Beginnings

Moments,

Ghostlings,

Weaving in and out

Of Juniper trees;

The coastal fog

Sequestered us in a bed

And breakfast. Holding

Hands, we viewed our

Kingdom from a balcony

Overlooking a vast realm;

Everything, as far

As our eyes could see

Was perfect. I sit and think of

Idyllic memories of the Old

Monterey Inn, the coziness of

China Cove, the allure of Half Moon Bay,

All a lifetime ago and

Whisked off today

With the swing of a broom;

How do we go on now?

Alone tonight

Rain outside

Chimes we bought on our

Tenth anniversary, the

Horns, the mournful sirens

Howling from the walls,

Crying endings, endings,

Endings!

And yet, out there beyond the

Last lights of the city,

I hear your voice

Starting to rise above the din.

"Beginnings…." You begin.

Note to all you wonderful people: We filed for divorce yesterday. I wrote this last night.

8:00 AM - 40 Comments - 74 Kudos - Add Comment

Rough Draft In A Box

Surreal, real,

Surreal, real

Which is it? Which was it?

Two giant minds meet

One Squashed road kill

Feast

Struggling to get out of the box

Struggling to stay in a box

Struggling not to let you into the box

Struggling to define the box

To line the box

To refine the box,

the box,

the box,

the box,

the box!

Dropped in the box

So many years, years ago;

Fled,

Ran, 

Understand,

UNDERSTAND—

--this is the crux,

This is the crutch,

This is the crunch of

The anvil and the hammer, if you will,

 If you will—

I am not you

I am you

I am dancing

I am naked

Though you can't see,

No, you can't see

You are always staring,

No, you can't look away

The blood that runs down

My thighs from the box

Is not yours,

May not be mine

Or his or hers or theirs--

Wait!

I clime

I climb

But I can't crimmmmmmmmme

Fucked up in the box

You watch, you watch

One day while you watch

Nails will drag across your back,

And when you look back

The box will be empty.

11:04 AM - 45 Comments - 50 Kudos - Add Comment

"Art Department Rules"

My brother in law, a graphic artist, sent this to me.

Enjoy!

2:12 PM - 25 Comments - 28 Kudos - Add Comment

An Evergreen’s Oracle

I am strength.
I stand
no matter what
the weather throws
at me, and
it's the weather
I deal with more
than anything.

These birds
in my branches
are mere ticklings.
These winters, mere
chill winds passing,
always passing.

These rains,
nourishings.
I soak my roots
in them and
I flourish.

1:53 PM - 52 Comments - 52 Kudos - Add Comment

Rain Dance

I pulled

From my shoulders your

Warm terrycloth robe and stepped

Naked, into a winter shower.

Sprinkles misted down

Lovingly, your fingers

Behind them,

Our secret smiles glistening

On raindrop lips.

I heard your voice in

The laughing wind that

Played in my hair,

I felt your hands in

The cold that

Molded my nipples taut.

Moving the length of the

Wet deck, I slid my

Hands down over my hips,

Closed my eyes, and

Waited.

The rain licked my face

With your tongue.

11:42 PM - 54 Comments - 56 Kudos - Add Comment

The Owl and The Vulture

alone today
in a dark wood,

the owl from my
dream became a vulture.

I didn't shiver
or pull my coat

close around my

shoulders.

he slid past on oily wings.
I called to him--

go get your lion, friend

tell her to
have my throat.

then I waited for
a swift rush of air,

claws ripping into my flesh,

teeth biting into my skin,
the struggle, the smell of blood,

the knowledge,
the knowledge,
the knowledge,

the rush of adrenaline!


the owl on the fencepost in my dream had
surveyed emptyness;

the struggle had ended.
the dark angel had fallen;

wrestled,
wrestled,
wrestled

finally to the ground,


but the oily
vulture flew on.

10:36 PM - 38 Comments - 36 Kudos - Add Comment

The End of The Tunnel of Love

Staring at
Freezing cave
Walls 3000 miles

Offshore,

Running a cold
Phalynx
Over a bony
Cradle where
A phallus
Used to roar.

No one will
Ever find us,
Let alone
Penetrate
These blue-green

Mouths;

So tell me

In that bony language
Without a tongue,

About the dark
At the end of the
Tunnel.

Note: A phalynx is a finger bone. Any finger bone.

9:20 PM - 44 Comments - 44 Kudos - Add Comment

The Wall

I stare coldly and madly with
all the fierceness I can will
into tired green eyes,

It stares back
directly in my face.

I note it's girth and depth
And know there
will never be any escape.

Looming, towering,
threatening
to grind me
into a thousand
worthless pieces,
I nod.

I'd cringe, but I
lack the energy.

Death
would be
redundant.

Note: So as not to alarm anyone, I wrote this poem today to describe what it feels like to be in the midst of Major Clinical Depression. Not much poetry is written while you're actually in it. I'm just pulling out of it again.  I'm bipolar; I get severely depressed now and then. I'm on medication and have a competent psychiatrist. I post this here because I suspect many poets are bipolar or suffer from some sort of mood disorder and can probably relate to this. And to add that no matter how hopeless things may appear when you're that severely depressed, they're not. It's something you have to teach yourself when you're well and remember when you're not.

7:09 PM - 62 Comments - 66 Kudos - Add Comment

Falling asleep in the Jacuzzi

10:23 AM - 36 Comments - 38 Kudos - Add Comment

The Wife is Crazy

7:01 PM - 37 Comments - 32 Kudos - Add Comment