The wheels on
the wagon rattled
down a mountainous
path. Through the
trees you could
       see the still fires
       burning charcoal
       and sap. The moon
       shine was heavily
       guarded it was
one hundred proof
if not more. Her
brother was ******
*******, after all
that's what kin folk
were for. Her pappy
        taught her to make
        white lightning, she
        worked for the sweat
        of her brow. She
knew the grip of the
law was a tightening
she had to make her
delivery some how.
        She carried a map
        of the county, she
        knew where to hold
        up and hide. She knew
on her head was a
bounty but she never
broke down and cried.
She had a good reputation
      along with a very good
       head. In her there was
       no degradation, she
slept with a gun in
her bed. Some folks
just called her Maddy
she was the pride of
      her town, sometimes
      you'll catch her drinking
      moonshine, when ever
      the law ain't around.

She keeps songs
locked away in boxes
like secrets.
She will take them out
like postcards
to help her remember
the feeling of
a different time,
a different person
by her side.
She likes the one
that makes her
eyes close
to see the lights.
She smiles at
the one that  
makes her stand
up on tiptoes,
the one that
helps her forget
she doesn’t know
what to do
with her hands.

The tune
will carry her.

Like it did
the times when
voices broke
like a heart.
When instruments’ strings
would snap
and hurt.

our lips will never meet
nor our fingers intertwine
and so bless my dreams
for indulging what's not mine

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Sunken below the surface
                                                   J u s t out of reach
                     Yet underlying everything


Motivations                             emotions
   ­                       experiences                       memories


WHY do we do what we do?
The reasons you say aloud
Or think
Or believe
Is that really the whole story?

Or are you neck deep in a buried river?
Caught in the currents
Of
      Past pains
                          Future fears
                                                Unacknowledged desires

It happens to everyone
To you
To me

We can be d r i p p i n g wet and completely
                                                                ­                unaware
Denying our senses
Lying to ourselves
To others

Motivations are never singular
Buried rivers are everywhere

                                             e
                                          s
                   ­                     i
The water level may r
Or  f
         a
            l
              l

But it will never run dry

Sometimes we can look in the water
Read what is written in the currents
Decipher the meaning

Sometimes the water is opaque
Unwilling to give up its secrets
Even to the one
                              it springs from

Secrets can be inherited
Preserved through time
Handed down to the next generation
Those can be the d
                                  e
                           ­          e
                                        p
                     ­                      e
                                              s
               ­                                  t
                                                      buried
Har­dest to see
Hardest to decipher

Understanding doesn’t always calm the waters

                    to buoy us up                                               above the water
It can help                           So we can keep our heads

Watching someone being swallowed by their river is frustrating
Painful
Especially if they think they are standing on dry land

And won’t accept                             help to stay afloat
                                 that they need

I am learning to swim in my depths
Decipher what I can
Have patience with the secrets
that it keeps from me still

Each time I look below
More is revealed

Even as new
                       experiences                          interactions
                                                 memories
Add new currents
And keep the river running deep,
                                                            swif­t,
                                                              ­         and true

i spent my life trying to please
someone with a twisted disease
i broke myself down
and tucked my feelings away
to become the person
they wanted me to be
i let myself be watched
through the glass of a two sided mirror
of a sociopath
i wallowed my spirit away
and begged for acceptance
but there’s nothing in the world
that i could do
to let the narcissist know
that i am human too

my one wish is
to find someone
who sees the world
as beautiful as i do
with their mouth
preaching poetic beauty
as i have once did
to all the boys
i have loved

The believer said:
"Denying the possibility
of an almighty God
exhibits and almost willful
lack of imagination."

To his credit,
the atheist agreed.

She is a poem of his heart
He never disclosed
In front of anyone.

Kiss a babbling brook,
It will gladly quench your thirst,
With crisp, clear water.

Kiss raging rapids,
You'll be crushed against the rocks,
And drown, thirst unquenched.

Calm waters sustain,
Turgid ones excite us more,
Danger alway does.

If you’re the one that’s so concerned about the world ending
Why are you trying so hard to bring it to it’s knees?

Wise man say:

Words spoken and then eaten
always spoil your supper

Man with big mouth
always looking for missing foot

Leave molehills as molehills
Mountains are god’s work

Temper your words with seasoning
for you may have to eat them

You were born near the warm ocean,
grew up around there,
With your clear acrylic smile
and sun-kissed blonde hair

I, the winter cold
More north than I can remember,
We met that day you visited,
a brisk chill, that December

We drank and danced,
while the years passed over
Argued and grew apart,
our greatest fears, now sober

My memories of you, once treasured
Now, faded
as sun deprived lands complain,
Forever, jaded

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

I thought if I could swallow the stars
I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky
I tried one night    with fireflies
They burned my throat
Their legs striking at soft flesh
But my skin did not glow
No moon crawled from my eye sockets
I was left with corpses in my stomach
I soon learned I would only ever be
A cemetery

"Though it was at my hands, it was your weight that suffocated me."

My Mind the prison.
My Heart and Soul prisoner.

The chains,
Anxiety and Depression.

My Body the canvas,
Mindful of my Oppression.

Do I love?
Or do I do these things
Because I feel I must?

The bare minimum
Or at least not as much
As I know I'm capable of

Do I really try?
Or does real love
Even need to try at all?

I've learned myself
That it is a conscious effort
Not just a feeling or emotion

It is a mindset
To sacrifice for others
To put them above myself

Even if I have needs
Or wants of my own
There is no higher love

Than to lay down one's life for another

nothing would make me happier
than to hold your hand for the rest of our lives
grow old with you
and watch our grandchildren play under
the magnolia trees in the summer sun.

A drop in ocean or ocean in a drop?
A world as self or self lost in that world?
A life that follows heart until it stops
What then will follow heart that is so cold?

The blinking lantern in the midst of night
And cracking snow that being lost in silence
Why then the void disturbed by what seems right
should be perceived as a form of violence?

Oh, people.
Always saying something
different than they mean.
Always covering themselves
and then rolling up the sleeves--
that happens, I believe.

love was made for two,
but not us two tonight

Why do I crave
Your attention
This late at night
All I need
Is your breath
In mine
To stay alive