His letters scatter loose upon the ground,
She clenches fists despite arthritic hands
that rail against the words she never found.
To spite the golden noose of tarnished bands,
she douses tomes and quick lets loose a flame.
A tendril's curling wisp of past desire
snakes toward the sky. Still the ash of blame
survives the ceremony's futile pyre.
What fire ever burns away the dross
or dulls the tempered edges of we're done?
Yet embers coax; they succor heat not lost
to years they burned together each alone.
The groan of ache sounds low within her hips.
One letter saved, pressed tightly to her lips.

it'll get bad reviews, we should scrap the project before it breaks the budget*


we sit and talk
art and beauty, love and fear
my heart cracking open,
and you, rushing in.

we sit and talk,
play at the deadly game
ignore the consequences
shun the inconsistencies.
the words, words, words
they swirl,
and we slip, we slip, we slip

--its a real cliffhanger

hearts on sleeves
music weaves
stories come to light

secrets, oozing out between
the well crafted lines of
our carefully scripted plot

we sit and talk circles around
the herds of white elephants
that come to watch the show.
mocking us, they laugh
as we tiptoe through
fields of daffodils
under dark skies
with rainbows.

(scene change now)

in dark of night
i squeeze out hope
from my heart.
god ****** hope
twists up and knifes
me in the side, leaves
me bleeding on the floor.

and you, fool you are
rush to my aid.

if you're saving me,
who's saving you?

you with your secret
decoder ring from your
box of caramel corn.
cracking my heart,
you peel my layers.

your questions run deep
but your feet will run faster,
and i'll fall, i'll fall, i'll fall.

gravity's a real drag,
i've felt it's pull before.

me with my third eye
see the pan and play.
this show will end
leaving us all sitting
in our seats wanting
another thirty minutes,
a tidier ending.
this ain't Disney.

we'll feel like we've been
ripped, ripped, ripped

no refunds here,
go file your complaint
with the man upstairs.

the audience stands,
turns to go.

white elephants know there's
no silver lining, no *** of gold.
they threw popcorn at the screen
but you didn't notice.

i always hated white elephants;
i thought you did too.
who invited them to the show?

we step outside,
no curtain call,
no applause

this hail falls down
on a sunny blue day.
afraid to touch you, but

i want to catch you in my mouth.

would you please
just go away
before i end up with lumps
on my head, in my throat?

my eyes blinded by the sun,
the hail, this ill fated show


--bruised orange

with unsure steps, tread the ground
gaze out with open eyes
cast away all fear and doubt
let the music sing your soul

this river will wash your bedrock
polish the rough stones of your longing
flow away your worried mind

when this love-seed settles in the soil of your heart
your rose will bloom, in fertile field
where nightingale warbles its melodious tune

lay down your head upon alfalfa pillow
let the music take you high
where daffodil dreams and mystic streams
sing you sweetest lullaby

now close your eyes and feel the pull
this song the lodestone to your heart
drawing out your own sweet tune

hear gentle clouds that roll on by
smell sweet the scented breeze in sky

feel the love,
                  
                      let go,
                              
                              ­     *now fly

All the roads, footpaths, and roughened trails of my beginnings
Lead me to the map of your heart, that long buried treasure.
I will trace words and phrases along the contours of your lips,
And glide cautiously across the footbridge of your wanting.
You will be stilled by the weight of my breath upon your brow,
And you will know love at a pace that awakens you to your own preciousness.

she wrings the morning
from her paint soaked dress, dreaming
dragonflies hover
becoming sunlight dancing
vast, her fields of flowers bloom

melancholy mondays
always leave me breathless
and longing

like a sad friend come to visit
to share a cup of grief with me

and i, with my breaking heart
welcome the feeling of lonely arms
entwined in a wistful embrace

too much to share,
i sigh into my teacup
my tea sighs back at me

leaving my vision foggy
and my face flushed


--bruised orange

Oh lover!   Your absent heart has left me wanting.
Your unfocused mind has left me wandering.
You are a playing field, and I am the ball.*

Bounce me.


Words are funny things;
We think we know them;
We think we have mastery over them,
That they are ours to manipulate.

But words, they have a life of their own,
And the power they can speak, we do not fully grasp.

Maybe, words will spill out of you tomorrow morning
As the sun lifts it's brow,
And you are in your bathrobe drinking coffee.
Will you be waiting for them?   Will you listen?

Maybe.

Or, perhaps you will be engrossed in the sports section
When the next clear moment arrives.
And you will miss hearing it.

And those words will fly on past you
And settle on the ears of another,
Less inclined to avoidance of the truth.

i cannot seem to write anymore.

gone, the days of furious penning
that delivered a trail of thoughts
to your door.

now, my inkwell is full of air
and dried crumbly scrapings
of purple berried residue.

and this paper? yellowed onion-skinned
husk of memory,  too flimsy to withstand
the heavy strokes of my pen.

no, i cannot seem to write anymore.

here, thought floats through my head.
i play ****** and grab, clutch at nothing.

swimming, swimming words,
a wispy film before my eyes.

Wide mouth mason jar
To capture the loneliness,
Her hands remain still.

She perches on the chair,
clink of ice croons in her ear;
a slippery gloss of memory froths her lips.

Here on dark waters
float glimmers of chance
while hope,
that slow gasping fish of dreams
slides near.

She raises her glass,
a spirited salute--
when the lights come on he swims clear.

Washed up, she spits,
and tugs her drink,
swallows scorn in one long gulp:

that bitter brine,
end of the line,
a barb,
stuck in her throat.

http://carrothers.com/rilke1.htm

Because it is so good.  And we all need a mentor, especially, posthumously.

i want to ask you,
why is the orange peeling?
which is the pulp?
how will the zest be
grated?

and what essence, once distilled,
will i find?


juice runs down my chin,
and i am sticky.

my tongue,  numb and tingly, together.

i want to spit it out.
i want to devour it whole.

A poet falls in love much too easily,
But it is never easy to love a poet.

Songbirds enjoy a diet of variation;
Beetles and worms rarely make good friends.

But seeds spring up where they will.

She wrung the morning
From her paint soaked dress,
And watched sunlight
Dance across her fields.

In the garden she digs furrows
with her broken clock hands,
plants time in fallow fields.

On hands and knees,
the moist crumbling soil
spills through determined fingers.

With watchful gaze
they wind,
they spin.

She repackages her purpose into
tiny tin boxes,
folds the brittle paper of years ticking by,

molds origami shapes:
the thousand cranes,
one croaking frog,

and stuffs them there.

I lowered my bucket into the well of words
And raised it up, hand over fist,
While syllables and phrases sloshed about,
Some spilling over
In my eagerness to drink them deep.

Oh, how I wanted to be filled up.


The words poured out,
And they emptied into the clay jar of my disconnected soul,
Rubra terra terra firma incognita
Plant me deep and water these roots.
(Am I real? Will I always be?)

And oh, how they filled me up.

I spoke the words aloud,
And they slithered between the cracks of my shattered glass self,
Amber crackled sunlight streaming right on through,
It looked like I would go on forever (and ever, ever)

And oh, the words broke me open.

Up we got, morning still,
Breath fogged over,
Deep night's chill.

Sunrise brightening,
Day arising.

Embers stoked,
Fire lighting.

Smoky air,
Disheveled hair.

Coffee, on to brew.

oh, Alice!  how could you?

tumbling down rabbit holes
curiously

He tells me he is sorry, falling down and scrubbing his face in the dirt.
And it was such a small thing that he had done!
His remorse seemed out of proportion.
Did he think me so judgmental?  
Or that I would so easily turn away?

Imperfections revealed are the delicate strands which bind a person to another.
It is in this revelation, this exposure of our humanity, where grace is allowed to grow,
And humility is allowed to flourish.

Here, where acceptance wears the purple coat,
Nobility is nothing more than the mark of a soul in tune.

she's poised to flourish, poised for ignition, poised to be poised with good intention. she's poised on the fence, at the starting gate, quick she comes, but finishes late.*


this rose she trembles, shy to bloom
yet longs to share her sweet perfume

of spring this blossom is now consumed
how suddenly hope has been exhumed

by force of nature too strong to stay
faltering, leaves have begun to sway

intentions to keep tight in bud
cannot prevent the rays that flood

trembling, poises this blossom fair
quick comes the bursting forth with flare


--bruised orange

Lately, I have been afraid to write.

**** words.

People keep telling me I have a sense of humor.
I look around and wonder what drugs they are taking.
If this is funny to you, please get in the line on the left,
you will get a ***** prize.
If I am boring you, go shoot yourself now, as this is downhill from here.

And speaking of boredom, I read a quote the other day
that said that boredom is rage spread thin.
I've never really thought of boredom as something soft
and creamy to go on toast, but I can see it happening.

To the waitress at Jim's:  Yes, I'll have the eggs over easy,
and wheat toast, boredom on the side, please.

I'm trying this next time.  She will probably give me that look
that reminds me I am from a different planet.  I need this sort
of thing in my life.

nanu nanu

dreamy romantic hearts
with notions enough to
stitch a quilt of love
to blanket the world


--bruised orange

laughter skips into view,
turns a corner up ahead.

i run to catch up,
stumbling over lemon drops
she's spilled along the way

coordination's never been my gift.

i'll just follow the trail,
her citrus tangy scent
flares my nostrils

i forget myself,
and skip.


--bruised orange

Plastic,
plastic covers my natural voice.

I am neoprene, with gasoline undertones.
So peel the layers, find my truth.

You never were one to find
beauty in modern art,

Acrylic man.

misunderstanding flows, like beer on tap
and as we drink it down, pint after pint,
all reason is spilled onto the table,
wiped up by the ***** bar mop
that stinks of yesterdays brew

the proprietor of this establishment
stands at counter, smiling his knowing smile

that sadness in his eyes which can only come
from seeing pantomimes like this one play out before him
on every night of his long, long career

stick your head in the sand, ostrich.

when you finally decide to come up for air,

you will find me sitting beside you,

stroking your feathered neck.

The stately iris stands in the vase alongside the slap-happy sunflower.
They don't belong together, and everyone knows.
But the people are too polite to point out the obvious.

*Those flowers are just gonna sit there and wilt.

Lover, you give meaning to my life!
I want you home (that would be here, my dear!)

With You

I want to explore oceans of light,
And forests of darkest night.

Climb the here and now summit,
Planting the
Flag of conquered*
Our four hands, entwined.

You bring me to a place of bravery,
That place where I can shout,
"Look here!  Find your reason!
There is no doubt!"

Beautiful man,
You walk a tight rope,
You bounce and sway.

You walk your way to me,
I fold myself within your embrace.

*You take me home.

the reticent bard sits,
strung on a fence.

his fear of leaping
one side or t'other
has given him a sore ***;
he's sat there for years.

his songs, sung to the birds
of the field, fly softly through
the air.

and not a one hears him
and not a one cares,
the reticent bard reflects

his contemplation lost
to an audience unhearing

the birds of the field,
hearing his sighs,
wing their flight
to places unknown.

our dear bard,
in solitude laments
his yearning

the reticent bard has forgotten
the majestic ministration of words.

that mysterious music
which sings into the air,
and returns magic,
far and near.


--bruised orange

my heart's statement
longs to be in the black
it's been showing red too long
i've gotta find a better accountant

you can't balance my books, i know
although i appreciate the loan
you gave me in my time of need

i've been spending way too much
on picture shows with bad endings

its time i transfer some funds
into a savings account
and begin planning
for my future

i'll play the market
once i find stock
that'll yield high returns
on my investment


--bruised orange

white, blank page

stretches out before me,

a highway untraveled.

there is a clear, fine line
cuts a path through the air

each step, once gingerly tread
with my balancing pole,
my highwire act of tight control

its a slackwire i walk this time
i'll need my dancing feet
no tension between the two poles
i'm my own pivot point

no time to practice,
i'll make it up as i go along

i'll be over the edge soon
pretty sure there's no
safety net below

but what the heck
it'll make for a great show


--bruised orange

I want to drive a million miles and bring you home, where you belong.  
I am patiently composed on the outside, but inside of myself?  

Oh!

I am a squirming mess of,
'Please, God, can we begin the forever part now?'

Do you see how you move inside of me?  
Are you quite certain that you can tackle this poet's heart?

I am a mess, and well aware of who you are.

You are cotton candy, spun so light and sweetly;
It doesn't matter to me one bit if you are pink, or blue.
You are sweet things written into the air.
  
I want to **** you into my mouth,
Inhaling your beauty into my lungs.

You are cotton candy,
So light and delicate,
So ready to melt upon my tongue.

a woman sits and drinks alone at her table tonight,
in remembrance of all loves past.  in her darkness,
glimmers of chance dance across the room, for
these are things born apart from the bottle.

hope, that slow gasping fish of dreams makes eyes at her,
and she raises her glass in a toast,
but the lights come down, and he swims away.  

the future is a place for young lovers
with stardust whispers and moonbeam glances
she reminds herself, and pours another drink.

you set the table just so,
with candle light's warm glow
musical notes drifting on air
with the wine you serve, i'm there

but then the meal arrives, with bones for my throat
bitter poison, leg of goat
i notice the wine has lost its clarity
now you laugh at the perceived disparity
you rise to leave, say you've lost your appetite
i've ruined your supper, your planned delight

you, who so carefully arrange brutality
crafting my demise with skillful hand
i won't be served by you again

i finally found my own clarity
i'm sweetest champagne, well chilled
now i realize it was your own disparity
once your evil brew was distilled

never mine, never mine
i'm sweetest wine, sweetest wine

You set the table just so,
with candle light's warm glow,
musical notes drifting on air
with the wine you serve,

I'm there.

But then the meal arrives,
with bones for my throat,
bitter poison,
leg of goat!

I notice the wine has lost its clarity.
Now you laugh at the perceived disparity.
You rise to leave, say you've lost your appetite;
I've ruined your supper, your planned delight.

You! who so carefully arrange brutality,
crafting my demise with skillful hand,
I won't be served by you again!

I finally found my own clarity,

I'm sweetest champagne, well chilled;

Now, I realize it was your own disparity
once your evil brew was distilled:

Never mine, never mine
I'm sweetest wine, sweetest wine.


*a toast to the ex

the joyful dancer of my youth
prances about my room, whispering
truths to my all but deafened ears.

'go away,' i respond.  'you belong to a time
i am no longer a part of.'

she takes my hand, but the skeleton of
my existence pulls away from her.

'did you think it would be so easy to get
me out to the dance floor again?'

i am a stubborn woman,
lost to the steps of dancing ways.

no, i choose now to sit here and watch.
the tango of life dances, her fluid body
pouring itself across the floor.

i am a poet, you see, and i set myself
here on these sidelines because observation
and reflection are the only things that keep my
heart beating.

participation?  she speaks a language too foreign
to my ears for comprehension.

of pain and suffering many have written
of those fiery tests we've sung forlorn
this, my hymn of how i've been measured
here is my song, of experience born

plucked from the heap with sense of dread
from murky darkness how long obscured
not knowing the glory which lies ahead
we balk at the process to be endured

impurities burned away by flame
the kiss of fire does smelt us
dross once skimmed, reveals the claim
a fine treasure, with beauty ageless

though kiss of fire will burn intense
in hands of master metallurgist
how malleable we become at his bench
fine works of art, fashioned purest

now aglow with joy and praise
no longer are we bemired
singing this hearth song from hearts ablaze
with gratitude we'll next leap to the fire

i welcome the kiss, brought once more to my brow
and embrace this pain, my fashioner's distill
burn away burn away burn away now
create of me what you will


--bruised orange

Red rusted radio flyer
rests in tall grass,
remembering laughter.

Worth a share...a powerful piece that has moved me so deeply.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v;=ltun92DfnPY#!

Sometimes, I feel I will implode!
I want to make myself so small.

Invisible.

I want to tick tock my way into oblivion,
thinking small thoughts.

But words explode from my lips,
Little bombs, they lick their way through the air.

And I think, "These words will

oh mind, your whirling dervish dancing

leaves you dizzy and reeling.  do you not

know answers fly apart in the centrifuge?

I watched a video.

and I thought,

"Oh!  I can relate to that!:

I wrote a poem about that once!

Oh! Oh!

(Does this ever happen to you? or is this just a ME thing?)