Transition

Blinded by these artificial lights,
Vanquished by the finite truth.
Friends are a rescue,
To stop the voyeur
Into the depths of darkness
And struggle.
Yet, internally
Bowels are shaking
As one college female
Balances her life
On a towering pedestal.
There’s a cliff,
A hundred foot tall cliff
Overhanging the world
Of spit and fear.
A jump; one jump is all it takes
To go blinded, circling down into that dank, dark abyss.

This never-ending pinwheel life
Spins on its edge,
As the college female topples
To her death amongst
The dead fishies.
She sees decomposing bones,
Marrow, and whale sinew under there.
Everything’s all chewed up and weathered
By time itself.
Diving deeper she finds rotting bodies on the sandy ocean floor.
It is dark and quiet, after her jump of insanity
Off that monstrous cliff.

Bubbles shoot from her mouth,
And gills sprout on the outskirts of her sensitive neck.
She rubs the glassy new films attached to her eyeballs.
(the eye sockets feel sore and tender to the touch.)
This college female swims through the murky, blue/green water
To find her fingers and toes
Conjoined
Into flippers;
Her belly now as smooth as glass;
Her nose
Wet and small.
She brushes her face with her front flippers,
And feels sharp ling bristles
Rub against her slippery cheek.

Whiskers.

Blinking her eyes,
Blinded by pure confusion
She sees pale ghosts in the water with sterling,
Haunted faces.
Gaunt and old flesh
Disintegrated;
detaching from bone and blood.
Caked with corral,
some look into her eyes
With longing.
“I am a Seal”
The college female thinks,
And flaps her hind flippers
in the thick foggy seawater to got faster.

A Seal indeed.

A simple animal with no act
Or virtues but to be born, eat, sleep, excrement;
Find a male mate for life, have babies, raise those baby seals, then grow old and die.
Either by a fisherman’s accident, or plastic rings
Caught around the throat.
A simple animal
That lives
Just to live.
With no deadlines, rejections, emotions,
bad grades, time management problems,
schedules, school issues, relationships,
or the overwhelming lists that abide inside her soul;
Documents her every move.
No worries
But to
Stay Alive.

Yes, the now female Seal,
The Seal female
Sees spirits circling underwater.
Is she a Seal or a monster?
‘Fore she can’t see herself
Under here.
Maybe she’s not a Seal,
But a slimy, grimy sprite
Mermaid-like creature.

A Selkie.

Cursed Woman-Seal .
Changes into a beast when she touches water’s firm grasp.
Or changes into a Person when she touches land.
(The second is more accurate.)
This Selkie
Dives deeper, skims the depths for answers
But only hears whispers and false lies
That she tells herself.
Only sees shimmers of the dead,
Soaked-through
The epistemological reality
Of black hearted thoughts
With sinking tides
That cast away
Past failure until reason pulls and tugs
Against her slippery, Seal formed body;

Calling her home.

She swims up
Faster and faster
As light filters through,
once again,
and fresh air invades her steel blue lungs.
Blinded by these artificial lights,
Vanquished by the finite truth.
A Transformation;
Complete.

From Woman
To Seal
To Woman
Back again;
The college female awakens.

Melodies of Thine Life

One day hath passed,
This bright and blithe morning
Doth unravel.
Life,
A two-sided wonder
Twists and speaks
of great merriment and grandeur.
To ever thought
A world
Rollercoaster
Down and up
The silver slide ‘till
Death unfurls
Its wispy fingers.
Full and whiplash,
They feathers rot
Upon the horny shores of wrath.
But, awakened, thee from
Dark chambers.
Swallow up past blackness,
Wallop in stirrups set for confusion.
‘fore life doth have a grasp of us all,
Yet we may bend and break its fate
Like cherry blossoms
Breaking spindling tree-limbs
Swaddle their babes.
This morning,
Wrapping up thy hate;
Devouring thy pleasure
At the sin fold gates.
Rapture at its precious beauty.
Upside down
Reality bites at our collar bones
As we twaddle and fiddle
With strings that won’t fit,
And feelings that won’t wander.
But what to make
Of the fawning scrooge,
all delinquent with awakened furver.
Bring thy light
To haste and hot
The slow day away.
Hands reach out to say
What a bumpy ride this is,
What unfinished business
May uplay the gulping
Frights of yesterday.
Nay!
It is not the raven that watches
At home, by thy telephone wire
Nor the chirpily robins and jays
In the green trees outside.
It’s the meddled doves
Watching cue-on-cue
Until better hours
To sit upon the clock face,
And wreak havoc on the leftover space.
Two lips, quieted and resting
Until the time
Is right.
Who’s to say that waiting
Isn’t much more
Than what the devil doth thinks
in his fiery palace;
Or the angel doth thinks
in her clouds and chalice.
Closed minds doth open up
Prime new realities.
Fix the unfixable,
Wring up the unfathomable
Stir the unmixable.
For to let out the fever within
Is to set fire to the body,
And ice to the heart.
Bound by thee and thyself;
I wander.
Contemplating life
And all its woes;
Predesigning pleasures.
Wait until it drifts away…..
To nothingness—

Together, We Are One Unit

Even though I’ve got a lot to do,
I know I’ll make it through.
Friends, good friends
Is what I have.
Believe it not, this isn’t a fad.
Bursting at the seams,
My dreams
Are made into reality.
Cut that fatality
As the pendulum swings
Claiming “who knows what life can bring?”
A new paradigm shift
Lifts me to the star-filled sky.
(I’ll never ask why).
Like a lone die,
I have struggled to find new life;

Until now.

Say bye to “loneliness”
‘fore saints can’t be sinners
As long as they try.
And wishes can come true;
If only I knew,
If only I knew.
Pen, filled with thick, rich black ink.
A crisp soft notebook for poems
To sink, past the brink
Of time keepers and spirits.
A smile invaded my mouth vessels;
Please be gentle
With who I am
Not a “ham”
Filled with strawberry jam.
Friends, good friends
Is what I have.
Believe it or not,
This isn’t a fad.

Treehugger

I love trees,
They are the deepest friends
A girl can have.

I’m a treehugger at heart.

Wrap my arms around your
Bristly brown trunk,
And your mine;
All mine.
I talk to trees,
And they respond
Back to me.

Call me crazy;
I don’t care.

I love trees,
And they love and care
Deeply for me.

Call me crazy;
I don’t care.

The trees and I have a special connection.
It’s fun to talk to trees, hug them as I please.
Realizing, even.

I love trees,
because they are infinitely wise beings
and have a lot of good advice to share.
Give them a chance,
And they’ll listen

And CARE.

I’m a Treehugger at heart.

Monster with the Ice-Frozen Heart

Oh how it whistles
Oh how it stomps
Oh how the floorboards
Squeak in distress
Oh how she whimpers
Her small cheeks as white
As white as the snow
That falls from the sky.
Oh how it howls, and chills to the bone
Oh how her life
Gets stopped by a stone.
Oh how the monster
Creeps up behind
And carefully scares her
Shrieks are divine.
Oh how the girl
Frightened to death
Cold body still
Small and delicate
But ice frozen,
Rock hard,
Clear as diamonds,
She lies.
Just a statue
Of a clear, better day.
Oh how it whispers
The monster’s sweet thrill
Oh victorious conjuncture
To burn, and to chill.
Oh, that little girl’s gone now
The floorboards can’t creak
Until another young child
Drifting to sleep
Hears it again, the pure
Bounding stomps
Of the monster that lives
With an ice-frozen heart.

Memories of the Man

When the world shuts you out
whispering the silence among greater beings
the wind calls from various slumbers,
awaiting.
Growl, you growl,
as the world shrinks,
and expands.
Pushing the parameter,
the gargantuan man
a stranger in this land.
Reminiscing on past grandeur,
and lengthy, finite stones of words
as they fall, vicariously,
in the pitter patter of empty rain, and dry sunlight.
Short, are you
bringing forth new openings
as store fronts, covered with silk
and velvet dark red carpet
swirls into your body,
as it swims into the sea of thoughts and memories.

Passover Woes

No carbs for you,
Deprived little girl.
Still a saint, unsexed by the Lord.
For where do these ideas go?
Do you put them in glass-sealed jars
And wait ‘till the marinating’s done.
Do you starve the princely woman
Fearing death so much she stuffs
Bread on her jacket, clutching a knife?
No carbs for you,
Deprived little girl.
You hunger
For a better journey,
One received, but not open yet.
Words pour out like disease, and taint the milk,
Turning egg to cheese
And bread to sin.
Fuck the lonely heart strings,
Taut in remorse.
Never played by delicate female fingers,
Never sung, shooed, or sharp.
No carbs for you,
Deprived little girl.
So much expansive knowledge
to weep and to curl.
Burnt edges brush
Crusting up merle,
Navigating the mind
To new sights,
“sounds divine.”
But so much is left
For the dogs.
Weaving through traffic; waiting for a miracle.
Angel wings is what you desire;
To stop time in its tracks
To devour the clouds
And spit out dandelion seeds
In the grass, replanting the weeds.
No carbs for you,
Deprived little girl.
Life’s too precious
To throw your intellect
Into the dumpster.

The Minute Hand

The world beats its itchy finger on time,
Striking at the warm heat,
Emitting vocal calls.
Clasp the hands of the golden red clock,
As it ticks through life
One pure sparkling battery.
Dive high to put on the light,
As wet trees sing softly,
whispering through their leaves.
Silent patterns strike,
While fancy bells whistle
Through evaporated rain.
Drying up, yet soaking in.
Huddled, bundled-up in cherry cheese cloth,
Spindled-knitted yarn.
Stripes going zig-zag
With plastic edges,
Blunt band shrill
Warm up the sweat,
Collecting in foreign places
Such as palms;
forehead, and behind the knee.
Keep this structure going,
when bulging glass pink eyes
Wipe away the grime and stare
Up at the sky
All white cloud
And blue patterns.
The churn of shifting voices yell quietly,
Only in one mind.
A quest,
Just started, blinks on reality’s acting cue
As it steps into the limelight (on stage)
And delivers
Its lines.
Processing quick sticker facts,
Slinking those slick black slacks,
Sinking into the abyss.
The clock tells times,
But the heart knows not yet
Of the future.

Who Am I Really?

Who am I really?
A ghost of a child
Cemented in core scrutiny
Until eye socket collapse
And screaming babies curdle.
Who am I really?
A warped black
Plastic cord snaking
From the electrical socket,
Sucking energy dry from the sterile grid.
Who am I really?
A callous hexagonal button,
shaped strange, grey and lifeless.
Just sitting in the dirt
Like a lone beggar,
Dust in my beard;
All tarnished.
Who am I really?
A faulty heart
That spews out nonsense
And freckles the steam cloud
With dangerous pesticides.
Who am I really?
Cold feet, clammy hands, bitten fingernails.
gnarled knuckles, a gashed cheek
multitudes of gruesome grape bruises.
Who am I really?
Chained to the ceiling,
Ducked taped mouth,
Sewn up eyes,
Blind to the world
Of my mind
Inside.
Who am I really?
Not a dark ominous path of dissected trees,
Oozing pink leaves.
Some crinkly old newspapers
Fingers stained with print.
Not a curl of smooth hair
Or a flicker of silver flecks.
Who am I really?
A mirror
Into the future;
A doomsday device.
A pencil empty of lead,
A hollow rubber ducky;
All yellow and quacks
But no final emotion.
Who am I really?
Circling thoughts
Like turkey vultures
Around a dead carcass,
Drowning frogs in salt water
And fuzzy squirrels under tires.

Werewolf

I am a hairy beast
waiting for the kill;
Waiting for the feast.
Thick black follicles
Never shaved, quite deranged.
A clean, but hairy beast
Waiting for the kill;
Waiting for the feast.
Wide mouth open
Metallic black eyes
Stare straight into the depth
Of your demise.
Don’t be “fooled”
By this clever disguise.
I use it as a mask
The hairy beast inside.
Growling
Chomping
Flesh to wisps;
Bone to powder.
Lurching
Smiling
While gnawing through slimy eyeballs and veins.
Licking
Slurping
Blood from my victims.
I am a hairy beast
Waiting for the kill;
Waiting for the feast.
I enlarge my testicles
To swallow the night.
As shiny
Penny-less paupers
Form into light.
Eating through fear,
I devour bad taste
Crumble buildings
To rust,
And mere people that hate.
This creature,
Within me
Can’t be undone.
With one flick of my jawbone;
I’ve already won.
The glint in my teeth,
The layers of gums.
Too late to stop
From what I’ve become.
I am a hairy beast
Waiting for the kill;
Waiting for the feast.

Rise and Shine

Waking up
Is the best thing
a person can do.
Milk and cereal;
Empty-headed thoughts.
crunching,
With swallows.
Humanity
At the beginning.
Scribbles made
By one fine woman
Who knows who she is.
Waking up
Is the best thing
a person can do.

Feeling Quite Small

Holding in

tepid tears.

littering my own path

with salt and grime.

Reaching out, but

grasping air.

Missing the mark,

again and again.

The target

keeps on moving,

changing,

shifting

without

a vocal sound.

Almost Whole

Tonight
was a splendid night.
Poems and stories
shared.
Great friends,
to declare.
Everything right.
simple
and bright.
Another day gone,
no sadness lingers.
Laughter is shared,
grinning as we mingle.
Tonight
was a splendid night.
Weather descriptions,
homesickness inflicted.
Words pour out as heart inside expands.
Friendship is worth
more than money
or gold.
So much richness,
experiences to behold.
Surprisingly delightful, depthful, and sane.
Tonight
was a splendid night.

The Sounds of Life

Birds are chirping
Noodles, slurping
Leaves are rustling
Wind, bustling
Eyes are sparkling
Innards, sparking
Pen is scratching
Love, slapping
Planking is watched
Smiles, taught
Hugs are waiting
Touches, dedicating
Sky is cloudy
Feelings, lousy
Bellies are rumbling
Hearts, stumbling
Knees are wrinkly
Legs, tingly
Words are exciting
Voices, enlightening
Trees are listening
Friends, whistling
Planes are flying
Joyfully, sighing.

On the Cusp of Calmness

On the cusp of calmness,
Seeing what lurks near.
Stress invades
Dear friends’ souls.
Devours and shakes
This steady knoll.
A fickle matter,
Not peaceful, at best.
Swimming in a burst
Sea of cooled-off
Sunlight rays and power.
Sometimes,
Enough is Enough!
On the edge of reality
Happiness fades away.
But glory and thankfulness
Makes its home here.

String Theory

Oh, what on earth
To think
As babies drink and drink.
Chub turns to fear
When dynamite comes near.
Dawn is dusk tonight
Between the urge to fight.
Calm those
Insistent nerves.
This body fights and swerves.
Mistakes cast long
And fitful stares
When wooden words,
sucked in,
Just declare.
Two feet in red
Are better off dead.
Filled with
Briny, oily water
Separates to slaughter
All that’s so precious
Our babies are out to get us.

Purgatory

Stuck in a Purgatory
That will not ever end.
Dropping fly balls;
Swinging at the air .
Missing the catch
And smacking in the face.
Skiing down a mountain
While rushing into trees.
A stolen sweater; found.
Mistake for a double
Salad; yesterday.
A rushed waxing gone astray
As parking chatter
Gives a straight delay.
Stinking up the white sounds of death
And silence.
Less days to progress
And watch it all
Fall
Into its own decrepit shit.
Stick in a Purgatory
That will not ever end.

Luck, no more Fuck!

Luck, no more Fuck!

Love, no more Shove.

Blurt, no more Hurt.

Wide, no more Hide.

Learn, no more Scorn.

Treat, no more Defeat.

Full, no more Lull.

Blush, no more Hush.

Red, no more Dead.

Life, no more Strife.

Joy, no more Ploy.

Luck, no more Fuck!

Last Train Home

The Last living soul
On the night-life
Train
Buzzin’ down the tracks
Is nobody’s gain.
Only one left
Sittin’ in the cold
Sweat,
Hearing the rattle of ticklish wind
High pitched,
Outside the dull blue carpeted floor.
All cusp and wink;
Tried past the brink
Slowly to sink
Into this cold brown pleather chair.
Excitement, beware.
The last stop is me,
Befuddled
Yet full of glee.
Exhausted
Not needing
Anything.
Finally alone;
Finally free.