2002:
today i kicked the door
to history off it's hinges
my jealous frame:
still too proud to say a word
it seems my folks forgot
to pencil in growth marks
cause they thought their boy
would never grow out of small breath
******* dead, years now buried
and i bare his name
too many syllables
for my father to go back
fish & play football
to stand in the yard and play catch

1994:
my mom, the bombshell in retrospect
broke her back in her sleep
a thousand times
since the stairwell in 87'
she still sits for spills
post nuclear about settling
now from the couch
she's a weather report
spouting nonsense
that makes my father
grow grey, crack remotes
& slam doors to dark rooms
abandoning ship
for "cheers" & "scienfeld"
while my mother
sometimes forgets
and sets his place at the table
and my appetite is abducted
by family photos
my mother says things like
"go see your brother today"
-- Johnny's long gone
don't you remember?
we buried him
the day your smile died

2014:
you are inches from me
******* a stray hair
caught in the fabric of your coat
the last remnants of a dog
we laid to rest last week
and here we are
in the hospital again
people don't shake like dogs
finality is found
in the eyes of humans
passing archways
into shallow rooms
where plague and prayer
are the only songs sung
round the stagnant clocks
it makes me wonder
if the clipboards cry
over being the last thing
someone ever writes on
take a number, have a seat
stay a while
i am back, 7 years old
& there are different doors now
they buried the ones
you kicked in that night in '92
when my lungs
were filled with holy water
you never stopped smoking
*i never grew out of asthma

Mom should’ve been here by now. I sat on my frilly blue and purple polka-dotted bed waiting for the knock on the door telling me mom found my dress. Finally, it raps on my door. “Mom! Did you find it?” My eyes widen as the silky blue sways in her arms, it’s beauty sings as a caged bird let free. I gasp in admiration. “I-It’s wonderful!” I pick it up and it glides down into a perfect fit.  “I’m glad you love it. Come down after you finish getting ready.” The door thuds after her. Looking across the room I note my honey brown hair that curls into pigtails. Restraining the squeal that is caught in my throat, I travel the length of my room to the mirror.

     The mirror sits on an antique dresser that my mom found at a garage sale. At first I didn’t care much for the ancient wooden junk that is at least half a century old. Now the gold-tinted metal gleams with pride once again. Rusty gems were in carved into an arc surrounding the mystic glass. “Lydia! Can you go upstairs and get that box down for me?” Mom’s request interfered with my thoughts. … Go in that dusty attic? “Sure mom!”

       Out the door and into the hallway stood a door like any other in our house. It squeaked open as eerily as what you’d expect in a haunted house. ‘A box, a box’ than out of the side of my vision I thought I saw motion. I shook it off as just being a spider or mouse. Soon my footsteps lead me to come across a dresser and mirror identical to the one in my room. It was cluttered with cobwebs and spiders. “Not very well taken care of, are you?” I muttered the joke. I looked into the mirror expecting to see a light blue dress covered in dust and sparkly silk material, but there was no reflection at all. I looked even closer at the mirror, before realizing, there was no mirror at all.

     I looked around until I found it behind the dresser, sitting on the ground. I touched one of the gems that surprisingly glowed despite the rust. Something shone until I was blinded. A tingle ran through the hand that brushed the mirror’s gem and flew through my arm until it encompassed me, racing into my every feeling until I couldn’t feel anything. My eyes shut and refused to open themselves.


     A gentle breeze grasped my hair, as music descended from the air. I could smell what seemed to be a banquet of some kind, mixed with perfume. Slowly my eyes lifted their veil to lock with waves pounding against a brick wall. I was looking down from a balcony into the erupting sea. The white brick-made balcony was large and lonely even with the brush of people walking by. I hid behind the rose-red curtains to look around. People danced and talked. Some ate. The music paved the trail for their feet to follow, all very gracefully. The men wore suits that tails drip to their knees. Their white shirts buried under sashes of gold, red, or blue. Sometimes holding medallions, some only dressed in ties. The woman wore Victorian dresses of every color and shade. Frilled hats with flowers were arranged on their heads.

     Wait, I’m not supposed to be here. I was in the attic, going to the café with mom. What was I doing? My head ached from the effort to recall my actions. Why can’t I remember? I stumble backward only to reach the balcony’s edge. Where is this anyway?

      I dive back into the curtain to search for my answer. The softness of the curtain was a rose pushed to my nose. I peeked through the small gap to find a page carting some clothes past my hiding spot. I sneaked next to the cart being wheeled into a doorway, planning to find a way out. I lost the page and walked around until I went through an archway door. The cool air spiraled against my silk-trapped skin. The scent of flowers bloomed around me. I found the garden labyrinth.

     Walking through the maze’s hedges I arrive at a beautiful fountain displaying crystal clear pouring waters. Everywhere I gazed, flowers embraced the greenery. My breath deprived my lungs of air as I took in the sight. It was so magnificent under the light of the full moon. A few lamps lighted a sidewalk path maneuvering along the hedges. I circled the fountain, taking in the surroundings. My silk dress was shining in the dim glow. The sceneries beauty entranced me.






     I didn’t see a shadow before me, and almost fell to the ground. In a graceful swoop an arm latched around my waist to pull me to my feet. “Be careful to look where you’re going, please my lady.” He bowed his head while his slim rimmed glasses started to fall off of his face, suddenly he looked up at me; sliding them back on with a slight wave of a finger. “That garb isn’t from around here.” He noted my sky blue dress with interest. I’m not even sure where I am. “I seem a bit lost. Will you help me?” he stares at me closer, a deeper curiosity shines in his green eyes, daintily brushed by his dark hair. “My dear, if it brings you comfort to know, we are in London at the Buckingham palace.”

      I gasped; London was so far away from New York. It’s across seas. I gulped at my next question as sweat pricked the nape of my neck, “What’s todays date?” His eyes sparkled at the question. “Why, it is June 28, of 1838. The entire castle is bustling at these very words. It’s a day to remember. Now my dear, I must take my leave and see to the ballroom. Farewell.” He bowed, than turned to leave. His slow stride seemed like a dance all on it’s own. My gaze was caught on his figure following the foot trail until he had disappeared. I sighed at my first encounter with someone in this grand place. The Buckingham Palace, in 1838. …1838!! That can’t be right, it’s 2014. Then the shock hit me as if bricks fell from the castle onto my forehead; the clothes, the language, the pages, and royalty. This couldn’t be London in present Great Britain.

    I circle the garden once more before I decide to go back inside. The young noble had realized my clothes didn’t belong here, probably anyone who sees me would recognize this too. I start off towards the footpath. The melodic rhythm still swirled in the breeze. Than for a second I thought I heard a footstep. My head twists back only to see a shadow move. The cool air now seems icy. Multiple possible things to say to the night air gallop through my mind. “ Such a lovely night,” is the one I decide on. From behind me a few feet back I imagine a sigh. No, not imagined, but actually there. It’s too real. I turn on my heels just to catch a glimpse of a black cape caught in the wind, as it’s master floats into the open. “My, It is lovely. However, I didn’t realize such a strangely dressed commoner as you could enter this palace.” His smirk shows sarcasm as easily as his eyes. “I never intended to visit a palace, even less in London.” My honest answer only has him conceal his laugh.




     “I’m sure you didn’t. Yet, your dressed for a fine occasion.” His hand reaches for mine. I pull away from the willowy figured glove. “Why not allow me this dance in the garden?” I back away, aware that his voice is too prescient and I should be careful. “Are you going to be wary of me?” his gaze turned pained, his blue eyes that were once full of playfulness now melted into hurt. I unintentionally reach out for his gloved hand. His laugh echoes past the foliage. “Such a naïve girl.” Dread decided that this nobleman should be avoided at all costs. I ran towards the palace. “And so the chase begins.” He snickers and rushes after me.


     I pass through the archways, glancing back now and again to find the caped captor flying along my tracks. If only there was some way to lose him. I ducked into the nearest doorway. At the far end of the hall I could see a door with a sign saying, “Dressing room”. I flung myself under a table and tablecloth to hide myself as my pursuer rounded the corner into the hall. I tucked my head between my knees and waited for his footsteps to fade. The warm place that held me trapped was close and too easily discoverable. I held my breath and tried to sink into the darkness. I’m not here. No one can find me.

     After enough time flew by to ensure my safety, I crawled out from under the table. The cloth draped over my head. I looked back and forth, half expecting to see a smirking smile, and haughty eyes. A girl stares down at me. She’s at least ten years old. “Shhh.” I press my finger to my lips and gently smile at her as if we’re keeping a secret between us. She giggles, copies the motion to her own mouth, than delightfully skips away. I let out a sigh and stand up. I follow the hall to the dressing room. The door creaks open and I look around once more, startled by the sudden noise.

     I sneak inside hoping find that the room is abandoned. In the darkly lit room, only my footsteps sound. As far as I can tell, no one has entered lately. I walk over to the carts of clothes and run my hand over the first one on the stack. It’s a ruby-red dress with fine material and some gems similar to those in the mirror. … The mirror. Not in my room, but the attic. My head hurts again, but I know I touched its gem before winding up here. How? I look through the dresses until I find a light blue and white one. The bowed sleeves come down to my elbow with frills encasing the bottom. The neckline forms a squared area of similar white frills. A small white sash acts as a belt that drops into the skirt of the dress. Two similar white ones come down each side. I pick up the light material and set it near my feet.
      My old silk dress easily slips overhead, making way for the new clothing. After tugging tight sleeves and bodices into place the light dress swoops over my feet. I spin through the dark room only to stop at catching someone’s eye. I immediately turn towards the frozen face. It is my own reflection in a mirror. I face myself as my sight settles on the dress I wear. My honey brown hair curled over the dress from my pigtails. My eyes sparkled it’s matching blue to the dress. In the corner of the room, next to the mirror, sat a large wooden box. I looked through it to find that it was full of jewelry and accessories. I prodded its contents until I found sky blue bows to wrap in my pigtails.

     I walked into the open hallway, now littered with people going to and fro. Anyone from passerby’s, young nobility, servants, and pages. Once the hall emptied I fled the room, hurrying through the corridors until I met with the room that created the harmonious trance. At the ends of the great ballroom sat crowds eating and laughing. Clusters of on-goers danced and chatted. In the middle of the farthest side of the room sat a throne that was embroidered with metal marks from centuries of legends. On the throne sat a woman at least eighteen of age. Her regal crown shone despite other attractions surrounding the dance room. A page strode over to her as she flourished her hand for his service. He stood and listened intently to her whispers. Finally, he stood and roared for the room’s attention. From his mouth spilled cheer and wistfulness, as he demanded the crowd’s ear. “Our young Queen Victoria’s coronation has completed. Now starts a new era! Let the celebration proceed.” The room reverberated with hope, love, and admiration for their new ruler.

     ‘Queen Victoria has been crowned’ having no clue how to find a way home, I disconsolately decide to join in the festivities. The crowd moves into a larger room. I stagger after them; the mass pushing everyone forward. We pass the kitchens. The aroma of cakes and deserts of every kind rises into the cool night air. The only smell more perceptible than delicate delights is the perfume penetrating the entire castle. We enter a by far more spacious ballroom. Empty amphitheater seats loom overhead, tied into the walls for onlookers to watch the ball unravel. Once again I glance at these to notice black material hangs over the edge. A head moves as people fill the seats. A nobleman with a black cape and familiar blue eyes takes their seat next to men and woman of high status. I walk into the mop to hide myself, while watching him. He laughs and chats with them as if he’s known them all his life.


      Unable to watch where I’m going, I trip. The harsh, solid ground hits my knee as if I’ve met a tornado. I wince at the pain as I strain myself to stand. A firm, but careful hand grabs mine. I look up into green eyes shaded by recognizable glasses. “My dear, you are very clumsy.” He smiles at me as I pat my dress back into place. “I see we’ve met again.” My response comes weakly as the sore from my knee makes me flinch. “I don’t think you’ve told me your name.” I inquire. “You have not requested my name, so I haven’t told it. However, if you do me the honor of a dance, my secret may be leaked.”  He bowed and offered me his arm, as I timidly accept it.

     A new song disrupts the last, as new pairs take the stage. He walks me onto the floor, and diligently starts to dance. I watch my feet, not wanting to mistake my pace. “Lift your chin, my dear. You don’t seem to but much of a church-bell.” I looked up at him puzzled. “Church-bell?” As he tried to conceal a grin, his glasses couldn’t suppress the laughter in his eyes. “Your rather quiet. And most likely not from around London, are you?” I looked to the ground once more. Should I tell him or not? Will it start problems, or will I be okay? “It’s fine, I shall not expect you to answer a question you wish not to.” I looked up at him, solemnly. “I promised to introduce myself, correct?” I nodded, as the music that echoed around us faded into the next song.

      His movements were so fluid; he was a wave at the end of the day, flowing into the sunset. “Miss, I am known by most as William Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He procured my sweaty palm into his, tenderly swiping his mouth to my fingers. I let my hand be brought back into the dance as I searched for words to speak. Once the dance ended a few moments later, I curtsey and murmur, “It’s nice to meet you. I am Lydia Olsen.” At my gesture he bows, and requests once more, “Am I trustworthy enough to understand why you are in a mysterious place you don’t understand?” My answer had been decided and started to splatter from my mouth. “Y…”









     The next sound bounces along the room, it’s symphony starting. My words mix into the noise. In my vision of the seats above, snowy dots shoot arrows in my direction. Blue eyes gaze down at me, their iciness piercing me as icicles prickle my skin. I exchange a glance with William, nod and answer, “You are. I’ll explain.” My discomfort is surely recognizable. I often peek over my shoulder above as we dance. The shadow with a glare starts his voyage through the seats to reach the stairs that pillar into the wall. He descends from the tower, only adding to my panic. My hand seizes Williams, as I give him an apologetic smile. We hurry from the room, stumbling over each other’s feet. His graceful prance, now a faltering wreak.

     Once we are outside the ballroom, I turn towards him. “I trust you, so please understand, I live In the USA in 2014. Not London, not Even in the 1800’s.” His expression is masked, but I’m sure that I’ve confused him. “I went back into time, from the future.” The simple words struck a chord with him, his glasses tilted off his nose as he listens intently. “The future? How?” even I don’t know how to answer such questions. “I’m not sure. I was in the attic with a mirror, than … ****! I’m here.” Confusion once again wonders onto his face. “I went into a storage room with old things, and found a mirror, touched a gem, now I was here.”

     “I see, but why did we run away from the celebration? I was looking forward to another dance with you.” His casual smile does nothing to conceal unasked questions. I’m not sure how to answer them ei

I provoke the rain of Hell
From Heaven high to earth below
There we'll float on gainful spells
We're ready for this world to go
And off to outer space, we're facing
Endless races to the furthest reaches of our teacher, the speaker, the logos of Cosmos
And beyond to distant Quasars,
No phasers, no lasers, weaponry
We're safe with hearts of purity
And naked with our souls we'll seek
The greatest cosmic mysteries

I've always sought and thought unreal
The spacecraft not of stone or steel but
Opened hearts and focused spirits
Woke by times both strange and fearful
Changing basic notions of
What we all say are mind and love

We're through with consumers, they've doomed us
We've moved on
The proof is the truth that all life will soon be gone
We've built and built, killed billions and still
We march toward gold archways which never were real

I can tell others feel it,
They're real and they heal me
Relations, creations, spontaneous meaning
It's all building up to a climactic moment
Of high expectation that we will all blow it
But we were born just so we'd know when the opening
Ceremonies go on for the New Age of Hope

It's outrageous to think of the hate which created this
Darkness and chaos,
(Our God has betrayed us!)
But that's why our savior said
Look the other way,
To meet hate with more hatred
Speeds up the decay

We love the villains, though they **** us by millions
Because they're truly a part of this cosmic cotillion
They can't see the dance while they're
Crashing and sinning
So they can't imagine they're actually IN IT
There's a part and they fit it,
Catalyst for the equipment
Of Salvation:
The nations of women and men
Beginning again
We'll cancel the debt and we'll all become friends

Spheres floating in the chilly dark,
white and fluffy,
vain and uncorrupted.
They act as the air
being both here and never
there;
they act as the heavens,
little shining points floating
in a sea of black.
Islands so pure
floating in a nightmare sea--
how I abhorr their isolation,
their pure and careless
floating
though I, too, am alone.
Adrift in a sea of
introspective mutterings and
the utterings of a mind entrapped,
I sail the dark and simpering seas
of the Universe.
My vessel is a snowflake,
a crystalline craft carrying me
through the synapses and
nervous connections
of the thinking brain.
How infinite is the mind,
how wondrous is the world,
an immensity unto itself and
yet so tiny and contained.
I have never seen the ruins of China,
the fallen columns of the Romans nor
the ancient halls of the Al-Hambra.
I shall never see the samurai in bloom,
arranging flowers and painting
pictures of naked women
haunting their snowflake mind.
I shall never construct the
anonymous clockwork of Archimedes
but rather be trapped in the mechanisms
of the modern machine.
Adrift,
my confusion,
my blind anger and hatred of fate and
the gravity that pulls the snowflake ever closer to the ground
is pure vanity and self illusion.
Do the archways of Troy or
the mathematics of India
make us any larger in size
when compared to the Universe?
How can a snowflake
measure infinity?
What Universes exist
within the frozen ice of a snowflake,
what wars and great romances have played out
within the crystals;
what gods have been erected,
what nations have coalesced from the ashes
within the molecules and atoms
crafted by the cold
and the senseless flow of water?
The myriad explorers,
philosophers,
inventors,
geniuses lost to the ages
have mapped out the physical
while still being blind to the
finite world around them.
They sailed the Universe's
inky oceans of unknown,
their mind's sails billowing white,
puffy and hopeful
as they drifted off the edge of the known.
How they wriggled and rolled
so miraculously through the dark,
snowflakes floating carelessly
creating the world out of necessity
and pure ingenuity.
What white specters might exist
in the libraries of old,
in the halls of Alexandria or
the melting *** of Baghdad?
Do they wish to leave me a message,
the snow that saunters down,
to build a city in my mind
and a home in my soul.
What thoughts were caught
by the ancient genius
floating carelessly
like snow falling
in the anonymous black
of night?
Like islands they stood
for the men sailing the unknown waters
to rest and read and
contemplate
for just a few moments longer.
Swallowed by the darkness,
layered on the ground,
the knowledge is lost
among the infinitely white expanse
and the all-consuming darkness
of the night.
I am lost
like a snowflake falling too fast
I am buried beneath
layers of snow.

"Beauty just is."

I have an 80's wooden plaque with a picture of an ocean somewhere and waves crashing on the rocks, written on the sky in the photo is the quote, "Beauty just is."
I believe it.  So should you. Whoever you are.  
I could pick apart the picture. But I won't.
                                                          ­          Don't look for ugly.

The quote was given credit to anonymous.  Deservedly so.
Anyone anywhere at anytime can recognize beauty.
This is not a duty, choose to be dutiful in all things beautiful.

There is lacquer over the picture to protect it. The lacquer makes it shine.
I find that part ironic, protecting the beauty from spills, unkind graffiti,
from any ugly thing that might happen to it.

That might mar the beauty.

It is not an easily recognizable coastline,
not a celebrity coastline
or a model coastline
or a physically outstanding coastline,
no archways of rocks
or large rocks
that have stood the test of time and erosion and wind and well, pollution.

"Beauty just is" so accept your beauty.  

I am not talking to your cat or my dog, the aquarium or the stable full of horses, all those animals do not measure life in terms of beauty, only we, humans do.  Animals do not judge anything on the basis of beauty, smell maybe, not necessarily good smells but strong smells, even odours.

Only we humans; also decry, put down,
use the word ugly
and write each other
off,
for not being beautiful.

But "beauty just is", beauty just is. Period.

If you are talking about a piece d'art and
you are going to shell out cash, from your stash,
make sure you buy something significantly important to you and beautiful.

As for another human being...

You have not the right or responsibility to say that someone is not beautiful.
I do not think there is
one person with the wisdom,
alive to recognize what makes
each of us beautiful.

Beauty just is, no parts, no assembly required, accept it, accept one another.

I know there are those that already get it.
I don't want them to read this and sweat it.

They don't need to. I want the bully to read this, out loud.
Beauty JUST IS. You might not get it, yet.
Keep rolling it thru your mind, a beautiful surprise awaits you.
Meditate on it.
Meditate on not the author of the quote, he is anonymous, but the Creator of beauty is not.
Be surprised, as this revelation once understood, will change your perspective on life,  after all you're beautiful too.

Originally done by © DWE 2011-5-11

The great Green Mountains,
up where the tallest evergreens grow,
stretching,
upward an outward,
toward the heavens,
a perimeter of boundaries,
where white iridescent angels,
can drift,

Touching the clouds,
in winds of change coming,
gathered together sheltering storms,
alongside barren maples
and birches,
with shriveled others aging,
gracefully,
bowing down to winter's bone,
and ready for Spring's solstice.

When,
in surging solar winds,
upward of,
a million miles an hour,
40 hours after leaving their sun,
raining in an big bright ariel shower,
emphasizing their greatness,
in an eerie tranquility,
behind a diffused hazy luster,
a distant soft moon light,
in a beautiful Glory Shining.

Silvery satin ribbons,
and celadon green bends,
as colors wait pensive to create
in messages it then sends,
a heavenly landscape,
for their part in the prism ballet,
these arial acrobats,
yearn to touch tips on sturdy cutouts,
of tall old aging trees,

Dancing into ever-changing,
multifaceted soft,
an inspiring hues,
an shifting in the breeze
they move above,
in a mystical rhythm,
a dark and mysterious,
black smoke rises
in between rays,
in the opaque darkest hour,
for the creation of,
a spiritual backdrop,
mysterious feeling power
in the magnificent,
Magnetic Midnight.

The darker the sky,
the brighter the light,
for an otherworldly setting,
as colors merge and ignite
while they mix the palate again,
I am lost in silent reverie,
for the forces that dance there in that blackness,

Awe-inspiring,
breathtakingly beautiful,
alien,
frightening,
imparting comforting wisdom,
it is everything an so exciting,
and healing to your soul,
like a hauntingly familiar sound,
of
music to your ears.

moving like in an immensely,
active native conga,
while flitting eiree,
ghosts of glaciers perform,
when fueled folklore beckon,
swirling magic colors
in a perfect moving storm
these beauties from frozen skies,
spraying snow & tossing sparks,
as their created stars,
saturate the deep,
as their tears are shed,
in big butterfly kisses,

playfully floating,
in lovely little fine wisps,
of cirrus smudges of pure refractions,
bending in rarified veils of light,
into a seamless,
shimmering skyscape.

A hiding crystal clear,
deep Alice blue sky,
now fading,
as colors are now blending,
from azure into darkest denim,
then turning periwinkle,
stretching out,
into auroral archways,
dusted in a tangerine glow
in transitioning brushstrokes,
gently cover impressionistic sketches,
evolving into luminism,
on an endless open canvas.

As I paint the words,
where I sit there quietly,
respectfully awaiting answers,
as clouds and moonlight smear,
into watercolor scenery,
using up each angel tear
an intimate engagement occurs,
the passion of nature,
is sublime,
just perfectly,
these synchronized sky swimmers ,
becoming one

As a stormy sun is forcing,
red light dancers,
holding torches,
colliding and becoming excited,
edging themselves,
these powerful ominous portents,
becoming the framework.

Around a fantastic fluorescent show,
the cast wearing blushing pink,
and wild viola purples,
tinged in chartreuse green,
basking in beauty,
where hope lies,
in these colors I've never ever seen, since,
transcending skies of tomorrow,
into an age old masterpiece,
waiting patiently for this,
spiritual journey,
to begin,
with an eager & beautiful,
dawn coming.

Where the North winds,
send a brilliant light show,
of atomic wonders,
in watery pirouettes,
of shaped effects,
& teardrops sacrificed,
swirl in spirits of harmony,
completely memorizing,
I am transfixed,
an astonishing feat,
of brilliant pigments,
smudged into,
the mysterious lightness,
my drifters heart wanders,
melded into atmospheric colors,
we can only wish to see in this lifetime.

Where life seeds now
glide,
on the giving winds,
and Eagles and hawks can,
applaud this much beauty way up there.

This place,
a heavenly firmament,
where all the sacred souls come to die,
  where all the very, very, wise end up,
where they all spend their eternal lives,
young and old alike,
eventually they all retire here,
bringing us hope or warnings,
a chance at redemption,
striking hot iron in a glow,
metallic bits,
stars form,
restless,

Sighing, awaiting,
  a gifted chance to share with us,
along with all the parished,
souls and spirits,
playfully transforming,
from native garb,
mocassin covered feet,
change into favorite animals,
stomping on the colorful floor,
a great bear,
a wolf,
a beluga whale,
a soaring raptor,
not wanting for anything,
walking in Native American circles,
to the sounds of long silent drums,
morphing & shape shifting,

Again,
and again,
and again,
where rain shadows dance,
in ancient skies,
celestial bodies are illuminated,
reflecting the fire circles,
from where distant oceans shore,
take me there...ancestors
take me there once more,

As night slowly declines,
as daylight seeps through cracks,
bleeding into tomorrow,
to fly again to share what they must,
they pray and worship their God,
and they trust..

And Aurora Borealis is her name.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

it was raining outside
i tasted cherry in each kiss
ate you up like candyfloss and
you disappeared just as quick.
tasted lightening as it jolted
from your skin, blinded me
with what i thought was love,
disguised thunderstorms as
butterflies in my stomach;
i was not prepared for this
downpour.
tasted cinnamon as our story
blossomed and you kissed me
under archways, told me it was
romantic and you had never
been here before, never felt
this way before, never connected
with someone's electricity so
spectacularly it created firework
displays you can see from
galaxies away.
tasted your poison disguised
as promises dripping in the
richest honey, tasted the tip of
your fingers as they infected my
skin, left me with a constant
internal itch.
tasted the roots of the trees of
your mind and buried myself
beneath them. i wear my
gravestone as a badge of honour
because i died when you left
but i got to love you once.
i am a ghost circling the same
graveyard looking for archways
to fall asleep in, chasing the scent
of cherry like it is holding a
loaded gun and i am running
towards it with my arms wide
open begging it to **** me again.
i die over and over everyday
because there are reminders of
you everywhere and i am but a
ghost and i hope you think of me,
when your door creaks for no
reason in the middle of the night,
when you feel eyes on you and
your palms begin to sweat and
suddenly your room is deathly cold.
i hope you remember me.

The colour of fir seeps over the water
A bright spritely white tail dashes past
Home to it’s tea.
Mirror glass ripples as
It’s mist gently rises in the dusk
To form the dew that soaks the grass at sunrise.
Brilliant arcs swell behind
Coots tending the nest.
Blackness has nearly set upon the lake
A ghostly orange tinge on the
Horizon signals the dying of the day
Cold fingers and brisk steps.
Willows make rainbow archways
From bank to water
Lime green fronds dragging the current.
The platter of water drenched moss and spatter on stone,
Blossom trees fit to burst
Dozing in purple twilight

A metallic flash of crushing energy and voracious sound exploded through the facade of the Union Station. The sleek classical columns and Constantinian Archways crumbled into a zephyr of advancing smoke and billows of dust. It was like watching the collapse of Sampson after a haircut at Delilah's.

A flash of light
and thunderous sound
knocked all the people
to the ground

chunks and bits
of concrete flew
the Union Station
in a whiff just blew

apart into pieces
dust and jagged glass
nothing withstood
the tumult of the blast

scattered and broken
in desolation lives ended
innocents slaughtered
dreams suspended

what vexed and angry force
could light this terrible torch?
crumbling arches tearing keystones
this iconoclastic scorch

a sickness you say
of body, mind and spirit
too aggrieved and resentful
derangement gets the credit

ghostly shadow's gather
specters of force and might
pervasive threats devastate
some will not return home this night

happenstance of time
fickleness of fate
strange coincidentals
all pass through this gate

Who set this fuse?
who lit the torch?
that blew apart
our country's heart

a mind of ugly sickness
and a soul full of pain
a heart bent on malice
the definition of insane

does the culprit stand in glee
at the carnage of this act
does that type feel anything
for this murderous attack?

What profit them
from the agony of terror
holding our imagination hostage
only compensates the bearer

Before this dreadful perversity
all sat well in the land of plenty
freedoms serenity guaranteed
citizens crowned with sanctioned liberty

but the evil doers hate us
for our beliefs and what we have
this heinous deed of mayhem
alone shall make them glad

whoever lit this fuse
and lobbed this bomb
rest assured ****** terrorists
we'll place you in your tomb

The sirens blared throughout the plaza of the station littered with debris.

"*******. *******."

"What happened?"

"Whaaa"

Sirens blared.

Cries lifted up to the Lord. Moans and groans of incomprehensible injury were uttered.

"Where is she?"

"Donna!!"

A young cop came running from across the street. Unable to comprehend what he was witnessing looked on with shock and awe overwhelmed at the extent of the damage. He stood astride a dust covered cabbage patch doll. He kicked it aside.

"Jesus Christ." he gulped.

"What happened.?"

Boom Boom!!!!!!!!!!!

Indeed, what happened?

John Lee ******
Boom, Boom

Washington DC
8/2/09
jbm

I wanted to write about the 1st of May
Pagan dancers and girl queens dressed as Fey
With green budding leaves in a delicate crochet
Adorning their hairline in a graceful spray
Crocus and bluebells weaved into archways
They twist their ribbons in a beautiful bouquet
In ancient ritual they move and sway
Respecting the Spring Gods their blessings to pay  
I wanted to write about the 1st of May ......
But what I should be writing is a fu*king essay...!!

(C) Pixievic

i didn’t come here to smell like roses.
the stain in my shirt; blue paint crystalized in cotton
and greased in sawdusty sweat,
goes unwashed as waterfowl feathers-
an oil skin to shed the lake.

i didn’t come here to build an empire.
the lumber walls and archways go unbowed on the stage
measured to the bone of fingers,  polished by blades
made to be perfect and immortal for a day,
then razed and unchained
and quicker than a sandcastle-
laid back into the bay.

i didn’t come here learn a trade
every skill is the same; do as instructed,
think for yourself, know when to push the bit into biting the wood
and when to put your drill back on to the shelf,
when to re-cut what doesn’t feel right
and when to trust the math
over your own sight.

i didn’t come here for the photograph
or your theater arts career path
or to sing through the saw screams
even though i do

i came here, where we know
the characters are in costume
the creations will be forgotten
where the applause wont reach my ego
and feed the ghost of self
that wants to captain without crew

i came here to work, where only work is true.

one day
always dries the tongue
always tense
future tense
i’m twenty three
i’ve set out to find myself
at least four times
from here
                                                  you can’t see what’s up there
                                  though its walls are made of windows
                                         i was up there once, and looked down

i asked why misunderstanding perception
and learned most of them looked out for the cityscape the lights sometimes.


s was a dancer
stretches and
taps to silent rhythms
knotted in her throat        in thought
sometimes at night
under lover’s sheets
they could flow from her lips
sweet hyperboles
and desperate understatements
and her shoulders would release
too soon
she was dead asleep
      
                                         t   the perfect audience
he was multilingual
even with small phrases and s thought::
please please think bigger
than you and me

t::
i want
shelves full
(with all of your words)
and we’ll cover the living
      walls
with framed cyprus and stone
it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok
today we are twenty three
i can feel your breath on my face
i am not domestic
every place but home
inspires me
a time someday for us
they’ve flourished
snatched in november like everything
gone
tell me
the glory days
are not
over
flow


is it possible
to be blown by what i thought
could never happen     could never have
never be
and
remorse for decaying dreams
                                                          ­                  a bibliothèque   a bibliothek
                                                      ­           its towers pierce through foliage
                                                         ­                               the center caved in
                                                              ­  only the letters b  i  b  l  o remain
                                                          ­   above the threshold    and some
                                                            ­               pages grip tight to the walls
                                                          ­                  insects inhibit the rest

    

  we stretch softer legs like fossilized rock
and feel shame in the pride once taken
in one day   i will give up everything
dance on tuesday nights      worship the sanctity of table talk     early mornings envisioning the thousands of events this corner no doubt witnessed  trek øyangen and for the first time fall so in love with snow and tomorrow feel that same ecstasy for the aegean ultraviolet a



of course there is not   that would be too **** logical


we fill to the brim spill into the other
the first time::
walking conciliation there were at least 8 others  the nervous ha ha release of the shoulders a timid forte   something castle passageway and cruel majesty if i did..no memory of any other exists submerged in the cascade i could tell
                          what was happening it was your turn finally
                  adventure bestowed
                           when i shouted
                                                    ­      italian for
...i know what you mean


other times
it’s boiling      steam clenching the small throat of the
archways screaming
like the baby in the room
hardly air still
dare not breathe
at burned hands only
wanting to
help me   


    october times:
                                                      i wander off the page
                                                            ­      its warm here
                                                     homesick rising   not
                                        for a house or manmade landscape
                                                       ­       i sunk my teeth
                                                       into a chance to hold
                                                        a beloved memory
                                                          ­were you pouring
                                                                ­ into me or i
                                                                ­                 you




—suddenly
location was
absent
only caffeinated confusion
words were never difficult now used all wrong
forte timida
you casually drank your pour over
as i searched for a changed thing

s to t:: how is it that we love so many and need so much more and still have room for each other?


                                   t::            i’ve built you a sanctuary
west coast luxury
east coast 1920
where surrounding trees are ablaze
you will not burn
in a city whose lights have no power over stars
i’ve wrought an iron balcony
for kissing
overlooking
a cobbled courtyard
for mornings
music
go there in the meantime
when you can’t remember
i’ll visit when you want me





my thighs
carry everything
ice cracks cold sweat   ears ringing rejection   history    home moving   not moving defense precision par excellence capablebutyoucutmylegsfromunderme
flying contraption­
leaving that behind
fast evanesce
a pounding like cutting
but breathing
normally

s to t:: only you let me
bleed



the hard-
covers
come
falling
a fantastic mess
the balcony
magnifique on fire

I stitch myself into your solar plexus,
red stringed within the
overlapping archways and
runaway buttresses of the body.
It runs white and gray
along the plain of the corporeal,
spires and towers reaching out to form
the webbing of white.
Wandering through the ruins
of the body collapsed,
could you hold me down and
could I make it last?
As a speck I pass
beneath the gates
of aggressive,
bony spears--
fangs ready for the ****.
The teeth frame the horror
that hearts often belie,
the nervous flutterings and out of chest poundings
that grab the floor out from under you and
plummet you into a beatless abyss.
The heart is a special kind of stomach,
a power plant ready for digestion
of rolled eyes and recycled emotions
to power the city of the body
and the spires of the soul.
If we carved into that untouched ivory,
that still-hidden treasure
that cowers beneath the flesh
would it be as satisfying
to sew myself to you
and create one of two?
A frosted, glassy figure
encased in a glassy shell,
suspended in its prison,
its home,
its island and
its Hell.
Are they questions only when
pronounced without the period?
Its the subtlety of language
that always tricks me up.
It always starts with
hurried statements and
broken glances
but ends up being
up to chances.
How well do we stack up
when there were never any odds to pile?

Partied by a daylight not worth receiving
The lighted archways of judgment
Beam down on your skeletal appearance
Urging a break away from some monumental collapse

A ragged dolls face
Stitched on the body of a human waste receptacle
Your bruises and burn scares
The missteps of your creation

Out of the depths of blackened fornication
Moonlight tones of a memory
An insemination that never happened
Carnal desires blunted at hello

Stitched at the seams
I know those are just beads in your eyes
Blankness recedes from the shore lines
Unveiling to yourself the residue of our indiscretions together

Briefly awarded the rank of general
Now collapsed into what we would not refer to as a person of distinction
Not a person of substance or quality
How would this concoction respond?

This ball of human anti-matter
This forgiven body of curses and regret shoveled
Slowly into some one else’s normal circumstance
Faced with complacency of this evil renunciation

To live another’s life
Pure banality
Pure monotony
Maybe I was bread for this

i. once upon a time, there were old gods and new gods. under crumbling archways the divine and the cursed share cigarettes, lighters cupped in their hands. rain pours relentlessly from the heavens, falling to the uneven cobblestone in a sheen of silver spears and smoke. this time, nothing but prayers are shed.

ii. this is their communion: an errant hand brushes against the marbled form of Hades, rowboats rock harmlessly to the temple of Asclepius, feet shuffle across the white line and into the holy land. it is in these moments that solitude begets peace.

iii. angels tuck in their tired wings, roosting on bridges and cathedrals and alleyway corners spun with ivy. amongst themselves they count the crowds that take shelter in their shadows. every day, the numbers swell until even the loneliest of the celestial feel a warmth in their gilded chests.

iv. these same seneschals pour life through golden urns, as they had done eons before the she-wolf who nursed the founders of Roma was ever born. water flows steadily from all four rivers and through the eagle-face spics that dot the roads, blessed by frail, rosary-stained hands. even the Tiber, full of harsh currents and deep embankments, softens under the touch of a child at a fountain. life flourishes. the gods smile.

v. once upon a time, i met these cursed and divine and celestial beings. all lived together in a city as old as time itself, in a city born from clay, then wrought with brick, and finished in marble. and in this place of impossibilities, i found my heart.
.
.

i found my home

from the pens of beaks--

overblown to the flock

of a black bird.

come premature spring

shoots ******* on tufts

of wet snow.

sempiternal archways

reifying sound.

a whole body moving--

before it stops and looks

back beneath different

weather.

a banding host, purely

cut off from the

visitation of wind.

I built over time a mansion house
stairs anchored the inside that twisted up past
archways I knew he would walk underneath
but the perfect height for you to stroll beside me

I ignored the roar of creaking doors
bay windows that spilled sunlight on wooden floors
the footsteps that fell on them were never the same
because you weren't there, they whispered your name

I tried so hard but all that it takes
is something so cinematic you say
so explosive with that effortless smile
a look from you enough to splinter these tiles

I stand still as the sound crescendos
and ricochets off all the windows
they never held in their shiny surface
the moment we caught  that reflection of us

I come too  close to those deep blues
watch as the tidal wave rises like two
hundred horsemen storming the castle
these walls I built don't stand a chance in a battle

cos he doesn't know that I laid down
those foundations to somehow crush right on out
this longing I have, this song in my head
that some day you might just love me back instead

To me you were
An imperfect body
essence undefined
chameleon like
When sticks were caught ever so gently
You blossomed for me

Complete and whole
Forever unchanging
a timeless natural growth
Partially mine
Not quite what I needed
But exactly what I wanted

You are to me
More than a thousand words
Many separate pieces
Fluctuating
Unavailable
All I lack

The center repaired
To one home
Snow or gloom
In your palm
Taken left under your mind
After I keep my pants the same

To me you will never be
a dangerous reality
To flaunt and laugh at
Whisper in
Repair archways and caress diamonds
After I lay lower

Sinking to whole creations
Coated in water
I crawl towards you
Parched
Unable to listen to the home
Coming to you to receive

I gift to you
You are everything

Thundering and you're
still wondering
if it's going to rain?
what's wrong with you?
this is Summer
British style.

So
we paint that smile on
umbrella up and it's
back to the beach.

teach an old dog new tricks
but
he'll still die
and you.
might as well enjoy the view
of the wind farm.

TV personas
did me in
Fled my home
no shame to it

Confusion now
darkness now
Light displaced
stained mirror travesty
No images reflected
why can't I see my face?

Wander to a place not so sane
hoping to collect my thoughts
They went nomadic you see
can't say I blame them
No animosity in my harbor
no spite for the stoking

I arrive
somewhere faded
Somewhere incoherent
concrete flood gates
Mud waters for pooling
no cleanliness here
Dirt crusted and **** crops

Homeless sings songs to his reflection
pocket mirror extended
Strange vibes under a bridge
sings sighs to me
When I ask for the privilege

Submerged shopping cart
flipped and rusted
Stagnant breezes
why does one wheel still turn?

Ghosts floats past
faces framed and familiar
Turns to me and mouths

"Moonless motion makes room for madness"

My flight was real
urgency now
My inhibitions laugh
Echoed off shadowed archways
never looked back
I'm still running

All this trouble

Because I could not comprehend a world's corrupt catharsis

The flames in her lonely eyes
ignite flowers in her wake;
bright blooms twist in a wreath
to crown a queen, though
she’d rather her footsteps be
encircled with love;

Her footprints fill with pearl water,
pinky finger hooked with mine;
I can feel the love she doesn’t know
she has flow through her veins
and from her smile into my sighs;

I miss walking beside her,
fiery water licking our toes;
but she’s become so afraid
she can’t trust in me
or her compass to guide us home;

We follow lanterns hung from treetops
make a path where we’ve not gone
with pixie dust trails
and fairy garden archways
and the second star to the right;

Straight on ‘till dawn.

Unrealities       can
                  now        be                         held true
Because every
               bodyevery
                            day is stuck in one
When one reality is projection screened
Shining straight into the eyes
It's blinding, luciferic
                      Floating up and away
Into void
   Where safety and utter loneliness are assured
While even as we
                    close our eyes
                              disproving boogiemen
They clamber around making changes and destroying lives along with you
    Your unseeing feet
        Crushing the innocents
            Beneath a comforting rug
                 That spares our soles
                     The pain of walking on shattered bone

Following the points of lines firing from the pupils of whiches and witches
Enrichéd and stiffened to stone
Has dragged me down to the bog and I stink like a dog and I live a dog's life too
Circling myself and waiting for the invisible a'ni himu to happen to me without a statement

I don't know Being
I don't know it in itself of itself
Some told me it spoke with the voice of a child, some destroyed them-
Selves dressing up flowers and archways in those orders
And cornering us ants at the intersection which creep crawls
Crazily down from its
Geographic space and happens to face the way yr sitting
Eating meat or drinking tea
And bam he flips and crushes you
And what do you do
How can it be
When do you know it was your destiny?
bursting open your skull on the sharpest brick beside the softest memory
Of a 42nd birthday of the end of a dream

Death is my decision
Not theirs

They act oblivious to what I scream
Each words spun in reverse to the next morning

Silence
It slithers down halls
Devouring my mind
Slowly consumes
Rage insues
Chanting the same words
Barely breaching the skin
Each voice a hum
Rotted of sin

Take my life
Do not give it back
Signal the archways
Mask the stone crack

Hopefully hopeless
Nothing will last
Each word a distant
Each promise resistant
As mourning rises
The sun sweeps a day
Returning to rain
Wash the blood away

She’s each soul of those
who slip on dark rooftops at night
Every brick of every tenement
wearing her bullet wounds like rings
on her slender pale fingers.
She has long blonde hair
golden grain alike
Always dyed dark, hidden under thy hood.
That’s how she goes
unnoticed
forever bruised
*****, beaten and hurt.
She lurks in stone archways
weeping, screaming into the night
She hasn’t slept in ages
yet she feels so restful
facing cool dank pavement.
She would kiss every sculpture in Saxon Garden
Paskuda – she calls one of them, signed so proundly – Historia
She would try to drown herself
in cold waters of her beloved river
Which saved her so many times before
that it wouldn’t even be capable
of doing anything but loving her
and her beautiful blue eyes
and the way she chokes on her memories
every single night
walking down old stone stairs
of her forsaken streets.
Non sum quails eram
says her ****** tattoo
inked with blood of her dear children
and cherished lovers.
And every other day she’d try to destroy herself
she’d rot
she’d burn
she’d cry
Because she’s reckless
yet so sophisticated
So beautiful
and so wasted.