There is a place I
knew once.
With jazz music playing
and handwritten scriptures
on the windows.
Every wall was a tapestry,
but the floor was never clean.
Flowers bloomed from the cacti
and books read themselves.
"Cast your fate to the wind"
It didn't have to make sense,
it only had to be real.
Candlesticks never burned
evenly
but everything was in sync.
Low lighting made for easier sight,
but only when the sun was in late bloom.
"Buy new dishwasher
or get old one repaired"
It didn't have to make sense,
it only had to be real.
I took to dancing in the kitchen
when I knew everyone was busy
burying their seeds.
Patches of paint in her eye,
they changed shape every new moon.
Place your broken down dreams
behind the garage,
you don't need them
anymore.
Somedays I slip into the stars and
swim in their forbidden pool.
It is a secret we share, a love
affair far too scandalous for print.
Every morning the rooster crowed,
but never at the same time.
"Don't get too close dear, the oven burns"
It never made sense,
but ever was it real.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Rainbow danced across my face
as water nestled into my skin.
I wasn't the only screechingly happy child
that day.
It was a festival celebrating art.
But that's not why people came.
Cheap liquor
and a small band singing the blues,
that's what really drew the people in.
But I was young.
And I was drunk on rainbows and sprinklers;
far too juvenile to see the sadness.
People stumbled around me
it was early.
No one saw the art.
No one saw the beauty but the little children
playing in the sprinklers.
Too drunk on rainbows to know the difference.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
Anytime I walk at dusk
I never raise my voice above
a whisper
for fear of betraying
the night's secret
to the world of man.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
Watching someone's heart die
tastes a lot more like dirt than rust.
It is fresh
and moist,
the taste of life
still lingering in its clutches.
Seeing something great sputter out does not leave a
chemical aftertaste,
for nothing has yet changed,
only dimmed.
As I watch your past
play before my eyes like an old silent film,
I wonder how easily I might guess what
words
you were mouthing.
But the film is over,
the negatives never produced
and all we're left with is a
man of little importance
and left behind potential.
On the phone tonight you told me of how you used to paint
using tie dye
and I guess it was the first time I realized
if I had been your age,
we would have been
good friends.
But what hurts more
than watching your life
pass before my eyes
is looking back on my own life and seeing
what you used to be.
I see you painting the sunset and blasting U2 while cooking dinner.
I see the well worn pages of your script for the latest play-
notes hastily scratched in,
scratched out,
and rewritten.
I see the way you used to speak
when talking to your church
and it hurts because
as hard as I try,
I can't FEEL it anymore.
It seems that now all I feel is the way you
hit
your breaks or
slam
your computer shut
almost as if your heart knows how much is going to waste
and there simply isn't any better way to communicate the pain
that comes from knowing
you've given up.
I remember the day you sold your first painting.
Your eyes were bright and they twinkled.
But now I look at your bedroom walls covered ceiling to floor with the paintings no one ever bought
and I wonder if they sing you to sleep
and I wonder if they haunt your dreams.
And I wonder,
watching you move slower than you used to,
if you gave up your potential without a fight.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
I have this special mirror
That hangs upon my wall
No outwardly reflection can be seen
For it searches deep the soul
There are days when I am passing by
That I divert my eyes
Afraid with one haunting glance I'll see
Deep into this so called life
It can be overwhelming
This feeling of fear and doubt
When I look too deep I'm afraid I'll see
The reflection is of myself
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
There is this man in Central Park
Has the most extraordinary cart
Doesn't sell hot dogs or magazines
What he sells are the best of homemade dreams
He makes them right there on the spot
Handle with care cause they come out hot
Has a magical toaster he drops them in
Before he sets them in the cooling bin
He has dreams that dream of traveling
Either by land or calming sea
Buy any dream that you desire
His most popular is the dream to fly
He has dreams of fixing past mistakes
The dreams he makes are not too late
He even has dreams of being rich
But those cost too much happiness
There are dreams where you can fall in love
That's on his dessert menu if you care to look
It's one of his sweetest treats
Love dreams even comes in sugar free
He takes very seriously the dreams he's sold
Nothing artificial it's all a-la-natural
Next time you're in Central Park stop by and see
Let him make up for you, the perfect dream
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
I was going to write about the moon tonight,
but between Vanilla scented candles
and multicolored Christmas lights
I daresay I lost track
of time.
Stuck somewhere between
heavenly and surreal
I was reminded why so many people simply
don't open their eyes.
Existence such as this
doesn't happen everyday
and it seems we get caught
chasing the moon.
Desperate for a sip
of her honeycomb,
thinking we're too far to reach,
not knowing all the world's
a stage
and the moon's
the
only
one
watching.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
1. I am no more a poet than anyone.
2. For years I never wrote a single pork about myself. I didn't think my life worthy of pen & paper.
3. I can't remember how it feels to be in love, but I dream of it as the sun dreams of meeting the moon.
4. I've flown back and forth to the same three airports for four years and I haven't met one person twice yet.
5. If I'm awake into the night 7.9 out of 8 times I'm fearful of ending up on a street corner begging for money I know I never earned.
6. I am skilled and will never end up on the street except by my own choosing.
7. If I am awake into the night, 7.9 out of 8 times I'm fearful of my own choosing.
8. For the past three years all I've seen is walls crumbling by the cries of the people I love falling apart around me.
I haven't fallen apart yet.
9. On the first day of the new year I pledged never to lose sight of the ones that I love.
The next day I found myself waving goodbye to the people I care for the most.
10. I did not break my resolution.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
When I was a girl
Id dine with the fairies in the garden
Laugh with gods over tea
But in the night the wind shook my heart.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC
Doll’s boy ’s asleep
under a stile
he sees eight and twenty
ladies in a line
the first lady
says to nine ladies
his lips drink water
but his heart drinks wine
the tenth lady
says to nine ladies
they must chain his foot
for his wrist ’s too fine
the nineteenth
says to nine ladies
you take his mouth
for his eyes are mine.
Doll’s boy ’s asleep
under the stile
for every mile the feet go
the heart goes nine
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC