A heart can fall like a suicide descending shades of midnight frozen blossoms on an icy lake a silent breeze of despair Let my tongue flirt like a butterfly among wildflowers rather than polish scars de-bride old wounds
I am who I have always been
a shiver of soft reeds beside the river
or the cascade of a waterfall.
Gypsy crows rise to a soft dawn sky
gathering their kind they circle
back for me.
I can scarcely bear the
splendor of the world,
its wonder humbles
the wisp that is me.
Minutiae of eyes and ears
and speechless tongue,
stunned by the promise
of a red dawn.
Elegant trees lift
their mighty arms,
grand gods host creatures
large and small.
Their noble crowns filled
with a cornucopia of life.
I want to sail across the sea
tiny fleck that is me,
a winged bird bearer of
a fragment of the universe
On a mossy hill behind a mock castle
we will read Aristophanes to harems
of nymphs strumming their lyre.
Words transform to birds flitting
hearts of lovers while I contemplate
the perfect angle of your face
breathe in the amber resin of pine trees
that permeate our senses
There in the unruffled pools of your eyes
I will die just a little
I am touched
by a storm
the tongue of a
fire that burns
A tide crashing
into millions of
becoming the sun.
My heart is ripe
like summer fruit
sweet juices flushing
There is a storm circling
the pit of my stomach rising
to ache in my throat.
Steve Hanks art
Browsing my journals
I am reminded of the past.
The door swings open
releasing sleek eels of memories
where I am nothing or at best
a trembling leaf caught in a spring breeze.
Do you ever think of me
find me in constellations pressed against the sky
or hear me in the sigh of an incoming tide?
I would seek comfort in the moon but I am
so trivial and he is taken by the stars.
In dreams my tongue is a crimson snake that
flicks hungrily along the length of your thigh
curling around the catch in my throat.
You are god and have named me regret.
I close our door with pried fingers.
I’ve given up on prayer hands.
Art by Rita Hardy
There are times when I can see myself through
your eyes. My pale face so in love,
aching for the caress of a flaxen
haired boy racing through rolling fields.
Suddenly serious your adventurous eyes
sent yearning shivers through me.
I longed for your touch anytime and
kissed you opened mouth without
I adored your mock anger when you
chased after me and the awkward way
you looked down at your hands.
Soon Autumn threw its shadow on
sprouting wheat, smooth and wet.
Now, I listen to the soft whisper
of his breathing through a half
closed door and know there are
different kinds of love,
wild, ruthless, and unafraid.
art by Rob Hefferan
You are getting closer.
I hear the crunch of sand
and the skitter of stones beneath your
boots. The scent of tanned leather stings
my nostrils and fingers of steel butterflies
inflict fresh flesh wounds.
Your feathered crop gently brushes my shivering
shoulders, it floats over proud bones luring me
to the killing fields.
With no where to hide nothing can save me.
You have always known how to break wild horses.
Thank you so much Kristiana and FVR.
This is a day of sun kissed
stones and blustery winds,
of wild geese adorning river banks
their graceful necks and gilded feathers
remind me that I am nothing more than
an observer to that enchanted world.
Graceful limbs of oak reach across
slanted waves to weightless clouds
Dipping my fingers into green and amber
circlets I hold my reflection in cupped palms.
I am a constellation
pasted to a smear of deep sky or
some god spun leaf drifting
a wintry blue pond.
My tongue turns silvery around
my words, do not take them
for sorrow I have named them
Do not forget me.
I still need you to carry me
over the pierce of thorns
My hands are good for nothing but
a plea do not forget me
I am still here my hair a tangle