your words

the sentimental chapters

the volatile

nights full of laughter

the escapades filled

with holy disaster

now, now I understand

all your silly plans

your jagged hands

your protective stance

oh, now my sweet

I really understand

your rambles mad

and your loving

yes, now I understand

The first was much taller than me,

I looked up to something

of which

I am now not sure

his skin was rough

like a valley exhausted

much before its time

but so ready to devour

the passerby

and my life passed him by

his eyes

a shine that flashed

like the devil when he wears red

I sat there on his lap

listening

as he read me tales,

tales of the ages

and now I know

“Cinderella wasn’t ALWAYS a good girl,

she didn’t do what she was told to

do,and that is why she didn’t get the prince”

and a good girl should learn to kiss

its not nice to resist

Never mind that all his words were lies

mixed in petree dish of

bacterial certainty

ambiguity dressed

in tergiversation

sinful perpetuity

repelling sensations

my imagined beginnings

upon his patriarchal  back

His face is always so clear, imminent

in my mind

the lines

like a body tied to the tracks of a railroad,

like a glass edged whip of attack

steps leading straight across the same road

vertical holds exposed

the stops at intervals

the dispossessing of souls

a halt amidst the catastrophes,

unforeseen layovers

a no good Raggedy Ann doll

left next to the old tires

these items all merged

and now the three are one

The rotting of his face came years after the others

and life afforded him time, love

merriment, opportunity and chance

while for me there was the sinking down the drain

the constant death dealing altering dance

left in my hands

and in my breakdown you found pleasure

This is my first stage of decomposition

Roots became eroded

so you opened me up

to unearth me

and remove me

before a single drop of rain

could touch my cold cadaver

and like a leaf I fell

for every insect and snail

to feed upon

The second was a soil rich

the accepter of the refuse

I came to give

my recycled products

were of naught and of worn valleys

the sullen fibers left within

Still, his top soil ingested me

like he could make out of me

a someone or something

he looked at me like he had just met cinderella

and I was the only one who could wear the shoe

but little did he know

I knew all about her

The faults in my own soot

still could not keep the chemistry

from completing its equations

and the feet that touched this land

must have been blessed with much fertilization

for the conditions rich

and filled with oxygenation

until my mounds collapsed from the

lack of mineral nutrification

I died right there before his very eyes

there was nothing he could do

the land had taken its price

decomposition and its laws

Of the third there is no differentiation

for the infertility

had now met all its own frustrations

and inserted squalid remediations

there was only bare nerve ending

sensation

and noise and sound

episodic hymnal resucitations

to perform

like upon a body wound

neither this one nor that

could they ever be

their hard work

of hot pursuit

mere entertainment

to replenish an old learned hunger

gone was I

mere passenger to the accused

a wretched possibility of an excuse

no subtle touch could, has

or will ever break through

this muck and this mess

this life started in protest

traveled in unrest

and witness to all tests

Three valleys I’ve crossed

three lands I have lost

three lives I’ve undone

three rivers have won

three courses been trod

and the ending lies in this

the one who runs

For you will be
and then will not
you will appear
as a wounded warrior
sought
in a battle
You are like hidden treasure
inside an abandoned chapel
a guilty pleasure
that subsides
into the winds
an eternal madness
that dissolves into bliss
full of curiosity and delight
a rich chocolate covered kiss
for sore eyes a sight
flesh can not resist

A voice tangled,
mangled by the fight
and restrained by its shackles
like a deer in the headlights
Love as deadly
as it is pure
poetic
of word
prosaic
but expressly
frenetic
in truth

Sinful but partly
ascetic
completely
magnetic
body and soul
kinetic
Like a god dethroned
into human form
with dignity robed
and so easily torn
full of pride
selfish and obscure
seldom apologetic
always sure
not so sympathetic
and least all
emphathetic
to the suffering
of the mortal in me

Still
you are to me
like that pharmokinetic
the drug that I seek
the only cure
I know
for this bleeding in me
I know
you are not so symmetrical
more like a lonely rose pedal
in the night
your fall majestic
like the northern lights
among your Aurora Borealis
all else seems completely pathetic

After the chaos
you cause
your leaving is so sudden
and soon
a withdrawal
ever tender, ever cruel
You are a stoic and astute
leaving colors
in my hues
leaving new steps
in my shoes

You’re the ribbon in my sky
and my victory cry
my voice not allowed to subside
for this is no simple sigh
it is a shout bathed in a whisper
of memories
when I died
into your hands
and lied upon your lands
like a puppet

I cry out to you
into this night
so that I may breathe
so that the morning won’t die
I solicit your presence

be upon me
like a mourned evanescence

like a wandering peasant
I will roam in your scent
in this fertile land
I will lift up my tent

I call out
in ascents
my body deposed
of each dissenting voice
I plead
like a beggar
to be one of your choices
that I might be a dweller
in your frigid expanse
in this land sultry
and lonely as it is vast
full of rivers and water
and rock-like formations
of a sorrowful past
and living temptations
melting into the fires
like a mason’s empire

The endlessly changing seasons
and the surest of times
in lustful near treason’s
this is a roaring war cry
nestled inside a nursery rhyme
riddled with reasons
recalling in memories bold
what many foretold
the sumptuous day’s
a story cold
but repeatedly told
atop golden archways
over and over again
child, woman and man
this changing of hands
passed on like a legend
like forgotten leftovers
to each new generation
of fiery lovers

This cry
is an argument
that I pray you will find
the strongest deliberation
for the love that is mine
I pray you be kind
that I may be allowed to abide
in the residence
made for the foreigner
may you grant
passage
to this most weary wanderer
that gives all to have
a moment with you
to salvage
just once
the rivers of blue
and the nights that we knew
that the love that was true
would resurrect
and forever be new

I cry out this night
I cry out only for you

creating the voice

that will one day

provoke the frivolous ones

The maker knows

that few hear

the noise

that the bells

only ring once

The maker evokes

through a little red cloak

invisible

sitting upon shoulders

standing upon fears

The maker allows

rainbows to drown

upon little green mounds

to make the aurora

surround

a heart or two

The maker is proud

of every footstep

and the trippings

that abound

in this making of crowns

The maker is lonely

but all-powerful now

The maker is serene

amidst troubles and frowns

The maker sees only

the hidden and supreme

The maker is the ticket

to the places that sing

The maker sits

where the stories abound

where the prairies resound

where the poems are found

with a pen and a notebook

If this is truly my calling, then do I not already have all the power I need? Perhaps it is you who has been borrowing for yourself from me? I am woman, hear me roar. Watch me arise. I can fight the good fight. I KNOW how to weather the storm.
This is my place, my abode, my firmament, my entrance is neither to the right or to the left- it is dead center, stage be mine! Lights! Camera! I said, Action!
I will call the shots, I will say jump and just how high.
I will be the one who questions and asks you why.

I have been so confused, but like all things that come to me so that I may shine through, your rejection will always be my projection. I will bless this affection like a second-hand shoe. I have no time for you, or your pompous buffoons. My life is here to make a mark, not to handle your luggage as you disembark from one of “your trips”. No, see there’s tons of cheap whores you can satiate that little need with. So, go on shew, be gone all that has held me down with idle simplistic thoughts of you.

I have so many ways with which to get rid of you. My heart is a cold valley that you would not want to travel through. My freedom is uncovered and my strength is recovered. There is no end to the erasing and blotting out I will replace with my once “sweet heart wants to make amends” with your excuse for a heart.

The end

like a captive in a caravan

traveling in desolate lands

with no rhyme or reason

from captor to captor

a possession of none

Patterns have been drawn across these travels

footsteps so carefully laid

chains are heavy and of a strong iron-clad frame

A mind too weary to think

A soul too sullen to bridge

this distance, from me to you and back

The dream is like escaping

There is always a breaking away

My feet have not known better days

for so long

My trembling arms

can only answer to sudden alarm,

to flinch, to protect the immediate

tragedies

You say jump!

I say where?

I see mounds of sand,

as my heart lays bare

The courage I speak of

comes in virtual passings

I am a soul in the lacking

a pot that is rusting

This desert I travel

filled my mind full of gravel

and I want to unravel it too

There are miles left to travel

in treacherous plains

a few more owners I am sure

will be handed my reigns

but never my power

I may tremble

you may hear my voice cower

but you will never know a more persevering hope

than the one you will know at the cry of my liberty

Mystery
and elegance
robe you
decoding you
like a map
like a transliteration
a bless-ed recitation
of an ancient language
with estranged Re-
verberations

your vagueness is embodied,
a residence of many accompaniments
songs that climax in a valley
of expanse
alone and determined
to be like a blur
that passes through
nodding with no agreements
no cause or existence
just a varied distance
from afar

The mystery
lies whispering
-a heart hidden
with intentions left ajar

Ravine

falling down a beautiful

exotic and intrepid ravine

seeing the bottom

passing by faces

laughing, crying, clapping, sighing

watch me trickle

as I roll and fall

…a trailing blaze of fire

There are nights when all is right

and you and I

we fly

through times

unsearchable

in cryptic poetry

mixed with silence

without song nor violin

with a painfully sought

sunset and moon and stars

after the last ray

of our reigning sun

You and I

we ride

into the dark

and color

with spasms

of what will be

our tommorow