Cheetah clothing.
very risky.
bold, without being
a bit rancid.

character building,
with all the feral attributes
of athleticism.

I see it in your eyes,
unlike brainwashing which
was replaced by
globalization and
creepy frat bonfires.


There was a time I'd have
judged your new wife's
dress code. might have
called emergency services.

be happy that
I'm eating coconut mung
bean mochi by myself and
looking at your selfies online.

Full.

Written by Sara Fielder © Apr 2017

The leaves are a
rustling surf of trees
as we wait for the
fireflies to ignite.
I am electrocuted by
the muted rush to live.

In the mud gourd corner
tawny frogs are hungry
for their father beneath
these jasmine clouds whose
scent is on the ironwork.
Words embezzle each another.

The dark comes in
for landing right behind
us. The moon witnesses
our truce in a moment
of silence. We address
her charity with
silvery gestures.

Sara Fielder © June 2018

Vicious disco lightning
razor flashes slash
crescendo matching mood.
My medusa hair the
tops of tree tentacles
squirming.
I become machine gun
martini rain rapid burst
pelleting internal.
Anger won't wash
off patio insult.
Sweeping finality is
a storm migrating
with its mouth shut
against caring.

Sara Fielder © June 2018

Two asphalt patched lanes through
the plains bounce our transportation
like bunnies toward the lay of some lake
we wanna survey for fishin'~ just two
tumbleweeds reclaiming time, so we are
flying down the road and barely blink
at the rust bucket gas pump pit-stop  
hole in the road with 45 acre
land lots for sale on all sides as we
drive as dry as deadwood past
one car every 30 pastures
We left the 3 bladed Mercedes wind
generators Ginsu-ing wind
into sashimi current and a random
"Fireplace Restoration Specialist"
sign forgotten as fennel-****  
never knowing what might be over
the grain bin hill-crests next but, all in all
it was a spectacular day of espionage

Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2016

At the drip droppy sloppy
Good lake of luck naughty
Nice chaps on their rafts are all cooked
Sporting SPF 30 with minds flirty *****
And bag lunches girls want to hook
It's the coconut crowd
Faking more than their *****
On a ***** cruising through water jade
Keeping truth from the ****
That they try to elude
Through a few beers of tan middle age

Written by Sara Fielder © July 2014

Rivulets of rain run off the
windshield wetting the tires
of my mandatory migraine
on a slick road to Memphis
The hours of tarred time warped
travel my graveyard heart has driven
a pilgrimage to rake away
a few years' worth of leaves
fallen on your ransomed resting place
where we've abandoned
you in solitude under the
cemetery sycamores with all
your carpenter memories
solemnly swearing to think
of you more often

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2015

Oh how he loves Hannah
It surely does show
From the top of her head
To her tee-niney toes

She'll sit on his lap
And won't she be glad
When he asks who she loves
She can say, "You Grandad!"

Then Hannah leans over
And gives me a kiss
But makes sure it's something
That Grandad won't miss

It's part of the game
To taunt and to tease him
But deep in her heart
she knows it to please him

Then Grandad looks wounded
"Don't waste kisses!" he'll shout
"Save 'em all up for me!"
Then he puffs up and pouts

So she giggles and gives him
A sweet sideways glance
Revealing the love
That makes his heart dance

And we round the table
Can just watch with wonder
'Cause their love is stronger
Than lightning or thunder

Written by Sara Fielder © 1996

Illumine me Mayan moon
As your sisters the sparkly stars
Fall like flares in the sky afar
While I lay on the beach in Tulum

I bathe in your milky glow
Soaking softly straight into my marrow
Entranced by the things I might borrow
From the light as your whiteness grows

Leather capes flitter over my head
The bats starving swarm from their tomb
Some seaweed and sand for a bed
I give you my heart thorns to prune

Then I puzzle a piece of your birth
In the Rubik's cube universe
With my will I can pull you to Earth
And our blanket of black is dispersed

Illumine me Mayan moon
Like Zirconia facets that twinkle
By allowing our essence to mingle
And then crumble me all into ruin

Written by Sara Fielder © Dec 2013

Describing our family requires a poem
For they fill me with feelings I never have known
Each moment I'm with them I'm given a gift
That touches my spirit and makes my heart lift
It's Goodness, and Patience, and Truth they inspire
The essence of Love, importantly dire
It's the rarest of families you ever will find
United as one for now and all time

The head of our household is someone so great
When I'm in his presence I've been known to shake
His quiet demeanor is just a disguise
A hint of the wisdom I know it belies
Whenever you prompt him he'll speak of his past
And lives every day as it were his last
Forever creating, his all and his best
Goes into his work in the shop or at desk
So kind and helpful to people in need
Faithful to God who planted the seed

The one that we look for when we need advice
The one who can help us with problems in life
A spiritual leader, a mother, a wife
Is wonderful Burbie, pure good, and all nice
A counselor of children by day at her work
At home in her duties she never will shirk
As hard as she works toward her goals and her dreams
It is nothing compared to her family creed
That the family's togetherness and all its withstood
Is the pathway for finding its most 'Highest Good'

Acquainted the longest, yet familiar the least
The oldest and furthest apart like some beast
A Spirit of Adventure he's traveled afar
(The same one that's put him behind the jail bars)
Is William the sailor who's clever as sin
Eternally searching for favorable winds
As gifted with wit as he is with his craft
(However, I'm certain he's totally daft)
Our ego and pride to us both is a curse
Still I can't help but love him for better or worse

Generous and giving in her kitchen she hovers
Wining and dining and doing for others
In her bounty of goodness there's never a limit
But the far reaching sky and everything in it
A healer that's caring and as smart as they come
That's sure of herself and won't be outdone
Appreciates nature and leisure and life
A diligent, dutiful, passionate wife
Pam is the model for all us to follow
Today in this moment, and every tomorrow

Fashion and glamour, not a hair out of place
And the make-up she wears on her Cover-Girl face
Is the exterior shell of the oyster that hides
The more shimmering, beautiful pearl that's inside
A heart of pure gold and silver and gem
Never failing to smile and ask how you've been
Whether out in the field or at home in her den
Val watches her children as an old mother hen
When her most favorite time of the year has arrived
To her end she will always keep Santa alive!

Service to others is her main endeavor
Not a favor for you she'll decline, no not ever
Outwardly willing and eager to please
She can handle most tasks with relative ease
With too much to do Amy rarely will sit
And lives all her years in one single minute
It's no wonder to me that there's hardly a feat
She can do with one hand whiles she asks 'When 'dwe eat? '
Not happy unless she can be at her best
Her life is but filled with meaning and zest

The day that you asked me to become your wife
Was the first day of many that have changed my whole life
For me there was no one until I found you
I could openly love with my heart and be true
Forward in life with our spirits entwined
We will travel the world where there's plenty to find
Loving each other with desire and need
Bonded by strength and the vows that we heed
Forever and always our love will endure
Like sunlight that's golden and water that's pure

Yes, it's the rarest of families you ever will find
United at one for now and all time...

Written by Sara Fielder © 1997

tonight she’s clipping her obstinate fingernails
healthy, hard and alone on her atoll of sofa
surrounded by a stony sea

automatically I look down; my deficient talons
at a loss and uncreative; thumbing the possibility
of courageously communicating with her complexity

******* the idea of getting close to her
beyond my standard compulsion to
use flattery, force a smile or be mutually inauthentic

leafing through the elementary school years
that predeceased her current level of intelligence
grappling with my empty handedness, and
finally locking us in on the folded faith of hopeful futures

Sara Fielder © Apr 2017

a stranger sat in dad's chair at the head of the table,
a young soldier wrapped in bandages that leaked body fluid,
a possessed spectral that stared at the stuffing and gravy
on the Thanksgiving plate like a foreign
object he'd lost familiarity with, me wondering,
if dad might be home for Christmas

he was about the same age as mother,
though most veterans I'd seen seemed older,
as if they'd lost the map to heaven
and needed someone to
come along and help them find it

white gauze wound around his head,
so that only holes for his mouth and
faraway eyes showed,
the feeding utensils as obscure
to him as the blue sky outside

and when the day began to run out,
the serviceman's mind engaged in a different war
more bazaar than eating,
he said nothing when mother picked up a spoon
and fed him the way I would my dolls


Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2014

Old dried up and calloused hands
Lined like a sycamores round tree rings
Now with a paintbrush delicate swings
As time runs out of the hourglass sand
Thinking of the metal worn oily tools
Quiet now in the sawmill shoppe
Where they worked and
chiseled and planed nonstop
Asleep in the wooden box on the stool
Claw hammer hands with a lead keel weight
Arthritis pain through the white Bayer pill
Lightness fades and the hard night late
Bereaved when the fingers are permanent still


Written by Sara Fielder © July 2013

Floating upon the crystal pond
She kept wearing her diamond crown
While the other white swan was gone

Never doubting their fierce loving bond
As the leaves went from reddish to brown
Floating upon the crystal pond

Her blue eyes searching far beyond
Couldn’t see that he’d recently drowned
While the other white swan was gone

So curling, becoming withdrawn
When ten suns in the sky settled down
Floating upon the crystal pond

She talked to the geese that were blond
And asked where he was with a frown
While the other white swan was gone

They cared not and didn’t respond
In the reeds was a kings golden crown
Floating upon the crystal pond
While the other white swan was gone

Written by Sara Fielder © Aug 2012

Far away far on the edge the sea
Are dripping forests wet with green
Leviathan minds swim wide asleep
And mermaids lock the sandcastle keep
While over it all the eye of the sun
Blends all the colors with coconut ***
Robin egg blue hues liquefy the sky
Splashed with streaks of tangerine dye
Hermit ***** wash their hair with sand
On land the toucans dance Can-Can
Chickadees twee in the cranberry tree
A hula girl's smile is permanent free
Far away far on the edge the sea
Are dripping forests wet with green

Written by Sara Fielder © Oct 2013

There is nowhere to stow my mental
and emotional machinery during the long
punctuated silent separations we bear--
Bound by some far flung forgotten
fantasy made with enthusiastic promise
Our hope spanned across the telescopic horizon
transporting our propositions to dreamscape reality
It all crumbles when your intent becomes sterilized
with programming and artificial attachments that
hold your heart prayer wheel prisoner
You begin to lower your standard
You begin to entertain Dark Age emptiness inside
your seven day diary devising a way to escape
while wandering from room to room

Written by Sara Fielder © June 2015

We hike Elk trail, just you and I
The sky a 1972 blue
Its ceiling stretches long and wide
Some cirrus sifted wisps there too

I keep my focus on the ground
As not to trip you up ahead
Loose granite making crunchy sounds
"More youth and stamina", I said

Then match my rhythm with your step
Remembering all my treks before
While you, a dream I hadn't met
Now fill them in with so much more

And when we reach the mountain top
An eagle keeps us company
Sun shadow times remaining clock
The signal that it's time to leave

I watch your lithesome limbs descend
And think in twenty years or more
You'll wish the daylight would not end
When with your daughter you explore

Written by Sara Fielder © Jan 2015

i.

i have concluded
a deers neck is gangly,
never folding inward
when bulldozed by
an automobile

ii.

unknowingly, she was as dead as lead

iii.

the baby, whose mule-ish ears
poked out of the unmowed median must have
been born just moments before
camouflaged like sticky litter
thrown out the drivers window


Sara Fielder © June 2019

My cell is a remote,
and we are older than Latin.
In dreams, the brown shirts
press their kisses hard
against your absence.
Vaguely, I remember
what the crotch wants.

There are spans as ****
and clean as housekeeping.
This room reminds me
of tree carvings.
I'm an inch away from
when I might poke brave.

I'd like to take red-light
risks while turning down
the thermostat to freezing.
A wrinkled artist with a
thumb on words.
My hair is shattered without
your fingers to connect.

In a look the hood
comes off greasy
smiles and all. I remember
being a condemned vehicle
living vagrant by a thick
university of corpses.
Unsolved, at the foot
of a stairwell.

Sara Fielder © June 2018

These flowered hours slither over my bare breast
and granite bottom lying me flat against
the washing machine waves
chopping my rhyme and riddle in half
with butterfly laughter alongside
the sage scented shoreline
This is my happy hippy hollow heart
where I can hear the wind without sin
and am not underfoot of your ethical authorization
This is the place where fear goes into hiding
and souls are turned into spheres of jade

Written by Sara Fielder © July 2015

Red barn pony-
graze the straw
growing on
lone star soil.
Life is a gallop
and a kick against
your neighbors' deadwood.
Your master has
a swayback metal roof
to climb you on,
and a hundert year old
ground to plow for
nuthin'. In between
your velvet ears
all the world is
contained in a pack
of coyote yips.

Sara Fielder © June 2018

Hello god forsaken wasteland
of post-apocalyptic twigs for trees
as thirsty as buffalo chips
Dry as the wind
Dry as straw
crunching under my boots

Copper topped mountains
sighing without stamina
I **** blue from the nitrogen horizon
marching with the Spring to be reborn
Born of germ to graze
Born of energy that saves

on trails decidedly leading
toward a corridor of resignation
and inconspicuous succession

Written by Sara Fielder © Mar 2017

Come and sit your white collar consumerism
and freeze dried favors next to my
blue lesbian coffee table toes
I need a rest from all those vertigo verbs
and Spiderman action adjectives
Those home run stadium songs
that signal my miracle
You can help me with my career materials
and teach me how to tap your labyrinth
of time and space tower
We can play like we are best friends
Peeking through the window of our
oh my god neighbors just for kicks
and practice what we thought we saw
If you’ll loan me some vowels I’ll
share my amoeba salad with you
We are both about as lost as
two ***** in tall grass without each other

Written by Sara Fielder © June 2015

The kayak glides along with the quiet leaves
that ride upon the cold Canadian undercurrent
and I am surrounded by a canvas of carotenoid color
stamped on the still river bank while my mind
focuses on the plastic bobber willing it to move

All I need is just a nibble, just one small nibble
to set the hook in its lip and I'll be fired wide awake
like a shot of espresso falling backward from the
seat of minds lazy slumber and the numbing
contentedness of Autumn as she casts her hibernating
spell on me and the fish which are surely in agreement,
pocketed down deep in siesta as cold as
water sogged logs since they aren't biting

But there is a part of me that won't resign to the likelihood
that this time of year most likely has them puckered
up with barometric bulimia so I keep fishing,
and waiting, and hoping that my rod tip will bend
and fit me into the landscape like I belong

Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2015

Speak to me thee wet
and lonesome lapping waves
Outrun evaporation of your grave
along this chiseled limestone shore
where you have passed
through distant bygone doors
Across the lake,
where terra cotta porticos
stand tall and dark eyed maidens
wait for men to call
with servant hearts,
and apron strings,
expecting all the good things life might bring
Explain to me the mystery of this place
The air is still; the sun upon my face,
weathering whiskered old men
leathered and tanned
who sell fresh fish from a wooden stand,
pausing to smell the cedars high on the hill
that long for a breath of winters chill
Oh, to be liquid just like you
and stare at it forever
through the eyes of a molecule

Written by Sara Fielder © July 2012

When I’m with your sweet iced tea and
lemon lounge room laughter,
your extended group gatherings
harboring honest harmony and
empowering personalities,
I begin to believe again that the truest
things in life are those that are intangible
I can almost feel my wallflower blooming into
your fully functional bouquet and want to
play like I am a part of this comforting
southern composition so please forgive
me if my wobbly heart seems
a little out of practice

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2015

I watch a wavering wind whisk through
Our crooked wooden gate
Sky's paper white, a weather coup
Shakes snow in sifted flakes

Strawberries buried shallow peek
Their crimson leaves ablaze
Plant sorcery in doublespeak
Contrasting with days gray

I hear the sacred six chimed song
The cold air orchestrates
To make my ears see feathered swan
Upon an ice glazed lake

I watch the hibernating trees
As naked to the bone
As hard cracked glaciers northern freeze
Can make one feel alone

I watch the feeders sway in time
With early morning's clock
Tuxedoed suits fly to this shrine
Seed shopping in small flocks

And in my house I feel unbound
From past life snowy qualms
And start to feel as free as they
Unsentimental calm


Written by Sara Fielder © Jan 2016

The rigid lust for certainty dooms
impetuous personage.

This is a paperweight life
except for all its dead sea remembering,

and a mouth inside my head saying,
"Just forget what it was like to go to dinner".


Sara Fielder © Dec 2018

A front is moving in and the sky looks
five times too large for North America
Its light filtered behind fluffy meringue like
Michelangelo cloud composition at first and then
funneled into a tube of foghorn winter wind that
grows darker than the Depression was
In my window screen daydream where
the weather unfolds I sense your cytoplasm
sharing this transformation with me
while all of our apocalyptic memories
silence in mutual loneliness

Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2015

And so, I leave your unbroken bones
for bug bites and bat **** to fill
my third world thirst~
It sticks to me like sugarcane
squeezed into a two day ordeal
and I've gotta purpose apart from
our ****** comfort zone at home
to destroy the razor edges of the bed,
foam platform and tweezed reflections
for bacteria in a street taco,
but I know you need insurance
to sign up with me before you'll
climb the ruin like a lizard to the top in
Español' except I'm already planning my
next magnificent escape as you holler
at my shorts to get outside of
the middle of the road like you own me

Written by Sara Fielder © July 2015

I don’t hold strong opinions anymore,
and am not passionate about much
in my old age, and no offense,
but I suppose that I don’t really care
what your adamant opinion is either since
circumstances rarely stay the same making
you to have to re-position yourself eventually.
Why bother to argue, pretending we are certain
of a thing that has a sort of invisible seismic
force swaying the ground under our feet?
So lets not waste each others time
in a conversation about something
you think you’re sure of, unless you are
capable of respecting what I don’t know.
If you'd like to know what I really
care about, it's that no one has come up
with a prophylactic that prevents these
little gnats from hovering over my
wine glass as I write this.

Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2012

In that moment of cemetery silence
when Cimarron sun sets down
her oven mitt-ed heat upon the
cracked stiffness of winter's defense
an eagle rests, intoxicated by
cyan sky and river's quaking

Written by Sara Fielder © Feb 2016

i.

i forgive myself regularly for
walking off the cliff of self doubt
and anthropomorphizing the scenery/
watch me fail with words to improve perfection

ii.

in geologic layers hues
are stacked like pancakes
where people plodded
this granite empire as
Australopithecines

busy restarting fires
making babies, and
Sherpa-ing objects of survival
on their spines too alive to
feel the vague pain of existence
with that backdrop


Sara Fielder © June 2019

Snow white powdered geisha moon
Peering in my dim bedroom
Casting shadows on the wall
Satin cloud sleeves quiet full
Of brooding mood and jealousness
Because the suns hues when they set
Outshine that pale paste face of yours
Instead of many palette hers

Written by Sara Fielder © Oct 2012

Who she was exists no more
Moved ahead and closed the door
But n'vr shall she forget those days
They haunt and linger, hardly stray

She was a lassie who from birth
Cherished the sea with joy and mirth
Treasuring it's beauty above all else
All of its water, sand and shells

Out of the channel she'd sail her rig
Her heartbeat dancing a little jig
The ocean her lover and she it's bride
She'd plow it's depths so blue and wide

At home on her ship she'd search for air
Driving it outward as hard as she dared
Her happiness growing with every mile
Never a sorrow, only a smile

But all good things will meet their end
Changes come and you must bend
For nothing is ever meant to last
You roll and play the die that's cast

So when you find a chapter ends
And melancholy your best friend
Don't think upon it as Goodbye
Till memories fade or you have died

Written By Sara Fielder © 1998

cedars sway their boughs
in evergreen agreement,
bowing up and down with
reverence to nature~
nodding in unison to
the weight of the wind


Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2016

Gin scented July junipers
The steely blue high sky
Beneath the ground I crumble on
White limestone calcified

The lake is lapping memories
In splashes that retrace
The tears I've shed for those now free
Who float above this place

My father's face a shadow shade
Receded by the sun
Been gone so long that I'm afraid
I'll forget where I'm from

My mother's less invisible
More tangible and clear
The hilly curvature I mull
Her smile, the atmosphere

The UV soaks through my old bones
A puff of wind on cheek
Like hugs and kisses, take me home
And play on stop, repeat

In figure eights and circles
My imagination bends
In winding mind play till I'm full
Of seeing them again

Written by Sara Fielder © July 2014

'Round the orange warm pit of fire
Phantom dancers enter in
Where the sparks were rising higher
Smudging face paint near our din

Beating loudly, harder, faster
They drift up inside the smoke
Smoke that's swirling in wind circles
Rhythmic funnels of split oak

In connected, spinning trance state
We could see them, could we not?
With their beaded braids a shaking
And the red glow fire hot

Through the cloud puffs
of our drum smoke
With the magic of our minds
We saw ghostly lupine beings
Come from feathered years behind

We were beating, harder, faster
With hypnotic drumstick hands
Frozen hands kept pa pa pumming
To invoke the spells of man

Healing sounds of pa pum drumbeats
Ice and fire wolf moon clan
They soft footed round our powwow
Took our spirits to their land

Written by Sara Fielder © Jan 2016

I stood over your rank bones today
The enameled name barely legible under
your lonely lichened stone~
Its mouth wide open with an
1855 death date so that I said it aloud
like a trap spring that could
raise you from the dead
Got down on my dandelion knees
pretending I could read your
foreign immigrant war claim and Indian fears~
your cholera lullabies and ****** years
the land took from you building your frontier
like a man immune to cold and wet
Pictured your plowing pains and hillbilly
beard generation swept up in the love you felt for
a woman wearing nothing but soap until I
showered you with my own tears
and wondered if you were prepared
when it was your turn to look up toward
the hole in the snuffbox sky

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2015

The heart is an untamed wilderness.

He asks me if I want a fire somewhere.

Could desire be like fury on the
wall of your broken glass?

Its thoroughbred beating is
not afraid to die.

Would you cry at my funeral?

There, the Waterford ashtray narrates.

Can you hear me cultivating pleasures
just the same as stained gables?

Men is what does the damage.
Scream.


Sara Fielder © Dec 2018

I wait upstairs in the hotel room
knowing he won't come~
to follow me would show a
sign of exasperated weakness~
emasculate the badge of pride
worn like epaulets upon
his war torn shoulders

I romance myself with Corona
on the king size bed and rehearse
to the surf how I might ever
get him to really like me,
knowing when he finally enters
I'll just sit with my face
turned in silent self depreciation,
so that this common division
can continue indefinitely

Written by Sara Fielder © Dec 2016

it's as nippy as a
Japanese gymnast outside
and I struggle to hide
my disappointment from
anyone watching

autumnal leaves levitate
on puffs of charcoal cold
and I know it won't be
long before the radioactive
compost of winters armor
tests my melatonin mind
with having to wear a
double pair of socks
during the approaching equinox

the front of it's frigid face
pressurizing the nerves and
blackmailing my someday ability
to hear those faraway vocals
of a narcissistic spring

Written by Sara Fielder © Oct 2016

A brown ocean of oats blows
upon this panorama of vast neutrality
where one can forget how to feel,
perception becomes a seed carried off
by the buffalo wind whose husk
has lost its tongue to senility,
and dries up under the thirsty sun

Written by Sara Fielder © Oct 2016

there’s nothing spectacular
about a secret
even though
the two people keeping one
think they’re special
but, more often than not,
secrets turn into lies
and the very same person you
thought you could trust turns on you

With that being said,
you’d have no way of knowing that
even now,
after all of this time,
I remember how it felt to be dusted off
without the sad goodbye
I'd expected
so that even now,
after all of this time,
I sometimes feel
like calling your wife.

Written by Sara Fielder © Mar 2016

Fear is like a stubborn spirit
convalescing with you in bed each night
It tastes like medicine on an old woman’s tongue
wearing gray haired regret who
goes underground to get away from
the responsibility of death's predicament
It is a scratched vinyl history of vices
A vagrant borrowing trouble
from the future of yoked embryos
A metastatic tumor of suffering
too sad to find a moment of solace under
the numbing effect of the sun

Written by Sara Fielder © Mar 2016

We circumambulate in clockwise rotations
far away from danger,
leagues beyond our sanctimonious ego
and separation sensations
orbiting the Buddha's recollections

A bell offers a Jasmine miracle,
and Tamarind scented atmosphere
of peace compresses our prayers

The golden relic smiles
like a star on the leading edge of
newborn thought, gravitating higher
than resurrected time,
unwavering, like an equatorial breath

Written by Sara Fielder © Jan 2016