Sitting in her chair
Wanting out of there,
The Notorious Natalie
Plotted quite frantically.

Mind absorbed in many plots,
Its a wonder she didn't develop brain clots.
Hearing her quarry coming down the hall,
She wheeled herself closer to the wall.

She spoke so low with all due sobriety,
"Here goes the plan in all its entirety."
Giving a wink, tossing a mickey,
Choosing her time, being quite picky.

Catching sight of that sanctimonious nurse,
She vented her rage, let out a curse.
Flew through the air, and let out a yell.
Poor old Nurse Agnes sure did quell.

Natalie's plan, to take the nurse down,
Ended badly with her on the ground.
The belts snapped her back and she hit the floor.
The ice pick she had flew into the door.

And even now that she's forgetful
Natalie's heart is still regretful.
Avoiding plots of ice picks and death,
Focusing mainly on keeping her breath.

The Notorious Natalie sat in her chair plotting the downfall of Nurse Agnes.  She did not notice her quarry coming down the hall as her mind was absorbed in plots of ******.  Having only recently attained sobriety, she took the picky Nurse Agnes as being a sanctimonious old bat. Startled, she looked up into that very old nurse's face, and lunged at her with her icepick in hand.  Unfortunately for Natalie, being forgetful as she was, she tripped over the walker she was using.  The ice pick entered her easily and put an end to Notorious Natalie's plotting for good.  

Thus Ends a Terrible Story.

Bright flashes of red
Give away the Cardinals.

Chick-a-dee-dee-dee
from the capped visitors.

Warning! Warning!
Shriek the Blue Jays!

Loud as a siren
our tiny wrens.

Crowned with a point
the titmouse displays.

Dressed to the nines
the juncos present before a storm.

Sparrows flock about
White crowned ones too.

Nuthatches scampering
like the squirrels around the limbs.

Brown creeper so shy
round and round the trunk.

Mockingbird flashing white on the wing
singing multitudes of songs.

Crows hold caucuses
along side the road.

Whirring wings buzz
Hummingbird zips on by.

Feathered friends on the wing
Speak to nature's diversity.

An elderly priest
sits on the dilapidated
stair to his hovel

Contemplating once again
the stinger he delivered
in his Sunday sermon.

An attempt to strike a note
of serious consideration of
the consequences
of sinning to his
congregation.

And yet, as he leans with
his gnarled hands upon his
walking stick,

He can not help but
smile at the wicked joy
he witnesses as a

Drunken Santa Claus and
a skimpily clad *******
weave their way past
him down the
cobbled lane.

Courage born from necessity.
Strength born from caring.
Experience born from being present.

In my life nothing other than motherhood
has challenged me more
than becoming a nurse.

Becoming a nurse takes much longer
than the years spent in a grueling
program at school jumping through
the administrative hoops.

If it were not for the experiences
I have lived through
and other people's experiences
I have lived with them,
I would not know my own
inner strength.
I would not know that I
could be courageous.

For in seeing the depths of despair
and the heights of joy
in people at their most extremes
have I been able to find my place
in this world.
Have I found joy and courage,
pain and love.

Holding a dying woman's hand.
Cleaning infected wounds.
Bathing those too weak to help themselves.
Listening to the tortured minds of the distressed.

And within these experiences
learning that one MUST act.
And in order to act, one MUST
face fears of every order.

And in the face of fear
knowing what to do
the right thing that must be done
one finds the very courage to do it.

And not only have I found courage
within myself.  I have been humbly
able to provide the strength for
other to face their fears
and to act courageously as well.

Red bed,
Rat sat.

Cat mew,
Pat cat.

Dog ate,
Bit ***.

Cow moo,
Hay too.

You try,
Woo Emu.

Bee fly,
Eye Bye.

This aviator alone in his cabin
traveling back through time then.

Riding a zephyr to Venus
Contemplating his genus.

Glancing sideways at his bottle
He pulls back on the throttle.

Spaghetti-like wisps of mist
Blurring vision during the shift.

From space flight to ozone light
Coming in for a landing! Hold Tight!

Pitter patter, oh the clatter,
Whatever could be the matter?

There I see before me
merely inches from my toes
A smiling mouse eating cheese
and sniffing with his nose.

Dare I scream, or should I laugh?
This smiling mouse incites
no fear, no spite, no dread,
But quite instead delights.

For there he sits upon his haunches
Smiling sweet and knowing.
Silently now nibbling slowly,
For all the world, just a-glowing.

Could such a creature
make a clatter
Sounding like the earth
would Shatter?

I know not what he thinks
in his mousely way,
But I believe he smiles within
Laughing at my dismay.

Reaching down to touch his cheek
with his gaze upon my fingers.
I touch that sweet, knowing face
and on his countenance linger.

He makes me think of times gone by
of younger days and different times
When life was simple to define
And love once reigned sublime.

Sweet moments shared
As time goes by
Bringing love again
To a heart once so shy.

Flaming colors shine again.
Never knew such a clatter
in this dark drear world
Would wake what was the matter?

My Thanks to You Mousely one
For bringing home the shining sun.

Silence............abscence of sound,
abscence of meaning.
Why is there no response to questions asked?
Why is love dammed up like a great river
held back from flowing freely?
Tamed to the point of numbing ennui.
No rush of waters, crash of waves against rocks,
no quiet eddies straying to the frothing currents.
Only slow monotonous treading of a relationship,
left to dwindle into dying embers of a once
warm and inviting glow between two lovers.
Gone astray, grown away,  to separate lives.
Caring enough to maintain, not enough to transcend.
Living in parallel worlds, never intertwining.
Absence of sound, meaning, feeling.
Unable to bear life without meaning, joy, anger, and love.
Pondering the mechanisms, catalysts, for change.

I make the perilous trek

To the front of the class.

My palms dampen.

I pray not too look an ***.



I feel nauseated from the

Butterflies behind my navel.

As I look out across the faces

My voice turns to gravel.



Raspy words escape.

My voice unable to recant

The terror that shakes my words

As I address my audience.



I realize I have many kindred

Among my audience, but

This does nothing to temper the fear

Of Public Speaking 101

Traveling by plane, across the main,
Sitting in coach, waiting for peanuts,
I was thinking about layovers.

Drifting to sleep, on that square of a pillow,
Knees to my chest and arms folded tight,
Dreaming of home, but stuck on this flight.

Turbulence seesawing our plane up and down,
Waking me abruptly, my vision still blurred,
I glance out the window, over the wing.

Mother of god, it's a duck of all things,
Staring at me like a new zoo exhibit,
Quacking at me, to say what an idiot.

Stuck in a can, hurtling across the sky,
At the mercy of gravity, because I can't fly.
This duck makes a point as he leaps in the air.
Spreading his wings, gone without a care.

Out on the town
Looking real snazzy.
Hearing the music,
Sounds quite jazzy.

Look over there,
They aren't so choosy.
Bet they buy a drink,
For this old floozie.

Getting all loopy,
Beginning to schmoozie,
Liquored up,
And feeling quite oozie.

Swaying to the music,
Holding on tight,
Hope to stay standing,
But losing the fight.

Curling up on the sofa
my favorite poet's work in my hands
I sip from my wineglass.

My eyes traveling the lines
written so carefully
to elicit feelings and visions
in the reader.

The orange scruffy cat
cuddles up on my lap
sensing me relaxed
and in need of a friend.

Eyes closing on sweet visions,
I lean back scratching behind the cat's ear
and slip into dreams of sweet
whispers and longings....

15 to 20 times a day, with minor variation,
I review these questions, via oration.

"Do you hear voices?"
"Do you see visions?"
"Are you paranoid?"
"Are you suicidal?"
"Are you homicidal?"
"How is your energy level?"
"How is your mood?"
"Depressed?"
"Anxious?"
"Irritable?"
"Mood swings?"
"How is your concentration?"
"How is your appetite?"
"How are you sleeping?"
"Do you have racing or disorganized thoughts?"
"Do you have shaking or tremors?"

Reviewing meds, assessing situations,
Discussing reactions, discussing relations.

Monotony could well become a factor,
I'm easily bored, easily distracted,

But every single time I ask these questions,
I learn something new and think up a suggestion.

Everyday is the same, Going through the motions,
And yet, I'm never bored, and I have a notion.

Everyone is different, No answer the same,
Sorting through the verbage, looking for that grain.

The single detail to tell me what can be done,
To find a better system to assist each one.

Slow and methodical, and yet amazing in variation,
Questions and answers, a myriad of striation.

Lighted sentries stand guard
Over slickened steel rails

Rails that reach into the painted skyline
Traversing life's trail to the clickety-clack of time

Time's learn-ed history passes by
Enlightening life's travelers at every bend.

deep inside the folds of a brain gone awry
lies the myriad broken answers as to why
one should abide by bondaries given
lest one step into territory unshriven
motes of darkness sparks of flame
leaving no one without blame
burnt offerings brought to the fore
useless meanings given by the score
to mindless chatter building tension
unable to voice a word of intention

To believe, to leave
In need of reprieve.
This worn, torn heart
beats slow, so slow.
Long past the point
that it could care.
Cared to share
with one once loved.
And now I don't
deceive. I must feel,
and I must grieve
The loss of cherished
memories past.
And feel the aching
as it's breaking
Once more forlorn
the weight's been borne
And slips the harness
to stop the transgress
For peace, for comfort
To heal, to feel....

I was 'bout a haf mile down Shadow Holler, lookin' for my dog Jack.  I rounded the bend long the river and thar he sat just lookin' up at the moon that was back dropped behind him.  I was so entranced I stood stockstill in the chill evening air.  He raised his head and let out with that beautiful soulful baying only a huntin' dog can make.
Then he took off tearing through the woods like his tail was on fire.

Well, I commenced chasin' ol' Jack down, but I swear evra tree in that holler was out to get me.
My clothes, they was ripped up and my feet were on fire from being torn by briars and such.
I finally, upped and caught up to Jack.  He was pacing the bottom of a Sycamore that was glowing white in the moonlight.  I heard some cacklin' up in that tree and I looked up to see a sight that I nev'r saw afore.  They was a **** up in there just grinnin' down at Jack like he was playing with him.  Now Jack was in a right tizzy over that ****.  He leaped up the side of the tree as high as he could, barking treed as though his life depended on it.  That **** was doing a bit of glowing in the moonlight itself.  I'd never seen a Cinnamon colored **** before, but thar 'e was, bigger 'an life.  And while it was grinnin' it was busy collecting some twigs.  Next thing ya know it was chattering to beat the band and throwin' sticks at ol' Jack.  Well, I can tell you, Jack didn't appreciate the humor in this sitcheation.  He backed up and made a leap so high I thought shore he was gonna take flight, but he got nothin' for his trouble but a whack in the head as he collided with a big ol' twig thrown by that ****.  

Thinkin' that Jack had had about enuf I tried coaxing him home, but he was havin' nothing to do with it.  So, I told Jack I was heading home and he could come if he had a mind to, but I wasn't staying out in the woods all night while he made an *** of himself over a **** that was makin' fun of him.  I started off and then heard a loud yelp.  All of a sudden Jack came blastin' past me, and not far behind was that old Cinnamon **** giving it all he was worth.  Well, as he was headin' towards home I followed along.  Just at the mouth of Shadow Holler, and not to fer from home I found ol' Jack.  He was up a low slung tree whimperin' like a puppy.  That **** was pacing the trunk, back ****** up, teeth bared and laughin' out the side of its mouth.  As I walked up on this pathetic scene, ol' Jack took one look at me and started crying fer help.  Well, I took pity on the poor fella and walked up on that **** with a right big stick.  And right afore my eyes it just faded into nothin'.  Scared the bejeebers outta me!

Took me an hour to coax ol' Jack outta that tree.  And then I couldn't keep up with him once he headed towards our cabin.  At home I told Pa all about our lil adventure, and he bout whooped me fer even goin' into Shadow Holler.  He said, "Son, I tole you to stay outta that holla.  They's ghosts and spooks down in thar.  Old Lady Jalson disappeared never to be seen again until the Smith boys saw her wanderin' a trail down there.  On'y problem is they cud see through 'er.  They's all sorts of stories 'bout shadows roaming free and playin' tricks an' worse on folks."  

Well I never seen my Pa so scairt as when he was tellin' me that, so now I just keep away from that holler.  And, ya know what?  I ain't never seen ol' Jack even turn in that direction since that night.  Musta learned himself somethin'.

The pillar of the community
leaned against
the door frame.

He flipped a coin in his hand
as he watched the red clad woman
walk away.

She had no idea of his psychosis.

He opened his hand and looked down.
Thoughts of his special tool case
kept in the hutch at the foot of the stairs
reluctantly left his mind as he sees the
tails on the coin in his palm.

He glances one last time at her
and moves on to other matters.

Standing behind this shield wall,
On the battle ground.
Dusty and worn, wounded,
I wonder as I hold strong,
Next to my kinsman,
Will we win this battle?
Will I survive, using axe and muscle?
Slaughtering, killing, slowly advancing,
Taking my enemies' lives,
Is this worth the price of so many?
Is this honoring Odin?
One battleworn man, amongst many,
In this shieldwall, feeling
Time, heavy in the air, and mind wandering,
He considers the battles fought,
The rewards gained,
The kinsmen lost.................

Within this crimson,
opalescent phial entwined
with metallic vine slumbers
death's grim visage.

A few drops
laced in wine or tea
produces sinister
hallucinations
and
searing agony.

To be used so
sparingly,
only in greatest
need
to avoid discovery
of secrets harbored.

I tuck the phial away.

He never knew
how close he was to
agonizing death
by my hand.

TatianaBendito
No rhyme, no reason.
Just like the sound.

Typed words flow
Across the screen.
Cursor blinks
seen, unseen.

Electrons racing
through the wires,
Transporting meaning
as word inspires.

Sensors picking up
the textings.
Users taking in
the sextings.

Social networks
come and go.
Human beings
move so slow.

Time's reduced
to microseconds.
Attention spans
too slow I reckon.

hand
                    over
                                    hand

step       by step

crossing this wretched foot bridge

large          g ap  s                   loom

don't look down
         down
down

towards the scrabbling masses
reaching up
                          up
                                                 up

to
tear you from your perch

head up
      hands on the rope
         your feet walking in faith.

only then,

will you reach

your
   heart's
        desire.

Did you see the paper?
There was another incorrigible kid,
wandering the streets, looking for adventure.

He was just out seeking his fortunes,
maybe a baseball, a nickel found, a lost pup,
when he was converged upon by the local press.

They were looking for a street smart kid,
able to tell them the realities of living on the street,
show them the lay of the land so to speak.

Now, this kid, bright fella, figured he had something here,
Thought, all these folks really liked him.
Were interested in him, actually thought they may have cared.

He showed them the back streets,
the corners where the hookers hung out.
Introduced them to the local dealer, and
made short work of the secrets of a local chopshop.

He really thought they cared,
they gave him a fiver, a bag of candy, a grin,
They talked to him like he was the Man,
he wanted to be, amazed and excited by what he told.

Then they disappeared one day, their story written,
published for the newspaper and the kid was all alone.
All alone.

He was all alone when the chopshop boys and the local **** found him.  
Made an example of him for any other fools who thought they knew so much.  
Now you can see him, head down, limping, crippled and blind.  

I wonder where those people are now, needing a story,
filling their space with black and white lines.
Missing the black and blue bruises they left behind.

Aardvarks and Applesnarks,
filling in between the quarks.

Scratching and scraping behind the door.
Shuffling and snuffling all across the floor.

I hear them tapping, hear them scraping,
wonder where they've gone a traipsing.

Aardvarks on the move,
Applesnarks in the groove.

Looking like land sharks after the ants,
Make sure you don't get one up your pants.

Standing there surrounded by jackals
I look up into the one friendly face
And smile, though I have tears in my eyes.

He smiles gently back, uncertain what is happening,
And with my smile he seems reassured and returns to his work.

The jackals close tighter about me
demanding their remains.
Unable to produce them, having never had them,
I leave them unsatisfied in their defiance.

Heading for the door, feeling them lagging behind.
I feel a great weight lift from my shoulders.
Regret seeps from my eyes, leaving those who knew I cared behind.
But realizing it was a position unsustainable for me.

And that smile from him remains fixed in my memory.
Knowing he knew nothing of their ploys and plans
Knowing the work I did, the care I gave was seen,
Was appreciated by one who matters.

The jackals continue their work
Keep the wheels turning
Only they are missing that single component
That represents what they claim to be about.

Compassion for their fellow humans.

Aged patina of ivory keys.

Chipped at the corners.
Black and white worn.

Still, as always,
able to coax beautiful notes
From willing keys.

To lighten the mood
or heighten suspense.
Notes tumbling one after another.

Each key, a single note.
When enchanted
able to suspend reality
in concert with its kinsman.