Tuesday, January 22, 2013

New Moon; Transformations

 I was in love,
infatuated and happy.

Then anticipation, discovery and excitement
 gave way to obsession,
desperation and heartbreak.

But after the fear and the fever passes…
what I am left with
is a different kind of happiness;
love, understanding and connection.

The Dance

The enigma I wrestle
Every moment I breathe

Does this war I wage
Resemble an idea
You’ve ever had of me
Or am I a fool, obsessed
Consumed by distraction?

Monday, January 21, 2013


On a bright sunny afternoon at the river
four anonymous comrades join together in love and affirmation
remembering others far away
 making a daring odyssey
into the sunlight and the shadows of the trees
following paths that lead to the fairy kingdom
of spiral flight among vines whose connection is skyward
never touching the reality of earth.
A black and white spotted infant touched for an instant
opens the portal into the realm
where small purple stars have spiral green tails
and earth-brown children hang from thin branches
plucking purple berries and tasting their sweet nectar for a moment
only to grasp the next immediately.
The legend of an Indian Brave who lived centuries ago
awakens the sleeping children
and they venture forth to conquer the rushing water
defying the treacherous rocks
and the laws of gravity and distance, space and time
which hold no rule in this universe
of wet feet and sun-shined faces.
Once the barrier has been crossed
the children sleep once again.

Twin Gods

Golden sun-prophet, strong soul-pilot,
as an Eagle flies,
through valleys
following rivers to ocean
and with his hands warms hearts.

 Angel with dark curls
as from night sky,
shines like stars.
Phoenix-spirit, owl-poet
follows mountain streams
through forest
and with his voice
Illuminates minds.


The dark airfield stretches out silent and solitary before us,
run-way lights flash from blue to white to blue…
I breathe in the smoke…
my mind fades from grey physics into a purple fog
and I am transformed.

In the silver light of a waning crescent,
the metamorphosis is complete…
at the slow touch of cool fingers
a low purr escapes me
I am a cat, curled and cuddled
in the lap of a man
with strong and gentle hands.

Sleeping Babes

on a saturday in april in half-light
a motel room in the afternoon with the curtains drawn
my friends sleep
in sheer exhaustion
the sleep of wine
and the extremities of lives lived too brightly.

I read poetry
and paint my nails red
drink cold coffee
smoke too many cigarettes
paint my toe-nails too
and go back to playing solitare.

I watch their silent forms
and fight the urge to touch them
“for fear of waking them “ I tell myself.

Two children in their beds at night
when mother opens the door
to see the faces of her babes once more
before retiring to her own sleep.

Insomnia with a Friend

Love songs then love-gone-wrong songs then road songs and wine,
laughter and candlelight, poetry and chess,
bad jokes then black-jack, more wine then sleep.
We have said nothing,
I dream of waking
and wake and cannot sleep.

Desdemona Innocence

Golden, glowing, flicker, dance
sing in light and
make music of flame.
Desdemona innocence,
passionate love,
loyal and pure
and purging pain.
Our souls’ moths flutter
drawn to the warmth
of Fire-Life,
Truth’s power and perfume
and sweet souls’
Honest Ecstasy.


Biting pain
In the place just above the heart
Touching the mind
Everything from life to festering disease
Rancid wounds that
Never heal
Even when the
Soul becomes
Sick unto death

Cobwebs laced with light

Cobwebs laced with light
Lightning painting pictures of
Spiders in the sky


Deep inside at the bitter core exists a deformed creature,
stunted in youth,
who retreated and disfigured
and refused to grow,
the summer of my ninth year.

Hyding among shadows of fear
like a wild animal,
not truly human,
or perhaps more human than I am now,
She sleeps.

Then escapes and retreats before she’s caught,
lashing out to destroy anyone in sight,
when backed into a corner,
or trapped by too much light.


I put my hand into a gift-wrapped box full of razorblades
and bled all over my jeans, and the pretty wrapping paper.
The cuts healed into scars,
but every time I touch gift-wrapping they bleed,
making a mess on the floor.

Pain in Haiku

Pain as dark as night,
cutting deep into your soul,
as the dawn breaks through.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Dark Star

When you are not present, I feel your absence, like a sailor on the dark ocean without a star by which to set his course.
When we are in a crowded room, I know where you are and how far away, a reference point by which to navigate through the night.
When you are close, I feel the pull your body exerts upon mine, the gravity of your Dark Sun, that makes me desire to remain close in orbit, revolving around you, close to your power.
I drink it in through every pore, intoxicated with pleasure and warmth.
The memory of you warms me still, melting away any desire for control, for safety, melting away fear and caution. 

I would sail over the edge to the place where dragons are.
Desire for your strength, for the intoxication of your power, becomes stronger than any need I have to be safe.
The gravity of your Dark Star holds me in its grasp. 
I am lost in its power, and there I find my own.