total page views

Monday, December 29, 2014


what is a moment

there are these moments
split, significant, surreal
crisp to the ethereal
moist to the earth
blended with the blood
revived inside of bones
weighty with a silent stone

there are these moments
found in clouds
or olive wood
or rising limitations
broken vinous
glass cutting or
being polished on
fate's warm beach
once walked upon
by four bare feet

there are these moments
that define
like red scars and black tattoos
burn flesh like yellow flames
deep past the skin
there are
words like metal daggers
snapping old branches
you listened to the rest
wind whipping and cracking
not me against you
and not again
your heart is your test

there are these moments
those words don't
note with blood or
strengthen bones
they are the moments
of pictures of portraits
left hanging in a home

there is this moment
when an infinite soul pauses
a reflection finds another hand
from a puddle of tears
left building and swirling
water's circles staring
back at us
uniting divinities
all knowing bursts
loves faith will translate
to the face
of a seasoned woman


Tuesday, May 13, 2014


Faith Qua Fear

In dreams, in night, in present or future dark edges
fear's invisible black eyes hold me proxy to each day.
I habitually walk on creaking hardwood checking
on the rhythmical breathing of my children sleeping.

     One uncontrolled,
in-between and unexamined,
untold specific branch
ransacks the dark aloof molecules
running rampant reverently
around the wee hours
of the still moving shadows—
fear's ticking
hands and red licking fire,
         water and screaming,
                death's door thuds.

What does a human hold valuable?  Empty restaurant tables? Permanence?
The status or the shrieking? The impecunious sphinx that is still rising?
Shades of sheltered pink emanate from behind fertile leaves, each burst of
sunlight wakes me to the morning that replaced my fears with a brave me.

Check out dverse poetry-- The morning I woke without fear.

Friday, May 9, 2014


Kicking a Pebble Pell-mell

we all have our damages--
rusty fences
shingles missing
cracked windows
a few weeds growing
or wild honey blooming--
let uncertainty
in the end,
the end of day, fall
asleep with the dark as
abandoned ravished lovers
and wake to the
the sun
holding the hand
of our eternal mother.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014


The World Stood Still

A thought without shape is rare;
a flower in spring that might not bear
petals and scent to attract a need,
and rarer still is the shape
of something as delicate as a face.
Your face
flooding north, east, south, and west
to the nature of a
body which holds tenderly a smile.
A three dimensional ephemeral moment
found and lost in the distance of oceans
and bonded to
the frozen clock of time,
fading to the flat line of your impearled heart.

And today, I wake and find my fate
to be mixed into your universe. We  
ascend into the blue sky of yesterday
and today and tomorrows.
It is said we say farewell and hello
to no obligations of the parting and the meeting.
I did not see you coming, as I did not
foretell the cloudy past to end with a sun beam
blooming this morning. Yet,
each face, your face, is beautifully enlightened and
walks the continued extending path all
while the world stood still to embrace another union.  
Alive is the beginning,
as we dance to the end of another
flat line,
burning and churning into  
life’s parting hour glass of time.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014


My Immortal Black Shines

I prayed as a mortal girl, tread mire
looking for peace, as I consumed  
the inside flesh of my burning home.

I kneel as a woman trembling before my pyre,
my naked bones resurrected, my soul’s nimbus glows,
my Phoenix rose to restore my faith,
a mosaic of talons and golden layers of silent thrones.

It is an uncharted epitome to uncover change,
universal bonfires leaving me with a conquest of cinders,
cool water follows and continues to cleanse,
an earnest path that has taken me to a heavenly you.


Thursday, February 13, 2014


The Clock Was Ticking

To love rarely
rather than deeply
is words falling
between the spaces of
my spread fingers;
the untamed air is rushing past
the tender vulnerability
of years of yes;
the weight of a feather
balanced to a heart.
rushing past our
tender faces as the heavens 
annihilates the wisdom
of my loneliness.
In my solitude,
I crave and take the sweetness
of flesh between pages,
between the whispers
of words,
between the moments
of your definitive parchment,
between what my creation craves.
Exhausted I pause,
in my lone footsteps
for the dirge of you and I
I would have rather loved deeply
than died.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014



brief sunrise  hidden behind
a thick veil of cold, gliding
slivers of silver ice gradually
silencing the earth.
Milky moon, gray blue reflection
asleep and alone close to the inglenook.
Barren blanket of white
caves in the birds and huddles in the mouse.
Branches are the air’s tendrils of the sea,
water’s growing crystals, blanco fingered coral,
tez pale morning birthing frozen tears.