My teeth are smiling back at me
From a glass beside the bed
I wonder "Do they look that bad"
"When they're positioned in my head?"

They looked all kind of cloudy
***** brown, and green
I think I need to change the way
I make my teeth get clean

Right now I use polident
To make my choppers shine
But, if this is the way that they turn out
I'm embarrassed that they're mine

I took them out and washed them off
I stuck them in a glass of bleach
I thought, "This will make them whitey white"
The colours will all leech

Out of my clean choppers
And will brighten up my smile
Then you'll see me from afar
Well, at least a half a mile

I left them for two hours
and they came out brown and green
I thought, they look no better now
They look totally obscene

I even took to painting them
A glorious shade of white
I left them on my workbench
To dry and harden overnight

They still look brown and greeny
Like they were buried in the yard
I swear, I've never had a thing
That's made me work so hard

I cannot put them in my mouth
with out cleaning off the crud
It's looks like I am smiling
With a mouth that's full of mud

I took a pad of wire wool
And scrubbed them like you do
They didn't get much brighter
But, now at least...they're blue

I went down to the chemists
To get something for my teeth
I needed something powerful
To relieve me of my grief

The chemist said "please shut your mouth"
"You're scaring all who passes"
"Your teeth are oh so snowy white"
"The dirt is on your glasses!!"

Standing in the darkened garage
I listen to the whistling winter air
And think of times so long ago
And of one who is not there

My Grand dad was a whistler
No matter what he did
Whether reading, sitting, standing still
Whistling is what he did

He told me once the secret was
To purse your lips and blow
It took me years to figure out
But the secret I now know

No one whistles anymore
I love to hear a whistle or a trill
whether someone is just walking by
Or it's a bird out on the hill
I think of Grandad everytime
I hear a whistle sound
I only wish deep in my heart
That he was still around

Chopin, List, John Lennon
It didn't matter one **** bit
He would whistle what was in his head
And I would listen and I'd sit

Grandad could make music
No matter where he was
His whistle made him special
At least, special to us

No one whistles anymore
I love to hear a whistle or a trill
whether someone is just walking by
Or it's a bird out on the hill
I think of Grandad everytime
I hear a whistle sound
I only wish deep in my heart
That he was still around

The wind sounds high and vicious
As I listen through the door
It's a sound Grandad made daily
It's a sound I hear no more

A simple act of moving air
Across one's lips is all
But Grandad could translate it
Into a wild birds call

No one whistles anymore
I love to hear a whistle or a trill
whether someone is just walking by
Or it's a bird out on the hill
I think of Grandad everytime
I hear a whistle sound
I only wish deep in my heart
That he was still around.

It was known just as "The Tree"
It was on the fence line of Jade Ranch
And on the wizened, hardened oak
Was a limb, known as "The Branch"

On the branch hung seven ropes
Of seven different lengths
Depending on the sentence
They chose one of seven strengths

Now a posse and a lynch mob
Are two completely different groups
You may always end up hanging
But through two different loops

Get caught with someone else's horse
By someone from on the ranch
Then you'll face Western Justice
And end up hanging from "The Branch"

Western justice it was called
And lynch mobs had a thirst
To see you hanging from "The Tree"
If you didn't meet the Marshall first

Get caught with an extra ace
You'll be called out as a cheat
You will never make "The Tree"
You'll get gunned down in your seat

But, have a horse, that's not your brand
And a lynch mob's soon around
Western Justice will prevail
With you ten feet from the ground

You'll sit upon the horse you stole
No one hears your weak defence
One slap and the verdicts in
You'll hang on the ranch side of the fence

Shoot a man in town and you
Will end up in the local jail
But, shoot him where the Law is not
And Western Justice will prevail

Seven ropes of different lengths
Take a man on to his death
Once the horse is slapped to go
No one will hear your last breath

There's a lynch mob and a posse
You don't know just how close they are
One does what they think is right
One feels the same, but has a star

"The Tree" is there in waiting
For the next rope to be strung
If you aren't caught by the Marshall
From "The Branch" you will be hung

I used to be so bubbly
I used to be so happy
So carefree
So free of misery

Now
Laughing is a struggle
Smiling is a mask
All I seem to do is choke up and fail

I used to be so smart
Such a bright girl
Such a clever girl

Now
I can barely think
Stress and disappointment seem to be the only things Im smart enough to know are a problem

I used to feel pretty
I used to feel loved

Now
I see eyes glance over me as though Im nothing
I see stares and glares
And if I am so loved then why I am so alone?

I used to be enthusiastic
I used to be the first to volunteer

Now
Im too scared to even get out of my chair
Anxiety eats me alive if I even draw the smallest attention to myself

I know that you don't care
But maybe you can relate
To old me
That I could appreciate

She was a fiery seashell,
  lost 'neath convoluted oceans
     amongst opuses of pure poetry,
artistically outspoken
   'tween invertebrate reality
secretly devouring mankind,
  beware Herr Lucifer,  
she rose from the gaseous chamber
   to live amidst ashes of immortality
         & renowned marital infamy,
      the eternal burning spirit of Lady Lazarus

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair  
And I eat men like air.
                 - Sylvia Plath

A passage, one of right.
Clumsy heels raise to pointe and force me ever on.

The lights, bulbs of promise
And blades, sharp reminders.
It's just another thing hanging over my head, I remind myself
The house sighs and my throat catches fire
There's something in the air here.

The flowers are dying and I worry that I might be too.
I trade their water for well wishes and wash the smoke down with it.  
After all, black veins can't get any blacker,
I am what I am and I am tired of wagging tongues.
A stab is righteous, a slit is sin.
You bleed red,
But every colour flows in me at once

So tell me I know nothing,
I know not of truth.
State my transgressions and give me your transfusion.

Tribute to my childhood hero
Joni Mitchell

The album covers beaten
The player old and worn
The needle barely tracking
From all the scratches borne
Upon the vinyl surfaces
Of albums that were stored
Unlocking wonderous worlds
Of music I adored

I would lie in cloistered darkness
To hear a voice so sweet
There I'd usher in the nighttime
To worship at her feet
Struck by earthy lyrics
But somewhat strange
Unearthly tunes
To trace with disconnected fingers
The most sensitive of wounds

How sad that good songs
Unsung heroes
Like "Morning Morgantown"
Wouldn't live forever
To "buy your dreams a dollar down"

Recall "Big Yellow Taxi"?
You can rest assured I do!
And "Ladies of the Canyon"
And her epic album "Blue"
Most folks recall a song
Entitled "Both Sides Now"
'Bout clouds and love and life
But they do not know
Her poetic expression
Unearthed deep jazzy riffs
Elitism. Hypocrisy.
And "Summer Lawns" that "Hissed"

At the pinnacle of greatness
Her album "Court and Spark"
Will always be a touchstone
For purity in art

A deeply troubled woman
At certain times in life
Loving truely... deeply
In the "Industry" meant strife

A versatile genius
Her lyrics resonate
Fot the very thing that scarred her
Also made her great

---

At times I'd sit and ponder
A self-inflicted crime
But I would postpone the act
To hear her one last time
Her songs touched me so deeply
Places only she could know
With her voice to guide me
I found a place to go
She became my inspiration
My metaphor. My muse.
Joni Mitchell told my heart
To write of its abuse

I aspire to higher standards
A perfection as it were
And should my work be recognized
I owe it all to her.
Though endlessly I search
For perfect sense of art
It's brought on by

INPERFECTION

But a kind and loving heart.

What I saw in her self portrait
Was a humble, gentle face
She was the greatest mentor

a human life could grace


SoulSurvivor
(C) 10/14/2014
Rewritten
(C) 7/17/2015

In that moment,I was the only one who saw how alone you were.
Without verbal agreement we both understood that
I shouldn't leave you alone,but it was also understood
that you needed a moment alone to grieve in silence.
Right before me stood the man I had feared
& idolized since I was a child.
Right before my eyes you became undone.
With that understanding in mind I left you alone,
but not before giving you an awkward yet necessary hug .
In the years to come, I would have never imagined
that it would be our last one.
Cree Scythe

Addicted to the room spinning
The blur of the lights
And the red in my eyes
My disguise in the dead of the night
And you've been fine all this time
Yet I've been drinking myself to sleep
Since the beginning of all the lies
Wondering how you're fine
Then I realize that in the light of day
Everyone sees a smile on my face
No one can see all my regrets
All my mistakes
And I think that you hide
Behind whiskey too
Cause it's my only addiction
Besides you
And I'd like to think that you're miserable too
How else could I make it through?
Whiskey took your place years ago
But I'm still addicted to you both
At least drinking shows me the truth
All I ever got was lies from you
I know I need to quit
You and whiskey
But I can't seem to forget your face
And that bottle is so pretty
I guess another shot couldn't hurt anything
**** you and whiskey
You're both way too addicting

Today she listens to her body --
complexity churning beneath her skin
traces of passion bounding in her veins
as surging waves along the seashore

She guides her hands creating something
of this moment -- leaves indelible marks
to delight a student of nature

Her *******
are soft on the outside
roaring within

Today her body
grow older
moves slower
She watches
her bones rise
slowly
to meet the day

No bouncing flesh
comes with her
to face this day's
challenges
She plays
the experience card
to stay alive
one more day