Unconscious

Unconscious, as we step onto one million minute fragments of historic
rock. The beach.
Unconscious, as we jaywalk through one million bustling bodies. Our community.
Unconscious, as we grab our lates and The Times we forget to give thanks.
Unconscious, as we virtually communicate, we've forgotten how to use
our given voice.
We stall and try to ignore the feeling that were losing our grip on
the fundamental elements of humanity. We rush even faster to work to
avoid running into that elderly neighbor who still writes letters by
hand, bakes and donates to charity. But its catching up to us, just
as the landfills begin to overflow and the ice-caps we should have
protected melt into our homes, we will be reminded. Even if its just
one person at a time, we shall overcome.

At Long Last

Your image haunts me.
I keep waking into memory.
I push away the vision,
So I must seal the division.

I will not free another tear,
Only in solitude will I persevere.
To reassemble my fractured heart,
I offer myself a brand new start.

I’ve held myself in chains for a year,
Your voice softly humming in my ear.
I close the alter to our past,
I move forward, at long last.

Fall 2008 Poem

A rugged wind grabs at my skirt,
My legs are now riddled with goosebumps.
The click-clack of my heels,
And the whisper of leaves,
On the cobblestones
Excite me.


The ceraceous moon
Hangs pregnant above me.
Pestering me.
Pushing me.
Forward.
Forward.
Forward.

I’ve been waiting.
For a change.
The seasons changed,
(again)
Before I could.

Leaves

I slump down on the concrete bench,
Iced wind and wet droplets cling to my hair,
And I notice the yellow leaves,
Dancing.

And I fall away from the sounds
Of the shoppers,
Of the traffic,
Of my life.
Behind my lids,
I can almost see an old friend.

He never stood.
But sat contently,
Filled with the joyous labors,
Of three devoted kin.

He wore old bluejeans,
And a flannel button-down shirt,
And never failed to smile.
He knew he was loved.

We really brought him to life,
Bursting with red and orange leaves.
The painted smile on his face,
He played quite a vital role.

But Gomer is gone.
He left a long time ago.
And he took something of mine with him.

Leaves.
Leaves.
Leaves.
Why did you leave?

I open my eyes,
To see that I’m running late for work,
And that I still have two papers left to write,
And that once upon a time,
Was a long time ago,
And I shuffle off to work,
Through the leaves.

Leaves.
Leaves.
Leaves.
Why did you have to leave?

My Plant

Why is it so heavy?
Oh why is it so heavy?

I watered my plant,
But it won’t seem to grow,
Without you, being here.
It cries itself to sleep.

I didn’t mean to hurt you.
I only meant to save you.
From me.
From me.
From me.

I lit a fire in our forest
To warn you.
It burnt down all around me.
I couldn’t stop it.
And now there’s no oxygen left,
I deserve it.

Why is it so heavy?
Oh why is it so heavy?

My Oyster, My Slate

I’m giving back what you’ve given me,
The weight of your love is just too heavy.
I’m suffocating in this comfort you provide,
It’s my oyster! And my adventures, when I decide!

Things were rosy-darling-sweet,
Months went by, I had felt complete.
I sang to you of love and bliss,
Fell heels over head, sealed with a kiss.

But my wings are clipped by your own hand,
The year has flown away, the timer’s full of sand.
And I dream outside that garden gate,
I leave you now, to clean my slate.

Which Side of Time?

When I’m with you,
I feel warmth, or comfort.
I am a time bomb.
You keep me dormant.

When I’m with you,
High walls fence me in.
I am a rogue charge.
You keep me grounded.

But I love to hate those walls,
I learn to stand up tall,
And peer over,
Longing for,
The other
Side.

----------

Time,
To reconcile,
I say to the mirror.
And I summon my gall,
(whatever that really is)
And I tell you “we need to talk”.

The Words!

When it rains on my windowsill,
I cannot help but watch,
The glassy drops splatter.
Greedily, I watch their ecstasy.

Because I can’t get enough,
Of that slither-up-the-spine,
Burst of nervous bliss,
That sustains me.

And the words!
The moist, succulent plums,
And slick, pink conch depths-
Of our words. I could die.

So, I wait.
Not quite patiently,
For a time when our words,
Will reenact my raindrops.

Milk Pale

I find myself alone,
Without somewhere to be,
And I get stuck,
With these eyes,
That won’t stop crying.

They fill and fill,
So I empty them,
And they fill again,
Like a fertile cow,
Producing pail,
After pail,
Of warm milk.

Except these tears,
Aren’t comforting,
The way warm milk is.
They come because,
I’ve found myself unaided,
And I am uneasy,
Together with my psyche.

I need to be on my own,
The way the cow needs,
To release her milk,
But the tears,
Have no place here.

The cries fill my pail.
I skim off the top:
Condensed aching.
So I pasteurize my loneliness,
And swallow my tears, once more.

I want to tell him,
That I need real solitude.
But how can I explain,
That I have come unglued?

This pail keeps filling,
While I knowingly ask,
For a new set of pails,
To fill.

Aroma of Mistake

I inhale deeply the dense aroma of mistake.
It ignites my mouth, and my thirst is awake.

Like an ivy, it binds me,
I’ve been stymied.

Sweaty palms will incriminate,
As my clammy goose bumps congregate.

My conscience waits uneasily in the scale for my move.