dawn’s early light

The stillness of the morning surprises me. I expected more. More what, I don’t know: Fanfare, joy, heft. Something, anything, to set the day apart from all the other days. The air should be humming with excitement; instead, I find myself slightly annoyed at the chill in the air. I know it’s from the moisture collected overnight but it feels like a personal affront by nature to mar my mood. The smell of summer’s warmth trapped within the evaporating dew fills me and I feel my memories shift to earlier, bygone days when the years stretched out before me and the world held so much promise and hope.

Less sorrow.

Sparkles dance across the meadow as dawn’s light begins its journey through the world. I watch as a bird along the tree line ventures forth in search of food, it ruffles, slowly at first and then with more vigor, its feathers as the morning moisture is trapped within them. I wonder if there is, secreted away in the trees, a nest filled with babies patiently waiting its return. Babies that demand devotion and sacrifice until the day they realize they exist independent of it and they eagerly fly away.

I stand, perfectly still, so not to disturb the earnestness in which it toils. It turns sharply as it senses my thoughts. We hold each other’s gaze and realize, at least momentarily, we are the same creature, with the same mission. The sun, meanwhile, has almost reached me and I turn in to it, instinctively. Seeking the warmth upon my face knowing that summer’s grace is almost finished for this year and the sun will retreat. Cease to be a golden orb of warmth and pleasure instead replaced with the miserly light of winter.

The bird consumes my thoughts. It’s easier to think on it rather than my responsibilities. I dread the coming fall. The change of seasons are passages. I am less tolerant of passages as I age. I’m sure there’s a fear of death or some other post-Freudian reason for why I tolerate them less. The reason is less important to me than the actual passage of time.

The bird is gone.

Another thing I have lost while looking away. One day, I promise myself, I’ll pay more attention. Better attention. Attention of some sort. Yet even as I think it, I know it’s unsustainable. Something to assuage my guilt in the moment and will be turned into another tool in the arsenal I use to defeat myself.

And today becomes a day just like all the others that litter my past.


crucible of hate

My heart is drenched in sorrow as humanity lives up to its potential of violence and ugliness. Nature —red in tooth and claw— has nothing on mans ability to inflict damage to those who don’t hew to a certain ideology. A narrow paradigm ripped from the rumblings of madmen who whisper of rewards and piety. A diety of warped philosophy that seeps between the barriers of those seeking meaning in lives filled with anxiety. Trying to find a foothold in a world stubborn and cold. Destroying beauty and peace and substituting in their place a crucible of hate.

quiet exodus 

…and this is how they leave you.

Familiar spaces littered with detritus deemed insufficient to their needs. They head off to their future. You turn off the lights and close the door. Preserving for a future return, their childhood. Pride and fear intermingle in your thoughts as you force a final hug and retreat. Leaving them on the doorstep of their dreams.

masquerade ball

I can’t feel my skin

Covered beneath the layers of my original sins

Encased in hard plastic I claw my way to the surface leaving scratches on my soul

I taste
metallic and sweet like cinnamon gum

i wish it tasted like
muddled and confused
a julep of insanity to cool the rantings of a lunatic mind

Rum and sugarcane and arcane dreams
of clovered fields and white picket fences; floppy eared dogs laying in shade cooled yards

Humming songs from long ago

Wondering how it all

Dusting off my mask of endurance
I slip it on and


I lay my head upon your chest
And our heartbeats sync
My mind quiets
As I slip into the comfort of our togetherness
You are the calm in the center of my storm
The anchor of my humanity

My sanity

Steeped in quiet
We coexist in a world of our creation

Partner parent lover mate

Love at times tinged with hate
Passion manifests as anger
A relationship that’s a work in progress; incomplete

Our messy chaotic masterpiece

Two melodies entwine to create our harmony
Words laced with laughter and sorrow whisper our eternity

Echoes of the future reverberate in me

Re-Imagined Life

My heart weeps for the freaks,
the unloved, the rejected

Who stammer and shudder,
Erupting in misery
Longing for acceptance as they deflect normalcy
Craving acceptance in a tribe they’ve collected.

Seeking a foothold in a hostile society
That devalues uniqueness
As it simultaneously reviles and reveres
a monotonous sameness

Vanilla sky laced with white fluffy clouds
Blown away by the onslaught of the coming storm.
Thunder and lightning stomp the yard
Crashing and cursing they come together
Drenched in their passion
We dance in the storm of their aggression

Free and fleeting
Alone and together

Misery loves company
Come it beckons
I will be your guide to the 11th circle of hell
We call it life

Ain’t that swell.

Peace and joy and understanding
But only for those that don the masks of
Respectability and conformity

Weep not for me
I see the freaks
They see me

I am they
They are me
Together we create the world’s harmony

Bitter, bluster, the world gets rougher
Gritty and desperate we congregate


I was born a warrior princess

Without a homeland, I wandered
for others out there just like me

Displaced in space and time
I spent lifetimes
On wine soaked shores
Yelling into the wind

Suffering modernity with a Druids heart
I yearn for a place to belong
No longer roaming the plains of my mind

Always working
to belong

My song a single lone scream into the darkness
Followed by eternal silence

summer’s haze

every now and then i smell a memory
bubble gum and summer sun
the feel of our hips touching
as we lay
side by side
in the warm grass
fingers entwined
sweat beading lightly along my spine
laughing and drinking and
doing so much more than thinking
our youth a shield to
real life worries
it seems so long ago
those sunny days
that passed into longing and sepia-tones
painted with nostalgia born of age
i long to sit in summer’s haze

tender lies

the pad of your thumb
and dry

it caresses my cheek
catches the edge
of my bottom lip 
softly you run the roughness
along its tenderness

I wait for your excuse

you lean in


a mixture of 

your kiss
the corner of my mouth
as I turn away 

I smell her in your hair
I hear her in your lies
I see her in your eyes