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The fallen angel
has lain prostrate on the lawn
through the weariness of winter
as if in adoration
of the way out.

Now with spring she is lifted up
muddy face and mossy wings
washed white again
bidding blessings welcome.

Several stones pushed round the base
should keep her in place
unless by Grace she comes to life
and takes flight.
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diamond in the rough transmuted,
cut and polished karats,
brilliant lustrous facets
reflecting flickering flames
of passion and shame

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The sacred words,
heard between two heartbeats,
echo endlessly
through crowded corridors
into vacant chambers.

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My frightening rage escaped it's cage
and erupted to the verge of violence.
Now life lies in shattered shards
that glisten in the silence
as I listen for His voice.
Not so very all alone.

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The gnawing hunger growls,
releasing pent up powers
that possess my feet to dance
and twirl my world around.

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His snowflake
settled
on my chest
and melted
the fiery spiral
into the abyss.

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It will be ok
You're allowed to cry
Never mind the reasons why
God will give us what we need.

No, you are not stupid
Not Everyone is laughing
and those who are
we do not need.

I will protect you
I'll never leave
I'll be your playmate
Sweet baby of need.

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The leaves of my life
Ink sprawled and piled
Clawing to preserve worthwhile trivia
of each waking moment
and dreams from which they came
Sagas of loves and miracles betstowed
Errands run and errors done
Thoughts and feelings, fears and choices
Through the years recalling voices
Time transformed to print
Existing long after I'm gone
Self-centered need to see
all that is me

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Deadly damned illusions
sparkle and entice
then twist into confusions
then rip and slice
a gaping hole
till the next one takes ahold.

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The First Date

Sending interests and emails
flirting in instant messaging
talking, laughing, on the phone
driving, praying, alone in the rain
talking, gazing, laughing, holding hands in the parked car
holding hands, talking, walking on the Arboretum trails
gazing, talking, kissing, hugging on the bridge
gazing, talking, laughing, kissing, hugging at the ampitheater
taming the dogs
gazing, talking, kissing, hugging on the couch
gazing, talking, laughing, kissing, hugging, touching, soaking in the jacuzzi
gazing, kissing, hugging, talking, laughing, singing, crying together on the bed.
talking, laughing, eating at the kitchen table.
gazing, kissing, hugging, talking, crying, soaking in the jacuzzi
hugging sleeping in the bed
crying, praying together on the bedroom floor
gazing, talking, hugging, kissing, dancing in the dining room
gazing, hugging, kissing, laughing, talking in the bed
gazing, hugging, kissing, saying goodbye at the front door.

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I must get up off my ass
and get out there and mow the grass.
Out there
where dandelions have gone to seed
spiking up above the weeds
and sea of blades, needing bladed.

But I am inside
and inside me
Trapped in the abyss.
Devoid of the things I miss.

A lady in waiting
My hopes grow cold
I circumvent participating
as the weeds take hold.

I must just sit here till some spark
can muster a jump start.
From whence shall come such motivation?
To bid me keep odd obligation
To have a lawn meticulous
It ere behooves ridiculous

So let it grow.
I need first let go
of this block, this dam
this inner clamp
So here I am.
My eyes grow damp.

Crying, crying, lakes of tears left.
Shoved inside me year upon year
They should flood the basement clear
Till of them all I am bereft.

Does this fertilize the healing?
Layers of the onion peeling
Getting at the root of feeling
A better way may be in kneeling.

Or just get up! Do what's before me.
My whirlpool calls me from the door way.
To it's beckoning I slightly rose,
till that rubber band snapped back the close.

I've grown rooted to this spot
In a web of something caught.
Soon the spider will crawl upon me,
and suck the life blood from my soul.
Left a frozen face in a black hole.

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irrational causless crying
constant seeking whying
so close to giving up trying.

dragons and comets and comedy tours
hurricanes, ghosts and 2 world wars
open windows in rooms with closed doors.

scotch on the rocks was the answer he lost on
queen on color beside her best pawn
fear as the help is almost gone.

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As night steals quietly on Stoney Lonesome
The Ghost of Stoney Lonesome
roams the rocky hills of Stoney Lonesome.

Wandering up and down the road
in and out of each abode
creaking, banging, moaning,
that lonesome soul shall pass
until at last
he finds his place.

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self examinations
lead to explanations
more probably rationalizations
about these full blooming addictions
who flipped the switch?
and why?
why?
from spiked punch and white russians
to chinese buffet and chocolate
to cigars, and cigarettes
to staring and talking and stalking
as one moves again another gets bigger
as the empty void grows bigger too.
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Anger
just one letter short of danger
"the dubious luxury of normal men"
It ferments into rage
just one letter short of anger
just one letter more than age
yes the passing years are leaving their marks
"the whispering pains that say we're living"
"no more outbursts," said my boss
so the next one leaves me at a total loss
it's bigger than me
but not bigger than "I Am."
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War
Bummer
I was hoping for a poem
Or a love story
Or something I am brilliant about
All I know is
How can war BE?
Why can't we see
The new vision
The perfect world

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The meteor flashed across the night sky
in a brilliant blaze of fire
I stood in awe
in a glimpse I saw
The universe enfolding
as it should.

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I open my file of unplaced lines
sorting the chaos that reigns in my brain
... ... ...
it's sad that I don't miss him any more
I think of him and smile
and does he see me seeing the new version
stolen not unplaced that one
strange He doesn't comment
but always mad at something else
today... wait I forgot to pray... ... ...
please let this test have all the answers
I don't know much about it
just a body tube with resonating magnets
and why was the pain so much less yesterday?
hope alone releasing healing power?
I bounced like a freshman up the High School stairs
to pull the rain man from his art
what is it I can do for him?
he can write what he can not speak
so I give him a pen and pocket paper
and tell them to make him use it.
how strange his look of shocked surprise
as if no one ever has before

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The fantasy world crumbles and falls
into the net of commitment and love.
Like the pieces of jig saws
put together again.
and the words to the song
sung again and again.

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To Vernon

There were no good-byes.
All had gone but you and I,
on to meet
at a place to eat.

Give to me, you say,
the book to tell me how.
Unthinkable denying,
I thought it anyway.
I wonder where the book is now.

Then you pleaded for some money.
Just exactly three
for cigarettes and coffee.
One hundred times that much
was what I had on me.

I took some from my wallet
and put it in my pocket.
I felt its folds as I silently prayed.
No answer came, so I gave it away.

Next I offered some advice.
Worthless words that sounded nice.
Something must be done about you.
Someone must know what to do.

Then clicking off the light,
I locked the open door.
Relieved you understood,
We went out into the night.

You were muttering something to me.
Something about needing a place to live.
My God, too much to give.
I walked on up the walk,
I turned, and still you talked.

I turned away and headed on,
sighing your name and shaking my head.
As I passed back by in my car, you were gone.
I heard the next day, that you were dead.

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All in sparks and voids
ones and naughts
billions of trillions of them
transmit the windows into people's minds
trasmute to captured thoughts they let you see.
Some come with no coordinates in space and time
the what but not the who or where or when
or even worst, the why.

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Once more the specter of death knocks on the door

of my tiny sphere of the universe

to come and take away the man

who was a beloved husband, father,

friend, boss...

such a loss to us all

Today we gathered, mourned and prayed

At his coffin felt the calm of grace

to know all ills have been erased.

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It's so awesomely amazing
how all of the answers to life,
and love, lie
hinged to the turning hands of time.

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I guess they call these words your muse
these voices, lines, aliterations, and rhymes
gosh that line reminds me
of a childhood prayer
memorized in my anscestral tongue
So far it's not sounding much
like the feeling I had sought to touch.
What else but love
the only thing
this muse can see

They say that love is blind
It can not see the truth
and no condition known to man
can undo all it is

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the blankness of the update link
is sometimes too much to bear
let me paint you the picture
let me sing you the song
and all I ask is
please don't be gone long

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Finally I have a post
To alls' friends and lovers, real and ghost

Can you say edited it, 3 times fast?
Sounds like drum beats from the past

It's not always just the words, as much
As where and when and how, and such

A footprint for the footprints
The Unknowns and Places hints

The daily expectations, the surprises from the blue
The post with many comments and the ones with just so few

A common word, an emoticon
Thoughts and visions glimpsed, then gone

The comments that enfold
Revealing secrets left untold

The comments in return
RYC: What do you seek, What do you learn?

The post that echoes, bounces, parallels, and dances all around
Loud distracting blasting noise, or choosing soothing sound

The Meta Xanga is the funnest art
The Meta Xanga is the dearest part

A message deep embedded in the pics
Or is it all the mind just playing tricks?

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hanging by her neck

the angel bows her head

and gives thanks for all things

she asks Him for forgiveness

for the strength to carry on

and for blessings for her loved ones

to hear Him when He gives instructions

to please take her will and make it His

and to please just cut her free.
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As my mind spirals back in time

rewriting sagas from illusions and passions

to truths and lessons

the rock holds fast and the angel's still mine.

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Janice

Once more death visits next door, next store.

This time he took my long time mentor.

Teacher, co-worker, friend

Nothing to amend.

Her last words were stunning.

I am at peace and I'm not afraid.

Just like she lived her life.

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pauses such as these are rare
in the story of my life
pivot points of turning
realignments of the soul

telling the truth is the dare
play the role
of happy wife
or chase the dream of yearning.
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Is the saga yet complete

little dancing Happy Feet

the lies you had to tell

the survivable bomb shell

because His will is stay

and life and love are just that way

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My muse of the ocean sends me the songs
     with harps, guitars, angel voices, chimes...
My muse of the forest writes my poems
     while waterfall muses sprinkle in rhymes.
The muse of the stars renders the art
     from high past the billowy clouds above.
The muse of the rainbows shines hope from the heart.
     but the muse of the fire inspires the love.

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Can angels

in their oversight

or perhaps foolishness

commit sin

open sealed lips

or overstep boundaries

ignoring the signs

the looming thunderstorms

from the one

who's purest love

can resurrect

killme

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I am weak and somewhat meek
Not very brave or much to crave
I need your courage and your strength
to help me go to any length
to free my soul from capture
Free my heart to soar to rapture

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Love is no big deal
It's just the best of ways to feel.
It is what it is
and will be what it will be.
I'll be happy so long as you are here with me.

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Thank you for all you've given me
and done for me
and been,
I love you
with the in love kind
reserved especially for lovers.

Life is spinning by around me
making things look blurry
but no doubt there is a pattern
leading where we want to be.

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A Xanga Saga

I was first brought here
by a friend beloved and near,
an anonymous extension
to our home groups' prime intention.
Accepting that no more would grow,
the web held other places to go.

Out there I met and married,
but in my heart still carried
longings for my Xanga friends.
Most will be here till life ends,
and upon return, my husband followed.
His blog was sweet, but sadly wallowed,
beneath a shallow halo
and blarghy language woe.
We stood there on the brink of the spiraling abyss
trying hard to keep pretending that nothing was amiss.

But soon began the Xanga crushes,
with whose telling my face flushes.
They'll harshly kick you from their clique.
Was I psychic or psychotic?
May I never know
the truths of long ago.

Next the lure of instant chat
was really fun and more than that.
From across the deadly sea
friendly words would drift to me.

Then came dialogue with another,
one much like a little brother.
Empty, drunken nights swirled by
sharing on our own heart's cry.

Here are just a few more of my Xangarena:
Mother Mary Magdelena
     dispensing healing love,
a sister sheds her hijab, like a molting dove,
big mean brothers bashing me,
creepier ones on a stalker spree,
one with unseen disability,
     I pray his love quest's not futility.
Godless men who like debate,
     I just try to ease the hate.
Brother bashing brother with a funny loving ring,
or shedding loving light on such complicated things.

Then one day, from the cloud in the sky,
just waayyy too strong to let pass by,
fell a tempting invitation,
leaving me in fascination.
I left without a backward glance
to test the waters of romance.

In the flesh we met, and flesh to flesh we shall remain.
I hope some day to tell his name.
My other person of significance,
found at last, in love's magnificence.

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Why?
Damn, there it is again,
that nagging question why?
Why is anything?
And why is anything NOT?
Create for me the link
where I can see all that I think
and guide me to the place
where I can see you face to face.

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More often than I used to
     I can feel the fear start rising.
In a heartbeat, up it spirals,
     and can sear me through the gut.
But more often than I used to
     I can sway the other way,
And twist the swirling fear away.
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This house of cards is soon to fall
Sentenced to the wrecking ball
And those who dwell within its walls
Are left to find their future's call.

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Life has been changing at an amazing rate
now here I am up to this date
One day at at time is the golden rule
or is it to never ever be cruel?

In a snap of my fingers the characters change
quite an interesting exchange
from commitment with wrath
to a dark, solemn path

I have a new job
a new mate
a new God
and all of the future is waiting on fate.
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