Full forgotten glass of anticipation
sitting on your bedside table
waiting for you to return
waiting for you to walk through the door
to rescue it from
the dust of the day
settling on its rim…
you see it
walk toward it
beads roll down its side
as it knows
soon it will be
in your hand
you carry it away
into the kitchen
unaware of the potent effect
you create within the glass filled with anticipation…
you empty it like it’s nothing
not knowing that it’s something
but the glass doesn’t mind
soon you’ll see your mistake
and come back for it
reach for it again
find it full once more…
but this time
you’ll know
that it’s everything…

When I’m Not Around

Originally posted on Wild Heart Scribe:

I ache for another channel

to show you how it feels

to know you think of me

when I’m not around

miss me when I’m gone

wait for me to come back…

Time lapse photography

could show the paring down

of an out of tune faded heart

being refashioned

beating to a new time

as only crimson can…

Would you get it then?

Oils could show a stormy splashing

of Spartan blacks and greys

headed in no direction

with a placid lilac center

that is all the direction I need…

Surely then you’d know how I feel,

wouldn’t you?

A song could boost and heave

every sensation

set them on

a munificent banquet of

peach and mint notes…

but all I have are my words

sometimes they don’t feel like enough

they feel too pale

to make you feel the

vibrancy of what I feel

knowing that you think of…

View original 5 more words

Redress Me

Originally posted on Wild Heart Scribe:

Don’t dress me in this…

this stunning dress

with the prickly underside

that replaces the radiance

with what can’t be seen

but only felt

by the weary

Don’t dress me in this…

this lonely misery

beneath the Belgian lace

that chides my childlike joy

with what can’t be spoken

but only felt

by the weary

Don’t dress me in this…

this forgottenness

pulled through each stitch

that bullies my being

with what can’t be solved

but only felt

by the weary

Don’t dress me in this…

this hang off me reaction

in the too tight sleeves

that crowds our conviction

with what can’t be sure

but only felt

by the weary

Don’t dress me in this…

this ardor that cleaves to my body

that finishes in grief

that trails me

like a train of lace

sweeping the floor

erasing my every step…

soon you’ll forget I was here

my scent…

View original 46 more words

Glassed Anticipation

Originally posted on Wild Heart Scribe:

Full forgotten glass of anticipation
sitting on your bedside table
waiting for you to return
waiting for you to walk through the door
to rescue it from
the dust of the day
settling on its rim…
you see it
walk toward it
beads roll down its side
as it knows
soon it will be
in your hand
you carry it away
into the kitchen
unaware of the potent effect
you create within the glass filled with anticipation…
you empty it like it’s nothing
not knowing that it’s something
but the glass doesn’t mind
soon you’ll see your mistake
and come back for it
reach for it again
find it full once more…
but this time
you’ll know
that it’s everything

View original

I Might Like

Originally posted on Wild Heart Scribe:

I think I might like to protect myself from you

but I know it’s too late

I think I might like to expose it all to you

but I know you won’t see

I think I might like to run away from you

but I know I won’t go far

I think I might like to chain myself to you

but I know you won’t be still

I think I might like to fix you

but I know I’ll have to break you first

I think I might like to tear you apart

but I know you won’t stop me

I think I might like to tell you I hate you

but I know the words won’t come

I think I might like to tell you I love you

but I know you won’t believe

I think I might like to call you out

but I know I’d have to…

View original 82 more words

The Cost of Authenticity

When I come here to this blog and write what I write, I purposefully place a shimmer of my soul in every sentence…the rhythm of my heart rests inside the construction of each poem,  the weight of who I am makes the call between an ellipsis and a dash.  Simply put, I have never posted anything here without forethought.  I readily strip myself down to the undressed essence of all that I am and  I do it with enthusiasm like I have never known before.  I do it because I feel safe here.

On Thursday, September 11, I almost decided not to do that anymore.  Someone dear to me took me to task on something I wrote called, I Used to Be, and suddenly this place, my blog, did not feel safe to me.

I hold nothing back here and I enjoy that freedom.  As someone who was caged for so many years, unable to be me…here, in this place…I am always totally an unhindered, authentic me.  On Thursday, I wondered if I had made a mistake.  I wondered if I was enjoying my liberation too much.   After all, who shares everything in a public place like a blog and feels safe doing it?  Ha…me.  I do.

I share myself here because I can…because I choose to…because it’s important.  I invite you into my space and you either walk in and look around or walk on by without a glance.  The choice is yours.  However, I was cautioned that the above-mentioned post could lead others astray and that I should be careful what I say.  Well, I can’t do that.  I can’t be careful of what I say because to censor myself, to pretend my life is something it isn’t would be death to my creative spirit…death to everything I battled to become me.  I refuse to do that.  And, if I did, what would I write about?  Nothing that matters to me.  Nothing that anyone would choose to read.

I am an evolving person.  And there are those who will not like the changes in me and that’s okay.  I am really okay with that.  But that will not affect my freedom to share the stories and poems of my life here in the bare bones honest way I have from day one.  Literally, day one.  I am not trying to change anyone else anywhere at any time.  I respect your path… whatever it is.  I seek only to share my path with those who care to know about it.

I will be writing about this journey I am walking and I will delve deeper than I did in I Used to Be.  It will be a personal account as is everything I have ever written here…personal not proselytizing…just personal.   I will do this because I can…because I choose to…because it’s important.

The Slip and the Groove

Sometimes I slip and slide into the

grooves of well-worn static patterns

Canned speeches

slip from lips to sustain you…

 Smothering under the rote emotions

that slip and slide into me

I slip on the tune and beg you

to slide with me

but the melody hurts so you don’t

I try to hold you with arms

slipped into the sleeves of another time…

why do you slip me into that outdated dress…

I clutch and claw at you till we both

slip on the tick of time…

My slip…

Your trip

Together we could rip

away

apart

from where we are

to where we were

and reality’s grip would loosen

and leave us in the

static groove…

The tear

drips…

wetting the groove

 letting us slip out of the static…

The best dance ever to be danced

slips in and out of silver shade

tripping the light so fantastic

free of the swirling ball

expecting  us to catch a swivel

and demand it for ourselves

dance it with each other

dance it for each other

because we like it

because it’s pretty

because we look dashing doing it

because it stirs us

because…

NOW is the best groove

 

Complete

Oh, how I’ve missed you

I hear myself marvel, then say

She breathes her understanding

And takes my hand in hers

 

It was lonely without you

I hear myself reflect, then voice

She nods in accord

And strokes my hand in hers

 

Oh, how I wondered if you’d ever return

I hear myself consider, then admit

She shrugs off shared fear

And embraces my hand in hers

 

It was a lost time without you

I hear myself mourn, then confide

She silences my moan

And puts her hand

My hand

To our face

And says

I was always here

you only had to choose to see

I turn from the mirror

And walk back into the world

Complete once again

Glass Dinosaurs

Originally posted on The Fever Dream:

I remember dinosaurs of glass

Filled up with colored sand.

And our tradition, long revered.

Bringing you pine cones twice a year.

And learning to read in simple steps.

Your patience rooted in the farthest depths

Of love. Of innocence. Of Grace.

And how you lifted us.

How you held us down.

How you managed to sweep the pain from your face

And turn that wheel to save your life

When the demon inside you was driving you over

The wall and would have seen you die.

You taught us not to just listen to voices

But to seek out for ourselves the veins of proof.

You told us the one who makes the most noise

Is not always the one who’s telling the truth.

That killing is wrong and defense is honor

A man is not judged by the sins of his father,

That a man’s greatest duty lies…

View original 63 more words

My Angel, My Heart, My Dahlin’

I see you in your cowboy hat and boots

I see your easy smile

against your sunwashed skin

I hear your voice

a thousand times

in a single night

pouring into my heart

a thousand love songs

in a single melody

I hear your words of love

and they strum like viola notes

up and down my strings of pain

I look for you

with eyes that cannot see

I find you everywhere

with eyes that only see

I see you in your cowboy hat and boots

I see your easy smile

and I can’t help but smile back…

 

Written to my precious uncle, my Angel, my Heart, my Dahlin’, Alvin Doucette, Jr. laid to rest on this day.

I will see you again…and we’ll both be smiling…