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Tuesday, March 26, 2013


“Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.” J. Whittier

She Walks in Silence through the Street

She switched seats,
not lives,
not for a better view out the window,
but for her sanity—
Her sanity
came with the signing of a promise.
Her voice spoke a tender sadness, her lips parted,
heart sounds caught in her throat;
a forgotten half moan slipped through her vows,
She spoke quietly into the moonlit dark.
“Listen to me.” her words murmured a
raw baroque.
Beautifully painful,
extremely vulnerable,
lonely with a fullness—her words formed thoughts.
She continued to walk.
Some words can’t help but evoke softness.
Her words spoke softness,
a contralto of need,
a confession to a priest, a release from the want --
the white line defense--
the difference between secrets and lies.
She has reasons,
they are her reasons hidden in the shadows of her words;
her knotted prayer beads knock against her open chest.
The rumbling memory of voices,
the blending of flesh reminds her that
all evolves from an exploding dead star.
Heavy metal armor imploded to create you and I. 

Tuesday, March 19, 2013


"Souls are not designed to float around in thin air." A. Chiu

Thin Air 

You rest in thin air
with things like
a lingering scent,
a child’s outcry,
a foreign language,
a distant chill as you drift by
on the intent of your path.

You rest in thin air--
subtle and palatable--
a veil of consequence,
a mile of destinies,
a chance at a fork in the road;
white wings of hope lay low in
a solitary flight of time.

You rest in thin air,
inside the hourglass
of you;  I am lost in the
cacophony of your trust.
My tiny describable breaths
pull you into my chest
barely nourishing what is left.
Read some more great poetry at dverse

Tuesday, March 12, 2013


"No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how." – Gone with the Wind

I Only Have a Moment.

In this moment, I feel
the hum of a voice
coming over the
airport speaker,
the passing of a car
engine finding some
other destination,
the distance of a raindrop
pining for a windowpane, all
on a balmy Tuesday morning.
I only have a moment more to
explain the reason I have
for loving you—once I took
you into my sheltered heart,
deep inside the core of my soul,
embedded into the marrow of my bones,
released into the exhale of my breath.
There I felt the expansive
mission of a snowflake,
the trilogy of a scar,
the rummaging of a
tattered belted heart, all
lost to cryptic tunnels
of the obscure past.
I only have a moment to explain
the reasons for leaving you…

Check out open pub night with dverse

Friday, March 1, 2013


 Remember me like a pressed flower in your notebook. It may not be having fragrance, but will remind you of my existence forever in your life. - Unknown ...

of Color Across White Paper

Soon to be a
pressed flower rests
on blank white paper,
fingers compress
trying not to push;

a star-burst of lavender
yellow- the seeping
blood of wet petals.

Slipped inside the dark,
a book on a shelf,
days pass into years,
hidden between pages,
slowly flattened and blend
into a level thin love.

Nature fell from
grace as another season
is forgotten.
A streak of color
across the white paper,

a portrait of one’s wish
is pressed into a moment;
a cold part of a
flower’s breast
replaces the lips of your lover.