And still I dream of stepping back into yesterday
Where time flowed so freely golden with serenity
We would sit in pine scented grove and sip lemonade
Our talk tranquil as sun dappled creek murmuring in quiet wood
Never arguing or complaining but flooded with blissful reverie
A time bygone and peaceful, learning to know each other again
Listening to the background symphony of cicadas and katydids
Poignantly nostalgic with yearnings of bygone days
Watching velvety dusk deepen into shades of whispering night
Relishing each breeze laden with moss and murmuring pine
Anticipating the dawn awakened by drowsy robins and wood thrush
Skies east to west stained with strawberry hues and dreams renewed
And still I shall dream on

**~Hilda~

Mary on the shore, waving brightly
Life was good
I wrote your name in huge letters on the sand
You were the one
No time to admire said work
The sea so calm
Turned in anger and washed you all away
It was a sign
Just wasn’t to be
Mary on the shore, waving brightly
I turned and walked away.

Tomorrow night, you’ll sleep walk into your lover’s dreams.
You’ll open the gate to hell, where you’ll find the poor ******
souls of a lost generation. Their lust, recklessness & drunkenness
will come as no shock to you. You’ll find your people trashed;
***** bottles smashed & abandoned, intoxicated girls balanced
on their Jeffrey Campbell Litas floating through social groups.
Boys, barely men, will be seen beaten down to the bare bones
of their existence, cigarette blunts piercing their open chests;
stinging & burning, red & yellow ash sparking flames on
the black lingerie of their lover’s.  

Tomorrow night, you’ll wish you were not sleep walking into
your lover’s dreams. In the days you spend there, you will not
find the lover you know. You’ll find a lover who is invaded
by body snatches; emphatically dominating every white cell.
You’ll find a lover, cast away with the ghosts of his past.
You’ll bear witness to pendulums of excessive desires
swinging to & fro – where time stands still, & not even
the ticking of a clock can be found, to count the days til
the grave he will fly.

© Sia Jane

trudging through deep history
weighed down with expectation to fail

its a close call of survival
to simply get up and leave.

Foot
        long
                 toenails
one hundred year old whales


Can't
    find the vein
       a junkies old refrain

Lost
in the music
   of the street

The hiss
    of rubber on the road
       a sustained
           lullaby

The reeds the reeds
  blow those reeds

Plant seeds plant seeds
   plant those seeds

   Water them well
           from

An ancient well
  with spiked punch

And German sausages
         so big that to get them up
                 you need a forklift

You heard by now
        there's  no depending on me
           when it comes down to the crunch

but.... ****... end of the joke so

Keep on keeping on
   stretching out those legs

If not to
    just walk
      around the block

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

There's a boy near a highway
He claims to be queer
He's selling his soul for the food he needs dear
There's a frame with no windows
Filled with his peers
They light up their glass pipes to feed their own fears
There's a mother with babies
Whose diapers are smeared
They catch hell for crying
She slaps off their tears
There's an old man who's downtown
He brown-bags his beer
There's a rich girl
She's wasted
Never dreamed she'd be here
There's a fat *****
She's worthless
Just selling disease
Tear down these old crack-towns
Don't need more of these

I will step into
Illumination
Intrepid to
The so
Called
Strange.      My foot shall lift
Leaving me in bliss, unimpeded
From the bad things that try and make
Gain. No contrived copy or duplicate
To remain. Only natural to become.
As the become became a perfect
Example
Of
Sanity's sane.
I'm as rain falling through earth's atmosphere
Making puddles of poesía
Everywhere I go.

There many more gifted Writers then myself here on the earth.
So I know the truth, that  I am a ok writer whom allow Christ.
To write poetry that is Great through me, not entirely me whom writes.
For he wants to use us all through our writing to bless others here.
For he will always add to a offering in his name to bless our gifts.
To reveal himself to everyone else through each of our gifts here.
When we give the gift to him and deciated it to him here as well.
For there are by more ways to give to God then just our money.
For its far better to look beyond our-self to want others healed.

I was told when six
lighted smokes show up for miles
during a blackout

Toward home, Christmas eve
lighted candles on tree bough
pierce through dark windows

Moonlight can become
bright enough to cast shadows
beneath my movements

A single spear of yellow
Whispers a promise
Of spring to come.
I long for light
To pierce the darkness of this forest,
To break this hibernation,
To bathe in a golden glow,
To see the world,
And I,
Reborn.