Sunday, March 7, 2010

Tuesday, March 2, 2010


the power to change



the desire to share


Tuesday, February 23, 2010


scrap at your feet to be loved

and to give you love.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

My lips are sealed with a kiss that waits for your mouth to take it.

My mouth will squeal when your lips doth steal

the kiss from my anxious, quivering, thirsty lips.

They will part for you as wide and deep as you want to enter,

Will open a warm, soft bed for you to lay yourself into.

My lips will welcome you, will give you a home for as long as you will stay...

Will find the most sensitive places to tease and taste you,

Will pucker and pull you, please you,

play with you.

Pry me open with the tip of your tongue,

Probe me gently, forcefully,


Until my depths are as familiar to you as your own face

in the mirror,


my depths return you to yourself.

I have never been afraid to share my emotions,

only afraid of a missed opportunity,

a closed door - you counted on that- or

a window that won't open,

with you on the other side.

But I was hooked before you turned the lock,

I threw myself on your hook

and climbed the line,

slipped into your boat.

Didn't know you caught a real live mermaid

with songs for a thousand years?

I learned about the fisherman's trade,

saw how slimy and grimy the gutting,

the fileting of smooth skins and delicate fins

that adorn each tender catch;

smelled the rancidness from the work,

the labor of love inflicted on minnows and carp;

heard the tearing flesh and the squirm of eyes popping

and entrails splattering,

the gasping for breath.

Every man must work,

and some must be fishermen.

It is hard to remember the fish want to live.

That the end of their life is nourishment for you.

Will the ending fare better for the mermaid?

You should gaze upon her,

even show her that your hands are for more than fileting,

and when your curiosity is satisfied,

then throw me back - if you can.

Should I stop before I say too much?

Like how the thought of your hands

learning my curves

makes me catch my breath

and my heart beat faster.

Do you want to know if I can say more than three or four words

when I am around you?

No one else has that horribly embarrassing effect on me.

Only you.

You would be the lucky one to make me stop talking,

stop thinking, lol.

Only I don't know that I've even laughed in front of you.

I dream that I do.

I say and do all kinds of things in my dreams.

And then there's no need to speak.

Pent up emotion never lies,

it builds and builds and starts to rise

like red hot magma going off

at 4 a.m. before the alarm.

I don't want a cure for this,

I want a darker, shadier bliss,

I will put it aside

until it is our time.

Tomorrow I must be serious,

so tonight I am delirious,

thinking of you,

wanting you.

One night.

Could you let me go after one night?

One night and one morning.

Would you miss me the next night?

I am to fly.

Can you live without one night?

I may not fly far.

Would you regret having missed one night?

A missed appointment.

Would you lie awake at night?

You missed on purpose.

Would I haunt you at night?

Close enough to have touched.

Have you dreamed of me at night?

Not listening, I thought of your kiss.

Would you kiss me all through the night?

A love affair to remember.

What if it were only for one night?

A love affair to treasure

if only for one night.

I found the myth that was not meant to be,

the sophisticated, simple you,

and the unpolished, complex me;

and everyone laughed because

they could not see that you were as lonely

as I was.

Me, with my living ghost,

my shell of a man who forgot how to feel...

if he ever did know.

You with your void.

Absolutely absurd, yes.

But something neither of us expected,


I was never fooled.

I knew you wanted me as I wanted you.

But you fooled yourself.

It was enough for you to look my way,

to look at me as a decent, intelligent woman,

and not as a slut to be put in her place.

You smiled,

and I knew you meant it,

and I wanted to thank you,

to thank you.

Thank you.

The way you looked at me

was more than any words you could ever say.

I will always love you for that.

I have loved before,

and I am certain to love again,

but I will give you a chance if you want

to let people laugh to hide their jealousy.

Nighttime comes too slowly,

but your memory

races across my body,

raises me up

to your--

to where you were,

where I want you to be.

You were there,

in my dreams.

In my arms,

in my mouth, in me,

in my legs,


Every night we rocked together

under shadows,

smoldering flames glowed in your eyes,

saw through my darkness,

punished my naivete,

plundered my ignorance,

and filled me with yourself.

You've already been here.

Already been here.

Do you want to know what you made?

Stay away if you will,

and let someone else caress your sculpture,

gaze at your painting,

leave grafitti on your


Deny me,

my love, and deny me my love.

I will wait for you.

Morning kisses fill the air;

they float and dance laughingly

before they land on me


and here

and here


and, oh yeah,

there, there, there!

Take me down,

down by the maypole.

I'll tie a ribbon of love,

fiery, sweet love

around the maypole for you.

Your kiss melted into my mouth,

warm milk chocolate on my tongue,

the sweet aftertaste of desire

fills my breath.

Pour it on thicker,

let it drip.

Drink me.

Saturday, February 20, 2010


I miss you. I wish you were here. You could share my springtime with me. A few years ago, someone gave me a flower and told me that I was going to bloom. It has taken long enough, but, finally, she is right.

I must be the luckiest woman in the world to have two springtimes. Or is that the way it was with you? You must tell...

Did you hold the sun in your hands,

whisper your secrets to the wind,

slip your tongue to the rain that ravished your face...

Or did you burst like a thundercloud

and share your radiance with a dry, thirsty land?

Or did you float with joy as silky dandelion seeds

and pick up dust and learning along the way?

Where did you arrive?

Who met you?

I begin today.

Twice I asked you, no,

mentioned _________ to you.

You told me not to worry (?) about that.

I'm not worried.

Shocked is a bit much, but close to the thought.

You probably don't remember.

I know other things, too.

Would you be shocked to know that strangers

openly display dissatisfaction with the purse I carry?

As if my choice of accessory would make a difference

in their lives.

But that is nothing compared to the other...

that other....

that is like so much other that I find amazing.

Should I be apalled?

You can shut my mouth by kissing me.

Monday, February 15, 2010

I moved a plant from one corner of the room...

to another corner of the room.

It made a noticeable difference in the atmosphere.

Snow days are terrific!

Red flags stand out brilliantly in the snow so sparkly.

Crimson, bleeding truth.

I cannot look away.

Today is one more day to live.

Tomorrow is the next day to live.



Spring is coming.



Monday, February 8, 2010

I am .

And the world lurched again.

I laughed.

I cried.

I thought for a while.

Am I .

I am more than a fragment.

More than fragmented.

That is all, she said.
My war on two fronts,

Impossible to reign in the tornado

with the tidal wave throwing its shadow

over my shoulder.

Don't you know me by now?

I turned the pyramid upside down,

and the bottom point is crowded with everything

I cannot read.

No desire for what is not mine--

But what is mine?

The tornado might, might

of the tornado...


At war with the tornado.

The tidal wave waiting for me,

thinks I mean to taint its walls,

Paint its walls with my presence.


versus offense,

back-to-back with offense,

in my home.

One is not done well without

expense to the other.

To rest will calm the sea.

To rest will leave be

the tornado.

To choose is to lose.

Sunday, February 7, 2010




Saturday, February 6, 2010

Dedicated to My Sisters


Why do women tell stories?

With each pinch of salt, she tells

a flavor of life,

With each stitch on a quilt, she threads

the old with the young,

Each lock of hair tucked tenderly in an envelope reminds

that time waits for nothing.

The stories are to remember everything

we should never forget.


My name is Joan. Do not forget.

My name is Anastasia. Do not forget.

My name is Harriet. Do not forget.

My name is Hypatia. Do not forget.

My name is Rosa. Do not forget.

My name is Anne. Do not forget.

My name is Nicole. Do not forget.

My name is Elizabeth. Do not forget.

My name is Amelia. Do not forget.

My name is Sally. Do not forget.

My name is Cleopatra. Do not forget.

When I am called 'whore' and worse, remember that is usually the first way others try to degrade a woman's character.

When it is said that I was disobedient and unruly, remember that the men try to make the rules different for women.

When I am forgotten, someone will eventually remember.