May 2012
84 posts
Nice Guys Finish Last
Sure they do. But here’s an idea you little bitch-of-a-man,
and I mean that in a tender, warm and giving way, all pink hearts and white roses mhmm—
stop self-proclaiming your niceness
which is a poor excuse for an adjective anyway, bankrupt in a still-lives-with-mom sort of way and colorless in the look-at-my-muscles no look-at-my-brain exchange, the lesser cousin of plain pleasant...
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Book For Sale →
My novel “May It Be” is available through iTunes and Blurb Books. Preview available at the website listed above. Short description:
“R.M.S. Titanic. 1912. First-class passenger Mary Catherine Ashley is losing her eyesight. Blindness is inevitable and mind-crippling headaches are becoming more frequent. She knows that this trip across the Atlantic might be the end of her sight as...
Just Call Me the Patron Saint of Broken Men and...
Hey! Listen now, I’ll only say this once. I’ve got a splitting headache and two tickets to the end of the world. You can come if you want, but I’m not paying your way and I’ll need a drink or something to keep me in good spirits.
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“Oh my darling,
oh my darling,
my heart breaks as you take your long journey.”
– Doc Watson & Rosa Lee Watson
Thimbles
The problem with getting what you want is sometimes just that. The whole thing comes down to one stitch in the fabric, and uneven as that seam came out the colors will bleed together. So torn, so taken, your needle breaks time and again. Is this what you wanted? Is this what you really wanted?
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Song Spell
Give me a blossom that blooms in my hands all blue and white petals that wilt on command.
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The Glaze
The dripping haze, so cloud soaked and sopping I’d rather not face the day—if that’s what this is, sun so absent I couldn’t say, not for sure anyway but best start waving off this foggy, humid morning digging through a hundred shades of grey to find an hour worth the waking.
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The difference between highs and high places
If I had a dollar for every man who said, I bet you smoke weed like a chimney
as I lean off a porch railing or stand on a balcony edge arms outstretched balanced and eyes half-closed in ecstasy declaring the world for poetry and lime juice among other things.
Well, I’d be very rich indeed.
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"There is one spectacle grander than the sea..."
apoetreflects:
“There is one spectacle grander than the sea, that is the sky; there is one spectacle grander than the sky, that is the interior of the soul.”
—Victor Hugo
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Matter of Fact
Oh, deal this out. So far she can’t make up her mind one way or another but she swears he said something profound once.
Given, as he was, to prolonged silence, diatribes sloshed from his well-shaped mouth like lukewarm water when they came and came often.
To his mother, he might have mentioned sweet things, about birds and babies, angel wings and a dalliance with the girl next door.
Sex and...
Hail Mary
Bride down on the church steps fell flat on her face after two years of bliss and another two of hate.
Blank Earth
There’s a sudden chill in the air, a gloominess that’s settled in for the summer.
No one talks about glorious tomorrows anymore.
It’s all sensationalism, all news of disease and pestilence, calamity and death.
Sea Shanty
There’s something in the water, a cold, menacing thing. Crushed glass on sea foam, riding the wave and crashing against the sand, tearing it back from the hill, dragging it back to the fathomless deaths. This violence in Poseidon’s eyes, this murder in the sea-girls’ hearts. Wreathed in weeds and wildness, they clutch daggers to their frigid, North Sea breasts and barter in...
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Ecclesiastes 1:9
Seriously.
In So Many Words
the girls in my family are cold, frost-bitten creatures too often burned by a cooling flame and swayed only by hymn lyrics too old to quote without sounding a little out of place.
mere sense and mind over matter passed from mother to daughter we have these tenets tied tight and corset-laced in morality or held close, like the only child of a dead man’s wife.
turn a blind eye to those failings...
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Prettiness
For J.
Gone away before your time, my dear, sweet boy, what a soul you had! The hand of God moves over the waters and through green grasses caressing the earth. You followed west breezes and sent back such stories and hugged me so warmly before leaving that last…yes, time can be cruel with reminders. My dear, my lovely, you’ve left me alone here and now distant our voices from so long ago....
Shouting by a lamp post
Not once but twice that’s how many times I scraped cold ice from my soul and ate a grimace like a rotten peach muddied on my molars to make sure you felt ‘comfortable.’ Well, screw that.
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Lowered Expectations
Passed over and parceled out five dollars for a sack of moldy onions and scattered bread crumbs. Let this be your lesson, if you need one: I juggled with the onions and seagulls ate the bread crumbs.
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Re: My attempt at shape poetry :)
On the dash, it looks horrendous…but on the blog it actually turned out okay. Haha yay for experiments!
My attempt at shape poetry :)
a The
sail swift and
in the sailing fun
wind and I’ve had with
watch as it out the ties and
blows and ropes that hold the
see how it can drifter back and
carry you and I firmly away from the
to where joy and life of
the waters of the Nile and the seas of the Pacific
in their grandeur and their swaying; they
Water, still water ~~~...
Modern Day Fairy Tales #1
The white knight left last Tuesday. Now every day smolders and a new kind of light flows in through the windows, unnatural and beastly, like the breath of a dragon all scales, claws and oil slicked back and sticky like a greasy businessman too free with his hands as I lean on the bar and wait on my tab taking each “honey, you’re lovely” with a “sweetheart, stand...
The play's the thing
Black comedy is an overused device. It’s lost its potency from years of patched together productions. But those ironic twists still make a person smile. There is no fear of divine resolution here. In an earth made of dirt and water, no possibility ends in an extreme, just a sopping, muddy mess. I will entertain this adventure passively. Quiet and demure, I’ll see it play out....
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tenmilesfromhome asked: than you very much. I do like your poetry as well, its like adouble chocolate gateaux, you just want more!
Pro Se Divorcée
there’s sense and then there’s something else altogether or all together, I guess if we’ve made this into a family affair dinner will be at six appetizers on the back porch sunshine in your eyes as you explain again why you broke our pact for security in our old age and the tax breaks of filing jointly
idiot.
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“I am a part of all that I have met.”
– Alfred Lord Tennyson (via natalieslittleworld)
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The shameless promotion continues... →
If you like my poetry, you’ll probably like my prose. And if you like historical fiction narrated by a burned-out, bitchy blind woman, you will definitely like this book. Some of you have already checked it out and many many thanks for that. You’ve increased your karma ruples by hundreds :)
Vicious Cycle
Another day, another dollar, another twenty percent for Uncle Sam and his assorted family— my family they tell me— though I never get a birthday present or a card at Christmas, just more pavement on these dead end highways that lead back to more days, and more dollars.
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Vertigo
Sudden darkness like sudden black magic swirled in full sunshine of a mayday noontime crept up out of crypts I thought long conquered and buried tight, and dizzy with the spine-tingling, hand-trembling flutters of free fall and first dates, I clung to the rungs on a metal ladder three stories skyward and mused over with some sinister but no less glorious expectation how it would feel to let go....
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My, Grains to Level
Sleep away this morning drum beat, pound cake pick-ax loose in my head aches and day dream glideeeee like a silver fish fins brush an eel in the rushes brown reeds and white water lilies of boggy marshlands all skin smooth and dead quiet.
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“The past is never where you think you left it.”
– Katherine Anne Porter 