i wonder a lot about all the things no one sees,
things in corners, in the shade of cold harmless structures.
i try to close my eyes and imagine that the quiet moments aren't for nothing.
that there's meaning in it all,
that there is forever.
when i look at the mirror in your eyes,
all i see are the many sides of the shattered yesterdays,
pieces laid out in some pretend order,
and all i feel is mute, alone with the passing time of ago.
A woman stands strong and sensuous and proud
Her mind a fractured mirror cloaked in fog
Shard by shard
The bayonet finds her way, following the sweet scent of the bloody rose
Wielding her Scarborough Fair
The sass of Parsley
The wisdoms of Sage
The touch of Rosemary
The passage of Thyme
Born of the dark side of the moon
With powers untold
Able to twist and bend the spindles of shadows and time
Lips full and glazed with cardinal sin
Slick locks of ebony
A perfumed 500 year blur
With the night's lunar charm that twinkles in her eye
And butterflies that swoon for their Madama
The blood child born of the union of the sun and moon
The black sheep of the dark arts
Is one with the most beloved of Umbran treasures
Is the sweetest cherry with a long-forgotten radiant smile,
A harsh destiny
Who looks to the left side of the moon for the upcoming chaos.
As I write my life down in poetry,
I expand dancing in the rhythms of words.
Comas cause a smile to rest my thoughts
for just a moment
before jumping in deep waters of the mind.
Memories and experiences surface
unloading my deepest secrets.
And when done sweet freedom is mine.
freedom to write on but another day
where poetry becomes a journal of life.
i'm shy of your eyes
i live in the wondering shade, i see
you where things are more than ordinary
i'm where flowers refuse to die in ugly vases
and beautiful is not the only but the most. you
where the hope of loving is a candle flame
flickering delicately. me
where secrets admire.
When we were younger-
especially when we were particularly heinous-
you would tell us
that if it came down to it
you would choose our mother
Is it any wonder why
What kind of a man says
he would leave his daughters in a heartbeat
if it meant supporting their spouse?
What man settles for one over the other
when both are his to protect?
None of us asked to be begotten.
None of us asked to be abandoned.
You were there
but you were there for her.
Now I look to other men
for the security I should have been able to find in your arms.
Those hands should have been used for more than discipline;
they should have been extended time after time,
mistake after mistake,
loaning us your strength
instead of administering it.
I'm too tired to argue.
I just need you to know
why I feel this ocean between us
even when we're closer than ever
to dry land.
Writing in my journal of heart I sing,
gathering wisdom inside breath.
When tempest storms rage I write,
trying to ground for understanding.
When sky reveals beauty I write,
grounding with majestic scenes that call.
As scribe my ink becomes road
feeling the passionate words lead on page.
As composer moments vanish inside timeless realm
where words become my friends.
And while siting quietly
scripting in my journal
dreams surface as words dance on vellum field
A field allowing heart to expand,
and peace to be mine.
StarBG © 2017
I hardly know him.
I don't want to overthink
meeting his mother.
He is just a friend-
a kind, loving, holy man
to whom I am drawn.
Lock my heart away.
I refuse to lust after
another good man.
He is beautiful,
but I want to get to know
his immortal soul.
Lord, guide me through this.
Tell me how significant
he is meant to be.
I'll leave it alone
unless You say otherwise.
Jesus, take the wheel.
someone stole something around the colour of your eyes
burglarized, the tears that you readily gave away
we are made of such flimsy corporeality
and some days gravity is too much to carry
i want so much for birds to teach me how to dream
and the wind to tell me how to break free
i caught a falling leaf today
two birds fought on the powerlines
my friend told me that she hates love
and the sounds of a plane in the sky fading
everyone goes home when it is late
the wind always finds a way through my coat
too many people say, “i don’t know”
and footsteps are scary echoing in a basement parking lot
i want your song stuck in my head
wrapped in my mind
a tangle of vines & flowers with new colors in your painted art
i question to think that just by waking up means a good morning
your voice in my ear like sleep wanting dream
sleep where i see you, then
i would realise i do not love anymore, the sun rising.