A thin, yet deadly electric shock
Weaves it's way through my rib cage
In a gentle,
Silent pattern towards my heart.
It's gentleness ceases the moment it hits it's target,
Causing a pain so sharp and persistent that
I am forced to collapse into an angry colored pit filled with confusion and never-ending words.
I blink as my eyes adjust to my ever-changing surroundings and
A brilliant green consumes my mind first,
Bringing a warm sense of safety and trust as my heart
Finds its beat again.
But soon it quickens as a visitor of ivory consumes my being,
And I squeeze my eyes shut against the past white-hot pain
Flashing in front of me before
It is overcome by a powerful red,
Causing tremors to travel in sparks
Up and down my vulnerable arms, and
There's anger, oh so much anger, and my eyes are burning and
I cannot breathe until my surroundings dissolve into
The purest of golds, and I am in a daze.
In pure wonder of what was, a faint smile creeps onto my lips
As I hear a soft, distant laughter, my own mischievous laughter,
That fills me with warmth.
And I shiver when my last visitor comes, envelopes me in
A beautiful deep violet storm of words
Past and present, confusing me and tangling themselves in my mind,
I whip my head around, searching for a way out of this pit
Only to find that there are no doors, there is no escape for me.
I succumb to the bewilderment and allow the violet mass to fully
Enter my mind, which was previously blocked off,
As I try to search my memories for one clue,
One sign to aid my feeble efforts of unraveling this tangled
Purple wire.
And nothing is there.

I may be
Losing my mind.

The secret of it
Is
I don't mind
As much
As I thought I would.

Every body
Wonders
What is wrong
With that girl

And I sit
Still singing
Snatches of songs
Out of tune

At ten
I skip through opportunity
eyes focused
across the bridge

At thirty
each day
duties and plans,
surround me
to smother every dream

At fifty
sons and daughters
abandon my side
to swim
in their own soup

At eighty
days are handled
like worry beads
strung on a broken cord

I feel naked when I look at  the moon today
Why ? Why ? What is there to hide?
and are we really so far?
Such a destitute gaze
alight to sky
Glaring with its brittle skin
Under which she knows
I hides
as a drifter beloved
Always lured
by
the world’s tides

A snagged branch I was when you brushed your shoulder against me.

Chills and goosebumps, you rewind to when I caught you by the edge of your torn up plain white tee.

I wrestle with the wind, for the breeze seems not to hit me. It leads me to the tree. Your forbidden fruit for me to only see, not touch.

I’m at my wits end with your trust.
Yet, it is a must that I can breathe without the touch of a man. Who would’ve have thought it’d be you to let go of my hand?

I can see it all so clear
as the wind from the oncoming storm
ravages the trees on the Northern side of the mountain
as if trying to uproot them

I gaze from above on Bear's Den
as Connor Brooks tries to finish the mowing
on his 40 acres and Molly's cries for him
to get inside before dinner gets cold
echo upwards in waves
beautiful waves

The Village Market
serves the last few customers
before closing up for the evening
Birdman, Mike and Fuzzy,
all friends since high school
are stopping at the Horseshoe Curve
for a glass or three
while discussing their shared memories

and of-course
Sarah...scurrying to get the clothes off the line
before the downpour
unaware her every sensual move is being watched
by the unlucky poet
who didn't quite grasp the moment
and reap the harvest
that lay there awaiting his attention
so many years have passed


timing never was something that seemed to fall my way
always seemed to be a day behind
realizing what I should have done
the day before
most things you get over
most missed chances eventually dissolve into the blur of life
like a bruise

Sarah never dissolved
never blurred

she hesitates for a moment after picking up the basket of clothes
as if she heard a far off voice call her name

it's just the wind

Why can't I write when I'm not feeling sad?
My pen only cries when my heart is bleeding.
It's not like happy souls don't have a thing to say,
But it was ink that got me through those lonely, rainy days.

Why can't I write when I'm wearing a smile?
I can only do it with a tear upon my cheek.
It's not like broken souls have any more to say,
But it was ink that got me through those lonely, rainy days.

It's not like I'm not trying when I'm not crying.
It's not like I would rather be in pain.
It's just that I would like to write you something,
To thank you for those dreamy summer days.