Publication Credits

BROKEN GLASS - - Published in Online Ezine's First Edition - Crossroad, Schooled, Lost and Crushed

TURBULENCE - Published in Issue number 7 - Seamstress

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Bird Flies Heavy

Barefoot beach,
walk silent, stand
Blood-red hearts
upon the sand

Hungry beauty,
white feathered dive
emerges black,
half alive

Squint, look up
through shaking hand
Heartbroken, defeated,
she tries to land

Years will come
you'll see
you'll cry

A bird flies heavy in the sky

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Cotton Candy and Lemon Drops

I like cotton candy 'cause it melts in my mouth as I eat it.

It is sweet,
yet not so sweet that it overshadows my senses.
It just adds to the whole experience.

Your closeness,
a sweet, melting sensation
just like cotton candy.
Remembered visions have me kneeling
by the edge of my bed.
A traceable scent on the brink of my mind
finds me, invades me,
permeates my prayers.

Now I lay me down to sleep

Did you know that is why I always
sneaked into your purse?
I'd search through the sweet and soured depths,
finding inside pockets,
bright lipstick, Cotton Candy Pink #5.
To paint that smile on my own young mouth
and hear you say,
"What a beautiful smile!"
And then you'd let me look for candy....

I don't like lemon drops 'cause I don't like the flavor.

They just don't appeal to me.
Maybe it is because they are sour.
It's a matter of taste.
I prefer watermelon.

That one day when I found the lemon drops,
I thought I'd struck gold, until I choked on one.
Grandma put her arm around me and
told me we'd be living at her place for awhile.

I now know why they dip lemon drops in sugar.

Momma? I miss you.
I wish my hands could paint pictures of the sky
when I see your face in a pink-cloud sunset.
I think I own every tube of Cotton Candy Pink # 5
and still listen for your voice when I wear it.
And I still carry your purse because, once in awhile,
I like to take a lemon drop out and suck the sugar off.

from Cotton Candy and Lemon Drops 2001

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Freeze Frame

Panoramic arctic beauty,
vernal thimbles gleam through
winter white cloud pillows,
downy filled by tiny snowflakes.

"There's a hole there!"

William, Percy, John, and Sam look upon Lord
who will not hear of it being sewn shut.
Turning up the music, Lord stands, says,
"We shall intimate ourselves again, gentlemen."

His eyes soft,

He picks up the cloud and shakes it
into the spirit hands covered with thimbles
sewing beauty blankets
to drop soft and slow from the sky.

Freeze frame
the music stops
a roof cracks

cold breath finds small paws
that lead to nothing

it's a shallow pan, man
and the trees,
crystal laden, heavy,
are romantically beautiful
and insane.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Scars Inside Walls

uncertain of
so many things
what belies truth
and the pain it brings

being let down
time after time
someone cuts into
and out of your life.

pause though it's
brief, ghost riding through town
is there hope for indifference
when your heart is facedown?

peace finds it's way,
survived in your soul
cuts, they still linger
but you remain whole

stronger for this
new scars make you humble
buried inside the walls
that will never crumble

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


Her pregnant pen
swallows the page,
a mindless fiasco,
fragments of rage.

Massage the bruise
accept, refuse,

your heartbroken muse,
must feed it.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Heaven's Moon

Silent dreams of heaven
scream the day awake.
Pictures pause, give scenery
flawlessness, fake.
Whiskey hell, blemished tune,
bouncing ball becomes balloon,
the tides turns,
consummation burns
as the spilled roads
across the golden pressed climation
give ordinary pause
to painted, shuttered illumination.

Tragedy finds awe in flight,
efflorescence reaps the night,
'tis fearsome in its bloom,
just this side of heaven's moon.

Belly Foot

oh that you
won't walk on water
but your tiny toes
have outlined my skin
sculpted my soul
into want and need
for the very best pieces of me
to be one day
inside of you

Friday, July 2, 2010


Magnetic splinters should they bind
pressed into palms of chosen beauty.
Passions split, faith intertwined
inside the noblemen's blue-blooded duty.
Parchment wrinkled, bled for ire,
windows smeared with born aggression.
House of glass blistered draught desire,
ineffectual, blackened indiscretion.
Exquisite retraint, her silouette,
expression stone, unfaltered grace.
Filled the hollow, prearranged regret
baneful silence fingering her face.

Swollen fragmentation, to heal a family's lie.
She dreams, consumed in smothering,
a distant newborn child's cry.