seems
Distant to me now.
I forget it's face,
It's gentle touch.

I trust you
In this place
Both sharing
Eyes filled with pain.

Sit beside me,
Close your eyes.
Breathe fresh air,
Accept the sheltered breeze.
Feel the sun
On your face.

Word of the Day: lambent (adj) playing lightly over a surface, flickering said of a flame-giving off a soft glow.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Poetry Potluck Wednesday


My ears listen keenly,
To hear the Autumn wind.
To feel air crisp with Winter chill,
Goose pimple up my skin.
To stand among the brilliance
Of trees in fiery dress.
The last, great, golden dance of leaves,
Drift to eternal rest.

Word of the Day: loam. (noun) a rich soil composed of clay, sand and some organic matter.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Is it Pride?

New England Tombstone 1700's

Is It Pride?

Is it pride?
That makes us think
We will be remembered
When we die?
Five minutes after we're gone,
Already, the veil
Grays the memory.
Images skewed,
Details, faces
Fade to black.

Word of the Day: spindrift (noun) 1. sea spray; esp: spray blown from waves during a gale 2. fine wind-borne snow or sand.

Saturday, July 16, 2011


Slip in and out
Time is an illusion
Illusion is a mirage
Love each moment
Live each one
Never take for granted
Each one

Streams from

Word of the Day: moribund. (adj) 1. in a dying state; near death 2. on the verge of extinction or termination.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

More Magnetic Poetry

I thought I'd share some more
of my magnetic poetry:

Poem # 5

Peace, like death
Is silent. Still,
Blood recalls
The pounding heart.
Bare winter skin
Dreams of summer.

Poem # 7

My silently pounding heart
Drunk with summer smells,
Recalls our symphony of flesh.
Whispered love now lies still.
It is winter here.

Word of the Day: limpid. (adj) perfectly clear, transparent; not cloudy or turbid.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Today the Demons

Magnolia Cemetery in Charleston, South Carolina

Today the Demons

Today the demons
Whisper in my ear,
Prick at my skin,
Pull at my synapses.
They say, I am evil,
I am never satisfied
With what I have,
That I am cruel and foolish.
They hold up reality
To my face, like a mirror,
Smashing my bright fantasies
Of hope and joy,
Like shards of glass at my feet.
They shun the Goddess,
Beating her down,
Humbling her before the darkness,
Laughing madly,
Weakening my hold on happiness.
I surrender-
Offering up my wrists,
Breathing in the darkness,
Like liquid silver.

Word of the Day: languid.(adj) 1.without vigor or vitality, drooping. 2.without interest or spirit, listless, indifferent.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

There is Gentle Mercy

Cemetery near Charleston, South Carolina

There is Gentle Mercy

There is gentle mercy
At the raw edge of pain.
That to know love,
Is to know loss.
A quiet breeze
Across a sun-warmed cheek.

Word of the Day: diurnal.(adj) recurring everyday. Of,relating to, or occurring in the daytime.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Arizona Summer

Cemetery in Mayer, AZ

In honor of the long, hot summer that lies ahead of me, here in Arizona, I thought I'd share a poem I wrote last year during the monotonous days of sweltering, unending heat.
When most of the USA gets ready to celebrate the Fourth of July with picnics and barbecues, I usually hibernate to the dark cool places and ride out the summer thinking about the mountains and forests, rain and scary movies.

It's Not Even Eight AM

It's not even eight am,
Opening the door to my backyard
I am assaulted by a wave of hot air,
Like a blast furnace.
Capable of turning solid metal
Into molten liquid,
Incinerating human flesh.
Yet the hummingbird still
Visits the feeder,
The cactus are thriving,
The mesquite tree remains
A soft yellow green.
Nothing has gone up in flames
But my illusions-
That I will ever adapt to my environment.
All this and it's not even eight am.

Word of the Day: wanderlust. (noun) a strong longing for or impulse towards wandering.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

A Meditation

This is my submission for Poetry Potluck Wednesday:

A Meditation

Bring your body to absolute stillness.
Empty completely your ruminating mind.
Slow your heartbeat down to nothing,
Remain very quiet.
Open yourself up.
Grow roots down through concrete,
Into the rich, black soil and stone,
Down through the remains of the dead,
Through layers of history,
To the fire within the molten core.
Surrender yourself-
Connect to the all-knowing wisdom.
Become the infinite,
The giver and taker of life,
The universal Mother.
Open yourself to her mystery,
This pure energy is vast and unending,
Overflowing this physical container.
We are a part of everything and nothing.
Within this place shines
The true face of God.

Word of the Day: cryptic. (adj) secret, occult. Meant to be puzzling or mysterious.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Listening to the Whippoorwill

Listening to the Whippoorwill

I stood, standing stock-still
Listening to the whippoorwill.
Songs coming from the hidden brush,
Lyrical notes of color rush
To my keenly listening ear,
The night is dark, the sounds draw near.
I sense the bird draw nearer still,
Feeling the cold of winter chill,
As I stood stock-still,
Night grows darker, darker still,
Listening for the whippoorwill.

Word of the Day: Adamantine. (adjective) Utterly unyielding or firm in attitude or opinion. Very hard, unbreakable, unyielding.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Coming Upon a Grave in the Woods

Tombstone photo from a cemetery I visited on a recent trip to Massachusetts

Coming Upon A Grave in the Woods

Worn gray, marble stone
That marks a life to me unknown,
Now rotted cloth and pristine bone.
In life begins, in death undone.

The pitted surface, I trace a name
Made unreadable by wind and rain,
The flesh decayed, the bones remain.
The wind reveals a whispered name.

Ever since I was a kid, I've loved graveyards. Especially the old ones with carved angels, effigies and skulls with wings. I am fascinated by graveyard statuary, mausoleums and old rusted cemetery gates. Basically anything that feels like a setting for a really good ghost story. Most people have a photo album containing family pictures. I have one containing pictures of graveyards from all over the USA. My family would humor me on trips and go out of their way to stop and let me tour an old cemetery or two. They actually are good sports about it, although some family members and friends find it odd.
For some reason spending time walking through a cemetery is very comforting to me.
I find peace among the tombstones and cypress trees, weeping willows and rusted gates. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's the act of my remembering that these people were once flesh like me. They experienced love and loss, joy and sorrow, and all too quickly they were gone. It makes you appreciate every precious moment.

Word of the Day: macabre. (adjective) extremely disturbing or repellent; horrible.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Some Magnetic Poetry

Several years back, I bought a set of "Magnetic Poetry" magnets and stuck them all over my fridge. Everyday after work, I would stand there staring at the words, start with some that appealed to me, arrange them, add more, rearrange them and create poems. It was very cathartic. I was working a job that I hated and the creation of poetry would help me move through my anger and frustration quickly. Like a workout for the mind to relieve stress.

Magnetic Poem 1
I crushed my delicate shadow
Here beneath a frantic summer storm.
Still the sordid screams from her head
Surged a blood purple sky
Rain sprays on death and
Cries for my friend,
Leaving a bitter ache
Felt through eternity.

Magnetic Poem 6
Raw moments crushed
Beneath your demon tongue.
Driven mad with power
You cry out"worship me"
and petals fall from my vision,
staring into ugliness.

Word of the Day: numinous.(adjective) 1 of or characteristic of a numen;supernatural;divine 2 having a deeply spiritual or mystic effect

Sunday, June 19, 2011

The Spiral of Water

The spiral of water
in blue, concentric rings
undulates through deep
tendrils of brain matter,
unraveling my thoughts,
filling me with calm,
with peace,
with sleep,
just before drowning.

The butterfly state
: a term I use to describe the feeling I get in my body as I step out of my comfort zone and follow a path into the unknown. It is a feeling hovering between intoxicating euphoria and absolute terror. Like walking on the edge of a razor blade. I can try to fit into my old life but the butterfly can no longer be the caterpillar once the chrysalis has split open. Now is the time to strengthen my wings.

This human face is a shape tethered in a stall of pain: part god, part angel, part beast...a secret charm rarely released. -Rumi

Word of the Day:Repose.(verb)To lie at rest. To rest in death or a grave.

Friday, June 17, 2011

What is memento mori?

Down the well there lies misfortune.
Below the surface lies mistrust.
I was calm when I unearthed them,
From the blackened mud and rust.

Above the mire lies such beauty.
Flowers afire from the sun.
Life creates such brilliant moments.
Death exhales, the moment's done.

The whole idea of remembering your mortality appeals to me. As an artist,I recognize the beauty in nature and in moments, but recognize that these will not last. I am learning, as I get older, that all we have is this minute. I am trying to live my life "in the moment." Something I've only recently learned to do, something I will continue to have to learn everyday of my life.

Word of the Day: Frenetic.(adjective) Frenzied or frantic.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Before the sun rose this morning

Before the sun rose this morning,
I floated in the mist of dreams.
Before the last puzzle piece was placed,
I let the mystery begin.
Before I left my parents' home,
I cherished the safety held within.
Before I die, I want to live,
More fully than I've been.

I'm beginning this blog as part of my journey in self discovery.  I am seeking a connection to other artists, writers, poets, creatives for support, inspiration and enlightenment. My objective is to share my art, photography, poetry, journal entries, word of the day and posting poetry challenges. I look forward to reading others work and providing the input and support that nourishes our souls. 

Word of the day:  Journey. (noun) An act or instance of traveling from one place to another.