Monthly Archives: April 2013

Meteor Shower


Walking, marching, feet trembling

Knocking from the contact touching earth to soul

Connecting in knowledge of grace and truth

Staring straight ahead, calculating a destination;

a sunny piece of grass in between the trees

I continue until I fall, sit, in the middle of the light

Ablazed, controlled, alone

I notice the clouds ahead, glowing in various shades of pink and purple

Puffy masses being fast-forwarded into movement

Tracking the centuries of the world below;

and noting everyone who stops to embrace life, those who love

A scene so powerful, so moving that the ground engulfs me

Pillowing my head and offering protective covering

As if I melted into the soil;

one body, one earth

A lover’s touch to penetrate the warmth and to fuel the strength within

One kindred spirit, a gift of sacrifice

A black night illuminated by stars

On display during the latest meteor shower.

I am grateful for the light that penetrates the darkness. ❤

Take a peek…


To pluck a single strand, a smooth blade of grass
Cool to the touch, feather light
Consuming perfectness of the Artwork, feeling it seep in while braiding the stem through each finger
The force of pressure, squeezing the drink from one of nature’s mysteries, the nectar of life
Learning to make a plant bleed, humanizing, understanding
Splitting the shaft down the middle
Opening the body up to take a peek inside
Using the sharp edge of a fingernail to conquer and divide
Planting new seeds to grow, to survive.

I am grateful for the opportunity of writing on a lunch break. ❤




What is it, that pounds in the pit of stomach, that tastes a bit metallic?
A sharp bite to eat that brings a couple of drops of tears to the corners of my eyes
Reflecting images of memories being replayed in my peripheral vision;
Tempting constant sideways glances to count down the minutes
for just that one look
that one picture
Trying to capture it all,
As a ghost, facing everyone backsides front, all wrong
Offering open hands with determination; consternation?
Always waiting for just a part of an explanation
to feel welcomed, even after spilling out any truth or story
Disregarding modern ways and dialing the numbers of fate on the pay phone, by the theatre where
the grand opening of the new story is featuring
About a boy, who grew up to be a man
A mortal without the limitations of the jaded, the wasted
A new lover’s exhale offering every fresh breath a small prayer;
Requesting them to be sacred gusts of wind to travel,
In a straight line to those connected.

I am grateful for every connection. ❤


A little bow to some inspiration:


Red Hot Chili Peppers/By The Way/Dosed


Radiohead/The Bends/Street Spirit

Muse/The 2nd Law/Explorers

Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young/Déjà vu/Teach Your Children

Oceanlab/Sirens of the Sea/Miracle

Master Illuminaries


I am, just as you are, as we are,
A cluster of master illuminaries, the various torch holders of destiny, a group of multiple ultimate miracles;
Shining their grace into the soil of the Earth
The layers of flesh and dirt, that echo off of the platform at the base of the mountains,
And jump off the cliff into the valleys; Dramatically encircling the territories
Like some sort of scout or invader
The sweet nectar that lies breathlessly awaiting, seeks, is seeking, the steady stream that flows into the sea
The vein that carries the rhythm of Her predictable heartbeat, the blood of her soul
A refreshing swim to remind Her that She’s alive

I am grateful for my comforts and safety. ❤



Comfortable, but forced, as if saluting in attention to the flag;

The fabric and the thread of our destiny

What colors will remain when the skies start falling?

I join the ranks of concrete statues,

balancing fact from fiction, truth, or worse, lies

I find, a certain picture brewing, floating to the viewpoint of my eyes

A world of a land and of seas,

A world of guiltless lives and sheltered, coffined deaths;


This idea that we are given a reality that fights the tendril hair of knowledge that leads to igniting what we dream

A World with no pipelines, no shipwrecks, no signs of life from anywhere but

From the heart of the Earth, her core of gold,

Pulsating fiery energy to her children she placed above

Who then use it, waste it, ignore it

Lines of tiny ants that march in troops to conquer new goals

To abolish anything original, unless the idea suits the “world,”

However many times She claims She has never once requested any help,

only our love

We seek nourishment, encouragement but trap ourselves by binding to the shackles of narcissism and disappointment,

to add those to the list of accomplishments,

Checking off each box as another step into the assimilation,

Forgetting that there will always be something, anything,

Worth listening to,

To fight for.


I am grateful for awareness, even if I don’t always understand. ❤

A Starry Night



Sitting at a bistro table, in one of the two chairs

Picturing a view of a diamond sky, and being entertained by the crowded streets of the night

My pointed toe traced the outlines of the cobbled stone,

A piece of concrete to record the history of the street;

raw, shiny, from all of the feet before me.

The waiter, a skinny, balding man brought my water and a straw

Two separate pieces laid out before me on the bistro table.

On the marble top that is speckled in brown, beige, and tiny geometric shapes of green

A sturdy image brought to life by Van Gogh in a dream;

Of make-believe, what we seek to define as real

To replay the conversations of the passer-bys of the night, and to question, dissect them.

As my fingers fuddled with the straw paper

Twisted the object, crumpling it, as if trying to figure it out too,

Only in touch and sensitivity;

Making common sense out of inanimate objects, and feelings

Trying to keep my hands busy, to steady the mind focused on the table itself, the bubble that I put in place to surround

Ignoring those who live in the apartments above, my reverie

And not looking at the others who may be:



Misdirectionally Thinking.


There’s nothing worse than distractions during our most important conversations, interactions.

The bubble succeeds in sheltering the lost minds who find themselves wondering,

always thinking, about everything.

But it’s tight, sometimes suffocating;

The force of the task creates awkward lapses in recreating,

Anything sensible at all.

It’s amazing how the barriers we create can feel like all of the weight of the World.

I fumbled with the wrapper, daring a few glances towards the doorway,

The gate of the future, blocked off to the sight of everyone, except me, from my seat

Still no one entered.

Losing patience of strength and pride, I contemplated rising, leaving, escaping.

Too many thoughts are too many enough.

But then, at the height of my anxiety, almost the last step up before the leap,

I felt a hand on my shoulder and knew that you had arrived.

The constant flow of penetration disappeared at that moment, and it was quiet.

It’s unmistakably rare to find ones to share the weight of the world.

To not feel alone at a picturesque marble bistro table,

Underneath a starry night.

I am grateful for all of the artists of the world. ❤



The echoing last seconds of a boom of thunder lingered within the waking moments of memory
Flashes of light blinding, even through painted eyelids, afraid to open
A storm of importance, demanding to be heard, to be seen, felt
A single dance partner impatient to start moving
I collapsed into awareness, jumping out into the blackness;
For the moon and the stars had shed away their shine to give all attention to the flashes that penetrated the night
The white explosions of blue, gold, and green;
Shards flying off into the fragments of the living; Earth
The Storm, expressing its determination of telling a story, trying to be heard
Given the brief luxury of the creation of wind and water,
Binding air particles that recklessly spin faster, upward, to start a rhythm that’s trance-like,
Blinding; pounding: the lover’s heartbeat.

I am grateful for living. ❤


Just A Writer


A profound line to begin
What can I say to portray what my writing,

Do I dare try?

As a lover on a mission to dream
Past the commencement of falling asleep from reality;
Learning to ignore the constant incessant chattering;
The noise that drives me to the brink,
I think.

As a human shell, I dwell
On the appropriateness of my reactions
Of how people take in my first few layers;
At introduction, I often wonder if he or she will be hungry

and bite into the onion;

To ignore the multiple hardened bandages,
and get to the core
To learn who I am and what I believe.

I can see, and then I’m instantly blinded;
My constant train of thought always trying to dismantle, this determined locomotive,

off of the tracks.

Ironically, disregarded as a sweet face, that no one can take seriously

As if I couldn’t possibly be anything or anybody, but I think I can;

I know I already am:

An awkward talker, continuously writing,
Who gets lost in imagination;
The filmmaker of the dramatic operatic stage,

who’s recording every performance.
Where ghosts arrive in anticipated states of attention,
Thinking that maybe one day they’ll get noticed too.

But they already are, the crowd of transparent stars

with their marks: their shining scars;
The traditional seekers who claim to define society.
I am an observer of humanity, who doesn’t quite fit in:

A multiple frame thinker, flying through the higher 3-D layers

of atmospheric panels of time.
Do I live in the life of fame, fortune and

drown myself in contempt for the routine?

Or, delve into the chapters of a

Story where the Setting is created by Societal Standards;
Those postcard stamps of blue and black lines that are only intended to penetrate the whiteness?

But here I am, only, just a writer.
If you ask more than that
I might not give the same answer as the day before, or the day here-to-after 

Do I trust a vulnerable liability, capable of extinguishing everything that I feel within,

To let those in; nomads sharing the path that I’m walking,

Those who, care to try to uncover some of those onion layers that make me whole; 
Soul and all?

Sometimes on the trail, Someone walks next to me,

Another being who can handle the depths of contrasting views of reality,
Who ignores all of my first impressions and understands,
Who is challenged by the intertwining of their own universal, constant languages;
And enjoys the sweet manipulation, of the creation of history to exist;

In time.

When the moon rises,

When the tides fall back, to begin the ritual
Before the Sea washes away the day;
Hanging above us all in anticipation; blissfully alone.
A numbness soothes; lessening the intensity of the grip grasping the rocky walls,

that lead down to the abyss

Pacing myself, sometimes losing ground
Deleting the information saved within every insignificant memory
Trying to lose sight of reality, again,
For 20 minutes or less
That’s all I ask, beg, pray;
Give me a memory,

Without the fear of not being able to find my way back.

Hammock Musings


Toes curled, twisted in between the braided layers of fabric;
Shades of the Carolina sky
Floating; flying
Gravity bows down to the effortless embrace; of hammock to body
A sensual cocoon that caresses each spiny bump down the pale flesh of my back
My skin, fire; warm and in peace
As if sweating in the residual triumph of originality;
To defy the basic sense of reality, to escape the feeling of heavy
As lightweight as the marshmallow clouds that outline the illustration above; the open door to life and the unknown
A seat of creativity to dream up the classifications of different meanings
Ways to record a code of communicating;
Past the normal methods of understanding and learning
To remember what it means to keep dreaming, to keep believing
And to always be grateful.

I am grateful for education and the teachers/counsellors/mentors who voluntarily enter into the lives of those who need them.


The Lost City*


The Lost City


A faceless figure, I stood in the blue water

Letting the current sway my hips in a naturally provocative dance;

Gauging the distance, the risk, of giving in to escape, to reject chance


The floor, layered with broken bits of shell and coral, consumed me, my feet

Hungry enough to devour whatever it will;

Open holes, smiling mouths from Hades enticing friendly visits to the underworld


An oath immersed, followed by the muffled responses of a confession

By a god on a mission, to be the King of the sea;

To subject the curious to rules and gestures of an all-knowing authority.

To claim the throne of the unattainable, the lost city.



I am grateful for the next three days. ❤