The closest thing to love is the light that shines through you
even in your darkest hour --
search inside the heart so it can find you too.
The closest thing to peace is the calm within your soul
even in your darkest hour --
it's the heart that always knows.
The closest thing to joy is the smile I give to you
erasing all your darkest hours --
shining love right back to you.

Magic lived in a small town down in Tennessee where everybody knew everybody's business by noon.  She never knew why her mother had named her Magic. She just knew she was the target of some wicked gossip, and it all usually started by one person.  Jane Goodwill.

They both attended the one room school house up on the hill. They shared the same birthday. And they were both 13, and had eyes that sparkled like when the sun lights up the Ocean on a bright day. Magic never knew why Jane Goodwill hated her so much. She just knew to cross the street when she saw her coming toward her.

It was the kind of town where practically every family owned at least one hound dog, five chickens, two horses, a tractor, and one of those cheap above ground pools in their backyard.

And it was expected that you were to be in church on Sunday, or, you could be sure as Monday be seeing, Mrs. Twitchet, in front of your face waving her index finger telling you how you were going straight to hell.  
That is -- if she ran into you at the local hardware store where they also sold grocery's along with chicken feed, and hay.

Mrs. Twitchet was made a widow that year. She had a figure shaped like a large plump oversized pear, and she always brought her deep fried chicken, and fresh apple pies to the church potluck on Sunday's. She liked to sing the "Special Music" while she played the *****. Magic always thought it was funny watching her flirt, making eyes with Mr. Platt, who had also been made a widow that same year.

Magic's father had disappeared the day she was born. And for some reason Mrs. Goodwill always acted strange whenever Magic passed her on the street.

To be continued.,

I am my cats pet
I am trained to be the best
fish chef...
I can toss fresh salmon in the air
with a single flip without a care
with one hand in downward dog
in a headstand while on a log
I can entertain as I coo her name
acting goofy with no shame
while her green eyes say, "You're so lame."
The bubble message just above her head?
 Oh, Hell- No! Not this again!
I really need something new to read. The books you own
aren't up to speed.
Btw, I've read every issue of Film News
Seriously. If I could sing right now?
"I'd sing the blues!
Okay. Okay. I get it now. You're a vegetarian
you don't eat fish, and you don't eat cow.
Check the labels. Check them twice.
You don't eat face.
You don't eat mice.
I'm so happy to be your pet.
Look how pretty your table's set!

I fly like a song in a blue sky
I can't explain it but it's a rhythm I see
making me feel free to be me.
I am the dove you see perched in your orchard tree
offering my white feathers from time to time
for you to find like treasure
buried in the sand
I remind you of love that rests in your hand
I am free to be me--
but so are you.
Go find your song
(it's a rhythm you know)
play it loud...
play it strong.
I'm here to remind you of your own song
a beautiful symphony...
to play for eternity.

The quiet of the willow tree
beckons the quiet inside of me
outside my open window it sings a song
whispering lyrics all winter long…
there’s a rhythm of the local train
a back up beat that remains the same
I hear it in the dark of night
with the moon outside shining bright
calming me with soothing light
Oh, I love the quiet of the willow tree
beckoning the quiet inside of me
swaying me gently like a lullaby…
swaying my dreams up toward the sky
as I hear the train whistle blow on by.

imagination is a destination
a kind of wonderful…
hallucination
meet me there in rainbow sky’s
home of sanctuary blissful sighs  
where pastel meadows in pinks,
and reds
see, roses spring near river beds
hear the joy of winged angels sing
praising love, and harmony
while dreamlike shadows —
watch over you, and me.

You're the kind of girl that doesn't need anything
you give the impression that you don't need anyone
but first impressions can be deceiving
because pretty soon you start believing
that you're the kind of girl that can't be undone
Yeah, you've been taught that's how winners have always won
smiling through the tears for so many years
never admitting your weakness, or your fears
you're the kind of girl who gives the first impression
that you've never suffered anything close to depression
cause you hide it from everyone
because you won't let yourself be undone
and, you tell yourself to just be brave
you've been told that's just how winners must behave
even if you feel torn up inside
you're the kind of girl that always hides
all the sadness, and the pain
Yeah, you just keep smiling through all the rain
because you're the kind of girl --
that pretends she doesn't need anything,
or, anyone in this world.

So there Bob was standing right there
buck *** naked
while everyone stared
inside a Saloon
cigar smoke billowing in the air
Someone cracked Bob with a chair
It was Rob
Bob's twin who was a total snob
It was like an old time Western with John Wayne
Bob yelped out as if in pain..
Rob dumped his twin in the mud
telling his twin he's the stud
Bob yelled out again as if in pain...
moments later
A horse flew by with a woman on top
she grabbed Bobs hand and, swung him up
It was Wicked Calamity Jane
And the two road off, in the pouring rain.

Meet me in the meadow
under our favorite willow tree
meet me in the meadow
where I'll give into thee
I feel your breathe inside my soul
and, I love the sense of no control
there's a river flowing by
and, we're making love under a
beautiful ...
blue sky.

Draw the lines for yourself
especially when you think
it's all gone to hell...

Inside you know you're good
even if you feel misunderstood
and, to all those voices in your head
that keep reminding you of all the mistakes you've made
just draw new lines for yourself instead
keep reminding yourself that you're alive
yeah, you're not dead --
be your best lyric
be your best friend
just keep on creating a new line again --
and, again --

You're the one only one that can define you
so let it go, yeah, let it go --
even if others can't
just listen to that inside voice that knows
it's about perspective, and circumstance
because everyone deserves a second chance

pretend that everything is your first time
just keep drawing those new lines
soon everything will be clear
you've erased all of your old fears
yeah, soon you'll see ---
*you are exactly who you are meant to be.

A beautiful Paris day

CUT TO: A charming sidewalk cafe'

A tres' chic woman gazing at a child nearby
as a red ballon floats on by...

A handsome man WALKS up to her.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Je suis, Ian

We ENTER her thoughts, and LISTEN.

***. I'm so nervous!! I can feel a lake pooling in my Jimmy Choos!

The woman fumbles with a translation book for a moment, and then gives the man her best **** look.

"Tres' bien enchante' vous. Je suis, Marylou"

Why am I sweating so much? He'll meet me -- and run away.  I'm going to die alone. Alone, with my cat. Who's going to feed my cat when I'm dead?!

Marylou attempts to distract herself by flipping her long blonde hair, and smiling confidently.

A piece of lint has fallen in her eye -- giving the impression that she's winking at him.

We ENTER the thoughts of IAN.

Did she just give me the look?! She is so winking at me! There!! She just did it again! Okay. Relax. She's going to run away after she meets me. I'm going to end up dying alone. Alone -- with my dog! Who will feed my dog when I'm dead?!

Marylou -- still blinking her eye, "Parlez vous Englais?"

Ian, "Oui! Oui! Yes! Yes, I do I do!!!!"

Marylou,
Oh, Thank God! I'm from New Jersey! My French ***** so bad!

Ian,
*Oh, Thank God! I'm from Australia. My French ***** so bad!

In memory of a flower that did not grow
its grey ashes lay forgotten in the snow
left to dry its spirit inside a soft Spring wind
whispering a message to their next of kin
carrying a hope, and prayer from within
that their cherished flowers never see
a war that kills beauty, and humanity
In memory of a flower that did not grow
its innocence, and number are all I know.

The moon looks on
over a blue ocean
along with the Spirits
and, heavenly Angels
where a family once lived
laughing, crying, smiling...
in the 60's
when they were all once young...
The Beatles played on
a turntable
while my mother hung our clothes
to dry on the freshly cut green lawn
where I carved my name on a tree
by the tire swing
where I skinned my knees
on the rocks, and sea shells
running so free...
with my brothers ...
all three...
where we roasted marshmallow's
in bonfires
with the smell of walnuts from the nearby tree
blowing in the air, I remember the scent of the salty breeze
laughing, crying, smiling...
green lawn that stretched for miles, and miles...
The moon now looks on
over a blue ocean
along with Spirits, and heavenly Angels
where a family once lived
in a beautiful home
painted white
behold
it stands alone
except for the memories it still breathes
with the moon that still looks on
with a background of green luscious lawn...
with eyes for windows
gazing over the blue ocean sea...
Yes, the moon looks on
where a family once belonged.

The Good American is wearing many shoes
many hats--
while they sing the blues

working tirelessly through the night
in darkened factory's with little light

hoping to live another day
to raise their children safe n' sound
without hate, or -- drugs around

The Good American now works two, or -- three jobs
leaving one at half past six
all their children are home alone
they pray that they don't fall ill, or get sick
their second job they leave at four
before they stumble in the door
their third job is at five
Oh, man they're barely alive
they're blinded by bright sunlight
because they missed it in the night
a repeat of yesterday all over again
they just want their hell to end
The Good American never sleeps
like ants n' bee's or,  tired sheep
they just keep working
to keep working without sleep
they're just trying to stay ahead.
Barely a roof, some food, and -- clothes on their backs
these are the basics that they lack
their own country launching a war on the poor
they're just so tired, and so sore.
The Good American is under U.S. attack
carrying the wealthy on their backs.

I liked what you said today
the description you so eloquently
spoke of was raw, and honest
about what it's like to be you
I found myself weeping
when I saw the tears welling up
in your soft blue eyes
and, my heart ached for the sadness
you've bravely endured
You said that you were inside a boat
all alone floating on a huge ocean
that there were other people in their boats too
but they were all too busy with their own lives
too busy to notice you
holding a kite in one hand
and, a heavy anchor in the other
holding on so tightly
so that you would not float up into the sky
or, sink to parish at the bottom of a black sea.

I see the window you're passing through
full of all the hope, and dreams still inside of you
it's just a shadow
it's your last glimmer
of all the dancing candles
in your last window
you remember
the scent of red apples in the Fall
Oh, how you don't regret a thing at all
every pink cherry blossom on a tree
how you loved to watch them blowing by the sea
and, the fresh white linens you hung up in the Spring
as red robins harmonically chirped along, and they would sing
a reflection of all that's past
just like all the love you wish could last
fleeting as it may be
you don't regret the past
you're just happy you had a chance to see
how lovely a place this world could be
in this last window you're passing by
as I squeeze your hand, and say goodbye.

I dropped my daughters favorite cup...
James Dean was laying at my door
his face was shattered on the floor
I was trying to glue the handle back on the cup
before it slipped from my hands
I didn't seem to understand
I've been pushed aside, and over a fence

a light bulb moment happened next
and some things began to make some sense

I have been sentenced
for my so called sins
In "once upon" I had a shot
like the legend in Camelot
not perfect - no, not at all you see
but it was when I felt they may have loved me.
When I used to matter
before they dropped me
and, I shattered
I have fallen into a wall of silence
The cup is just a symbol
a sign, or - symptom
of all the blaming, and shaming
that can happen
in a twisted triangulation
a kind of strangulation --
there's always one broken cup in a family
they're the chosen one
to choke out all the darkness that's taken place
a sacrifice for all the wrongs that your ancestors have done.

it's all been passed down from face to face
generation after generation
my soul finding its way to this great nation
I was chosen long ago
by someone I do not know

I am a broken cup
I am glueing myself together...
it doesn't matter what they say
even though I've been castaway
I've decided that I'm okay
I know inside
that I am good
and, what matters most--
is that I know I'm kind.

You know what?
you're in the wrong
how long, long, long ---
how long are you going to keep up this charade
your own special version of wrong, wrong, wrong parades
You've met your match/ best make friends with sin
you don't know that I always win, win, win
The sun always shines on me even if you don't see
you don't see that angels shine on me
And I know you've done this before
Yeah, before me there were others that were so
very young, young, young ---
Too young to see the dangers of a wolf like you
Yeah, a wolf that made lies seem true
Oh, but I can see through your soul
Yeah, that's what you don't know
I see the wicked flicker in your eyes
I see all of your wicked lies...
Gonna let those angels shine on me
gonna let those angels let you see
let you see that what you're doing is wrong
gonna let them do it for however long, long, long --
however long it takes , takes, takes---
however long it takes to let you know that I belong.

A lesson for her
in humility
when for so long she flew so high
unscathed/untouched
she had never questioned why
wealth, and security
had always been nearby
until
she was forced to work for others
perhaps less fortunate than her
sweeping floors
she was scrubbing doors...
with tired feet
she kept things neat...
the only thing she wanted more
was to crawl in bed, and sleep.

A note to any future guests...
Turn the porch light on before you open the door
you might be surprised if you call for my cat
to see a pink mouse or, a family of rats
or, perhaps a gathering of wild raccoons
mastering great skills, and foraging tricks
they're now eating with my good chopsticks
because out in the country where I live
when it's pitch dark at night
and, the owls n' birds have long taken flight
you'll hear the call of the wild just after midnight
Yes, so when you call Kitty-kitty
when you open the door
don't be surprised if you let in much more
animals wearing white napkins galore
because you forgot to turn on the light
a family of raccoons, a pink mouse, and some rats
a mountain lion, and coyotes
have all walked in with my cat.

I saw the image of you...

There you were down by the old oak tree
slumbering beneath the stars
you might as well have been across the ocean
in a far away land...
for the ghost that was once you
I could not reach
haunting me you eventually faded away,
and, I was left only with the glimmer
of hope ...
that the twinkle in your blue eyes would somehow smile
your old familiar smile...
that you would eventually return to me --
Alas, when I finally woke...
I was a lonely sailor lost at sea
holding a black n' white photograph of you n' me...
you were swinging across the old oak tree
You were five, and I was three...
then your image
suddenly faded away from me
I am a lost sailor out at sea.

"19"

Nineteen see's the world with hopeful eyes
with long black lashes, and wistful smiles
she had her world all mapped out
there was no stopping her she would shout
regret met her at twenty six
when the doctors told her she was sick
still she did not let that pain beat her down
No, she was up for a second round...
she was brave with courageous days
with her daughter she did stay
through the years she married men
who attempted to beat her down again
the warrior spirit of nineteen was still there
a fighter with spirit who would not dare--
dare to give in to her despair…
And —
For all the souls who came, and went —
that glanced upon her as angels wept
for a life that she would never know
for all the love that she could ever show
that never saw the pain she felt when un-approving
stares were sent —
Nineteen’s spirit sailed on —she never felt so strong --
as she sailed on, and her spirit went.

His Eyes
like knives
are hunting you
a creepy stare
******* you
you’re just waiting
for a train
his eyes like knives
still remain
on your *******
down to your thighs
circling back
up toward your eyes
in his mind
he’s pinned you down
you recognize
his hunting ground
you slink away
into the crowd
like a cat you raise your back
extend your claws you turn,
attack...
a Jaguar cat you escape
this unknown man's
hunting ground
you are on your mountain now...
and, you're now safe, and sound.

September is the month love flew by
said good-bye
bye-bye-bye --
that's all I remember
about the rain in September
the rain rushing by with the wind
the wind, and the rain blowing the clouds to good-bye
pushing our love to good-bye
just like our love that flew bye
just like a bird flying high
I was too tired of your lies
and, the way you looked at me
the whole time you wanted to be
free, free, free
wish I could have seen
happier days with me
but it was not meant to be.

And now that you've vanished/ you're gone --
all that I have to say our these words that I've said today
in this song --
I wish that we could have gone on

but I've moved past September
toward the good days I remember
but those days are all gone--
and, I've moved on --
Yes, I've had to move along
Yes, September is the month love flew bye
it was the month I said good-bye
good-bye to you, and I ---.

Untitled, and untethered
Floating, and fleeting
Sensational, and seething
anticipating, and articulating
communicating expression  
exceptional, and enduring
invention is my game
characters with stage names
dialogue, and dialect
inspire my intellect
la, la, lah-- la, la, la

Shakespeare, Kafka, Sappho please
help me with my writing needs
allow me to bring my characters to life
perhaps they'll drink some *** with wives
let them sing, and let them dance
allow them to play games of chance
mystery with history
mixing in a little misery
la,la, lah, la-la-la

let them bounce off every page
dancing merrily across the stage...
Oh, and let them love the music too
let them sing to me n' you
words of joy
words of passion
while they wear the latest fashion

Oh, and please...
I'm on my knees
let me earn a decent wage

I need to make sure to build a stage

I'll give them crowns with diamond gems
singing songs for all of them
Shakespeare, Kafka, Sappho please
inspire me with my writing needs
*la,la,lah-la-la- lah--

Give me red roses Monday through Sunday
I don't want any grey
I'll take love over pain because I like it that way
Give me a heart full of chocolates with a bow n' pink tie
not leather n' chains or, some fantasy with lies
Give me Paris in Spring, and I'll dance, and I'll sing --
with you by my side, and your smiling blue eyes
I'll take Central Park walks or, white horse buggy rides
just give me red roses --
and, I will love you for life.

You hold my hand
as we walk into the forest
I breathe your breath
I take it in
I take it in
for my health
under a green forest
beneath a blue sky
as a river passes by
the birds, and butterfly's
they flutter on by
flutter past
and-- our love lasts
and, lasts
forever
as the river flows on
forever past.

Nineteen see's the world with hopeful eyes
with long black lashes, and wistful smiles
she had her world all mapped out
there was no stopping her she would shout
regret met her at twenty six when the doctors told her she was sick
still she did not let that pain beat her down
No, she was up for a second round...
she was brave with courageous days
with her daughter she did stay
through the years she married men
who attempted to beat her down again
the warrior spirit of nineteen was still there
a fighter with spirit who would not dare--
dare to give in to her despair.