Murdered emotions sink deeper into oblivion.  Held captive in a tortured husk of defeat.  Their
shadows wait patiently for my last fetid breath.  Then they may be released.  For suicide is
close to me.  A silken whisper that glides among my thoughts.  A tiny shard with backwards
barbs, which rip the soul upon trying to evict it.  A deceitful promise of forgiven slumber, within
a pool of blood.  A quiet idea upon which I sit.  Icy tears chafe the skin of a hollow shell.  
Leaving acrid scars, seen in my mirror.  My eyes behold my Hell.

Flesh is known ephemeral
                 From birth, past death, does decay
                                         Within the wind, our essence



                 The energy which binds our molecules
                 exists in the past, present and future

Bound by soft red velvet bonds
                              souls across eternity
                                     for so brief a moments time
                                                        connect here on Earth

In coals, low and tame,
dance the sparks spellbound,
just as moths to a flame.

Hear their dieing sound,
as embers speak low,
whispers, as death is found.

Rising from the glow,
serpentine, the smoke.
A slow, pungent flow.

The sky, it does stroke,
a lovers caress.
Hoping to invoke

The Goddess Pyralis

Appears a ghostly vision, fog in from the sea.
As if sentient in movement,  shrouds all in it's mystique.
With a cyclop eye, lighthouse lends a mournful wail.
While specters breath dampens all, your marrow the chill impales.
Out of sight, crashing waves, sound loud as if they crawl,
following the living mist as it breaches the seawall.
Seeping round panes and doors, into every crevice.
The very air liquefied, a grey oppressive presence.
Wood smoke blends it's flavor to the tang of the air.
In hopes the flames beat it back, keep tendrils from drawing near.
Slowly it tastes it's fill of wooden planks and blood.
It leaves a sodden salt strewn smell seeming to just dissolve.
Folding back on itself, returning to the brine.
Fog waits yet another morn to return to shore and dine.

Should I be kind and gently knock?
Place my hand and just simply rock?
Open the curtains, let light in,
whisper words, of night time sin?   No!


I'll Tickle your nose with feathers,
so in your face you mash lather?
In some warm water place your hand,
in hope things go just as planned?

With pots and pans make a ruckus,
so you jump right up and focus?
Scream while wearing a ****** mask,
so when you wake you heart beats fast?

Won't do you good to throw a fit.
Yep!  The devil made me do it.

Scraps of lumber, a touch of paint,
with love, became a home.
To the smallest of the birds,
that to our yard would roam.

In his basement workshop,
Grandpa would spend hours.
With his hand saw, brace and bit,
no use of electric power.

At each rip of the saw,
I'd hear that familiar sound.
I'd watch as sawdust drifted,
like pixie dust, to the ground.

With blackened nails and hammer,
he'd assemble the bird houses.
Then he'd paint them brightly,
adding curliques and flounces.

A bit of wire in a hook,
then hung in the Pear tree.
Filled our mornings with the song,
from the Finches and Chick-a-dees.

Every year it was brought down from the garage rafters.  Green metal frame and
springs, green canvas with white fringe and a little green pillow.  It was laid out, hosed
off and erected.  Grandpa couldn't have done it without us grand kids.  He said so.  It
was placed in a spot of honor.  Just a couple of feet from the picnic table and in a spot
that was always in the afternoon shade.  A folding T.V. tray was placed next to it to
hold cold drinks and snacks.  Within a few days, the grass under the frame would be
brown and dead.  The grass at the sides of the hammock would just be plain gone.  
Scuffed away by feet, as we kids sat on the edge and swayed side to side.

After mowing the lawn, washing the car, or doing any other chores needed, Grandpa
would go inside and put on his "Hammock clothes".  This consisted of a pair of Bermuda
shorts and a ribbed tank style Tee.  White socks and brown sandals completed the
outfit.  Once dressed appropriately, he would head for the hammock.  The first "sit" of
the summer season was always a bit touchy.  One had to get use to the hang of it.

There he would stand, next to the hammock.  Cold drink in his one hand, the T.V. tray
forgotten.  His slightly bald head and stick thin legs already slightly sun burned.  Slowly,
he would start to lower himself.  Reaching back with his free hand to grab the edge of
the hammock.

Note**  of course us kids, grandma and mom would all be spying out of the corner of
our eyes to watch this ritual.

Then came the "Grandpa Sit".  Grandpa would rock slightly forward and back on his
feet.  1-2-3 and ....SIT!  A few wobbles.  A couple sloshes of his lemonade.  All of us
yelling  "Whooooaaaaaa".  He would sit there on the edge of the hammock, holding
himself steady with one hand on the edge.  His feet firmly planted on the grass and his
other hand holding his cold drink high aloft.

Now, the sandals needed to be taken off.  One of us grand kids would run over and
help take them off.  Tickling his feet as we did so.

So far, no damage to life or limb.

Ah, but he was not yet fully on the hammock yet.

Now came the "Swing and lie down" move.

Slowly, grandpa would reach behind himself and grasp the far edge of the canvas.  
drink in his other hand still held aloft.  O.K.....1-2-3...SWING the legs up and quickly lie
back.  Let the hammock come to a stop.

Where's Grandpa?

On the ground on the other side of the hammock soaked in lemonade.

Summer was officially started!

As my Precious sits on my desk,
shedding and watching with interest.

I take a drink from my cup.
A hair sticks to my tongue..eew yuk.

She is pleased with herself and wags,
her tail, hair flies off like flags.

They are small, black and everywhere.
Making patterns on all of the chairs.

Little drifting smiles of hair,
residing on my clothes without care.

This much hair from a small Chihuahua,
it's not possible, no not at all.

It's not as if she's going bald.
But then, Kojack, she could be called.

Oh look!  You have some hair that she's shared.
I'll take care of that, you wait right there.

I'll just run and get my  trusty lint roller.
Better yet!   I'll get my leaf blower.

There's a party going on upstairs,
your invited, to come and have a scare.
H.G. Wells, will meet you at the gate,
costumes required, hurry don't be late.

Vincent Price will be tonights D.J.
Halloween is his favorite Holiday.
He's spinning "Thriller", while dressed up as "Kiss".
Watching Claude Rains do the "Transylvania Twist".

Steve McQueen came dressed up as the "Blob",
he's serving up the zombie shish-ka-bobs.
Elsa Lanchester placed real bats within her hair.
While Marty Feldom keeps yelling "Frau Blucher".

At the stroke of the witching hour,
St. Peter amps up all the power.
A disco ball drops down from a cloud.
Out on the dance floor, forms a massive crowd.

Michael Jackson then leads them all in dance,
while Lon Chaney and Karloff take their chance,
to join the angels in harmony,
While "Monster Mash" is sang by Lugosi.

Even the Devil made it through the door.
He's the one sporting an Elvis pompadour.
So much fun is had by one and all,
at Heavens Annual Halloween Ball

We sat at the table, waiting for our number to be called.
Their pepperoni pizza, was our most favorite one of all.

Our number is announced, George is carrying the pizza back.
When close, he decides to act, as though he  trips in his tracks.

In slow motion, that pizza, slid so smoothly out of the pan.
George's eyes got big as saucers, he saw the folly of his plan.

There I was in my new outfit, that cost half of my paycheck.
With pizza, upside down on my lap and sauce splashed on my neck.

Amazingly calm, George scooped the pizza up in his hands.
Melted cheese, stretching and stringing, from my pants in gooey strands.

He stood there patting and pressing the pizza back into shape.
That poor pizza looked just like a badly, bulldozered landscape.

It lay there sort of twisted, pepperoni all to one side.
Crust pieces stinking out of it, like a saucy red mudslide.

Then he sat down across from me, silently as if waiting.
I must have looked like a blonde fish, sitting there, just gapping.

Then a chuckle escaped my lips, as his eyes raised to meet mine.
He looked just like a little boy, who just got caught in a crime.

I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out for making such a fuss.
'Cause, next thing you know, the whole place is laughing along with us.

We couldn't stop, there was no way we'd been able.
Not while upsidedown-lap pizza, stared at us from the table

Beside the rugged beauty of weathered peaks,
Pines and Aspens, from its shadows, speak.
They tell of era's gone and of changing times,
the coming of man and his God he seeks.

The tranquil lake, that gives life to all.
The changing colors, from Spring to Fall.
The birds that fly, the deer that roam,
from the mighty Grizzly to ants so small.

Beauty surrounds, if your willing to see.
God, need not be such a mystery.
He is there in the mountains and in your heart.
Nature, is His way, of speaking to Thee.

Behind the rough and gruff facade,
amongst the sternness and the pride.
Along with calloused hands and the scars
A little boy still resides.

in spite of responsibilities,
the hard days, daily grind.
There within a man full grown,
that little boy still hides.

In the crooked grin, stuck out chin,
mischievous twinkle of the eyes.
Crazy antics, chances taken,
a little boy joy rides.

Eat one more cookie before dinner,
spend all weekend, playing outside.
Put off mowing the lawn one more day,
that little boy decides.

Work extra hours to pay the bills,
don't let that "Honey do" list slide.
Do anything to see me smile,
His little boy is justified.

I knelt down and cried, within His gentle, multi colored hands.
Confessing to my sins and hoping He would understand.
I realized my own forgiveness was at my command.
I had been harder on myself, with my own reprimands.

Gently, in multi colored hands, I cried and knelt down within.
He said that my beliefs, were not looked upon as sins.
For was He not a part of everything we had been given?
And was He not at the core of every Sects religion?

His multi colored hands, gentled, as I knelt down within and cried.
For God has not one Nationality, nor one color, I realized.
And I did not see a sign that read Only Christians Need Apply.
An all encompassing love, was his way of a reply.

It was his birthday, his fourtyninth year,
sat at his computer, he hadn't a clue.
Our son placed her on his chest without fear,
but, his big hands, didn't know what to do.
She looked up at him, with eyes dark and clear.
He fumbled to hold her, his discomfort grew.
She gave a big yawn, then gave a small belch.
I could see, that his smile, he tried to squelch.

He turned his attention then to our son,
who pointed at me, trying to shift blame.
Said, "Maybe you'll tell me just what you've done!"
"Happy Birthday" we cried, playing the game.
She then licked his thumb, with her pink tongue,
He tried to look stern, but his heart she did tame.
With her tiny black nose, she gave a shove
and just like that, he was in puppy love.


**Authors note:  This little 1/2 pound Chihuahua
melted his heart and let him love
a dog once more.  Not since our Siberian Husky
died over 8 years ago, had he even looked
at another dog.  "Precious" allowed him to love anew
without fear of a broken heart once again.

A Genie, I found, did offer me,
a few nice wishes.  In total, three.

Now, this was going to take some thought.
To rush into this, would serve me naught.

I mustn't squander this precious gift.
For never again, the top could I lift.

No need, had I, to wish for life long love.
My hubby and I fit like a hand in a glove.

To wish for riches, I would be a dummy.
To me, there is such a thing, as too much money.

Eternal life, would be really a waste.
Knowing my luck, I wouldn't age with grace.

It was then my wishes came to me.
Crystal clear. The results I could see.

My first wish is for man to see where he stands,
in the scheme of things, how he leaves his brand.

Next, I wish for the Earth to be healed.
Free of all pollution, natures beauty revealed.

Last that mankind would actually learn from its past mistakes.
Maybe then, Mother Nature, would quit raising the stakes.

The sound of thick bubbling,
with the smell of fresh blackberries.
The stains upon our fingers and clothes,
all part of my homemade jam memories.

Growing wild along the roads,
the brambles tall and thick.
Pails and buckets overflowing,
eating our fill as we would pick.

The kitchen, busy as a beehive,
those tasty berries getting mashed.
The "Women" all worked together,
young or old, we each had our tasks.

Four generations, making jam.
"Puttin' back" as it was called.
I still remember the stories told
and the laughter from us all.

Not just a smile does it bring,
a calmness pours soft over me.
A giggle will well up time to time,
at my homemade jam memories.

Hair, the color of ripened wheat,
with the sun shinning upon it.
Eyes, so clear a green,
shot with gold, as to be jewels.
A smile that reaches her eyes
and casts a glow from within.
Five tiny fingers grasp an aged hand,
with the delicacy of fine porcelain.
Two small feet, lively tapping,
in an excited tempo.
A Grandfather walks, stooped,
along beside her, with pride
evident in the smile he affords others.
His hat, a dapper angle,
upon his head of snowy fringe.
His one hand held by hers,
while in his other, a few wrinkled bills,
held aloft as a trophy.
I stop and watch their approach.
I watch as they pass beside me on the path.
As the two, young at heart,
head for the colorful, ice cream truck
parked at the curb.

I, exist between me and myself,
in an ever deepening void.
Whatever angle life is dealt,
of emotions, it seems devoid.

In an ever deepening void,
I realize, I'm slipping away.
Of emotions, it seems devoid.
Yet, so comforting, I think I'll stay.

I realize I'm slipping away,
as I gaze at myself in the mirror.
Yet, so comforting, I think I'll stay.
I am my own souls bearer.

As I gaze at myself in the mirror,
I see what lies beyond my own eyes.
I am my own souls bearer.
How could I not have realized?

I see, what lies beyond my own eyes,
whatever angle life is dealt.
I am my own souls bearer,
I exist, between me and myself.

Just the other day I was there,
running, laughing once again with no cares.
I was playing tag around the old pear tree.
I'm the one with Band-aids on my knees.
There's my mom helping grandma tend the yard,
while grandpa's in his hammock, snoring hard.
The journey isn't very far for me
I go home every now and then in my memories.

There's my friend who with secrets I could share.
Oh!  The fragrant roses between our yard and theirs.
Whose thorns left me this scar upon my hand.
See my brother, his Tonka trucks in the sand.
On the sidewalk my sister rides her bike.
That's the phone line that always ate our kites.
Going home is not that hard for me,
I go there every now and then in my memories.

Dead Man's Alley was a place we could dare,
each other to go down, if they weren't scared.
The neighbors driveway, we always thought so steep.
It's funny, the mental images we keep.
Our front porch, home to Barbie's and Troll Dolls.
The hours grandma spent sewing outfits for them all.
To visit once again, for me, is so easy,
I go home every now and then in my memories.


The stereo my brother touched so that he could "hear"
the music through the vibrations, the big smile he would wear.
The walks with grandpa to the Rexall Store.
Roller skating round the tiled basement floor.
The hearth with the huge mirror hung above
All the happiness, especially all the love.
Yes, coming home again is a treat for me,
I come here every now and then in my memories.

Sung to the tune of:
I'll Be Home For Christmas


Oh, I got fudge for Christmas,
from my daughter-in-law.
I whined and begged,
til I got my way,
and I'm not sharing it.

Ooooh, Thanks for the fudge for Christmas,
I will repay this deed.
It was suppose to be homemade,
but she bought it all from See's.

oooooh, I got fudge for Christmas,
and you can count on this.
By the time, I eat it all,
it will be on my hips.

Oooooh, I got fudge for Chriiiiiissssstmaaaasssss
I'll be seeing it in my Dreeeamms.


Dedicated to Tammy,
My Daughter-in law.

The journey of a tear drop,
heralds a wall broken down.
Having held back the feelings,
that once started, cannot stop.

Heralds a wall broken down,
infidelity arrives, lost trust,
that once started, cannot stop.
Happiness, not love, but lust.

Infidelity arrives. Lost trust.
Confusion of what you feel.
Happiness, not love, but, lust.
You are on a spinning wheel.

Confusion of what you feel,
spawning hatred, when you loose all.
You are on a spinning wheel,
you are destined for this fall.

Spawning hatred when you lose all,
having held back the feelings.
You were destined for this fall,
the journey of a tear drop.

Acrid tears have dried upon my soul.
Their tracks painfully erode
the partition I hold before myself
and the world I need escape.

Thin as rice paper, are my emotions.
A false step rips the calm I hold.
Displacing my hopes of normalcy,
one step closer to losing my precarious balance.

Which, in and of itself, is a lie.
As I slip from one side to the other.
The Pendulum never stops its movement,
never giving rest to my anger and fear.

I am no more who I was,
when I was a person, whole.
Pain has shaped and molded my life,
while usefulness died under its weight.

Forgiveness, I am not ready to pour,
as I drink from the well of bitter remorse.
Had not the Corporate Viper bitten,
I might not be filled with the fear of snakes.

Lies told.  Lies held.  Lies that burn
behind my eyes, scald my outlook on life.
Leaving a scar that I always see,
when I look at myself and what has been stolen

One must give credit out to one and all,
humans are, after all, territorial.
A gold star, pat on the back or sing their praise,
sets a parameter around their stage.
So thank me, for getting your projects done,
I realize your dating the bosses son.
To climb the ladder of success you must,
tread firmly upon the rest of us.
But, remember the steps will work both ways,
The time may come, I'll be your boss one day.

Speculations abound, on the news and Internet.
Doomsday prophecies, when the planets alignments set.
But I have my theories, that I will share with you,
might as well accept it, there's nothing you can do.
Twenty-twelve is coming, that is a simple fact.
Just sit back and read along, have yourself a laugh.

I believe on that day:

That the aliens that abducted Elvis,
to be their king, will bring him back to us.
Their ship will land on the White House Lawn,
a whole lotta shakin', will be goin' on.

I believe on that day:

Man will find chocolate is a miracle drug.
They'll melt it down and use it, as synthetic blood.
Saving the lives of thousands of women on the verge.
They will find that P.M.S., finally is cured.

I believe on this day:

Jerry Springer will announce his intent,
to run in the next election to be our President.
He has a sure fire way, to end all the wars,
let the leaders fight it out on his shows stage floor.

I believe on that day:

All manner of nonsense will ensue.
I don't think it is a day, that we will come to rue.
Bets in Vegas will still be laid,
our nest payday's we will still want paid.
The Earth will turn upon it's axis,
there will still be, death and taxes.
No.  2012, should not be feared.
But, I have my seat reserved, on the next ship outta here.

Chase the sun in it's arc.
East to West, avoid the dark.
No matter the amount of light I keep,
my own darkness from within seeps.
To stain the brief respite I find,
deep inside my poetic mind.
From my thoughts to hand to pen,
onto  paper, then rewrite again.
Each revision a shade more grey,
all the colors bled away.
From a wound that refuses to heal,
taking with it my ability to feel,
anything but real anger towards ,
the world in general and what it affords.
At those times it's not me in print,
it's these eleven years in pain spent.
Pretending that I give a dang,
there are no apologies, it's now who I am

With cooler nights and soft warm days.
quilts for the beds, days breeze welcome.
We say goodbye to summer's blaze.
Gold, orange and red are my Chrysanthemums,
as fall doggedly leaves the desert kingdom.

Soon will be gone, the light weight jackets.
Leaves, will finally, dance from the trees.
Goodbye to all the Farmer's Markets.
While I warm my hands round a cup of hot tea,
powdered sugar snow, in the hills I see.

The bird bath has a coat of ice,
small creatures go off and hibernate.
My home is redolent with baking spice,
red berries in the bushes, so ornate.
It's Winters time to dominate.

Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,
closed up tight within a box.
My memories lay scattered.
Some are even lost.

Mixed in  with those memories,
are events that shaped my world.
Tangled, twisted, interwoven.
Like so many cheap strands of pearls.

Reach right in and pull out "Roller Skates",
one that might have a smooth edge.
But stuck to it might be "courage",
as I faced report card day with dread.

Grab up the piece that shows "kiss".
The first one with my boyfriend.
Underneath is disappointment,
as he chose another girl, by days end.

Dig around an you'll find "Trust".
lying beneath "Corporate Bile".
It seems to be stuck into,
the notch of "Legal Files".

There, in the bottom layer,
sits "goals", though now quite ragged.
From having been bumped, rubbed raw,
it's borders are now jagged.

Somehow "Life's Lessons", though quite large,
Tends to, at times, elude my grip.
It shuffles down between the layers,
affording me a glimpse of its tip.

Each mismatched piece represents,
a moment, I've put away.
There within the puzzle box,
to be recalled another day

L Lightening bolts of curiosity................Let them strike.
I  Ignite the imagination........................Follow its flame.
V  Vehemently pursue your dreams........Let them lead.
E  Enevitably follow your conscience.......Heed its call.

L  Levity is inherent..............................Let it free.
A  Allow your inner child to play.............Share your joy.
U  Unpredictability is encouraged...........Surprise yourself
G  Go ahead, splash in a puddle............Silly, is O.K.
H  Have a belly laugh daily.....................For what ails ya.

L  Logic does not rule the heart.............Hear it sing.
O  Over the top, head over heels...........Go for it.
V  Vast is our capability........................See the possibilities.
E  Even when mad, say these words......I love you.