POETRY - The Calla Lily

The Calla Lily

A Calla Lily

folds upon itself.
One single perfect petal
circles
the phallus, the stamen.

Intertwines him

with perfect longing
and he dusts her with
a golden shower.

POETRY - Last Night's Moon

Last Night's Moon

Last night the moon

chased the sunset away.
Pillows of gray and purple
were laced with
the gold of the moon.

POETRY - Art Is Breath

Art Is Breath

Art is breath.

My lungs take baby steps,
tiny breaths of fear.
It feels right, good.
Air in
words out.
Deeper breaths
fear replaced by joy.

Oxygen to my mind

thoughts quicken
my fingers trembled.
I pick up the pen.
The lace that I draw
words today
tangles tomorrow
the line that turns
to a leaf, a flower.

I thank my God

for breaths today.
For the thoughts
he gives me.
For the words that
tumble from my mind
to my pen, my lips.

POETRY - His Fingertips

His Fingertips

His fingers so wide

I cannot slip mine
between.

So I hang onto the tips.

Smile, happy inside.

He curls around

enfolds my hand.
I am cocooned
safe for the day.

When I have grieved enough

he will open that hand
and let me soar.

POETRY - Beneath My Skin

Beneath My Skin

My emotions are just

beneath my skin.

My body barely able

to contain them.

What happens

if they escape
take wing?

Poetry - The Women

The Women

The women live

up and down
the street.
Each has a box
with a door.


They sell themselves.
They buy a chance.
They –
     bargain
          steal
               hope
                    pray
for the best.

They want –

      pretty
          soft
               safe.


Sometimes they win.
More often –
     slapped down
          bit
               chewed up
                    spat out
by those
designed to protect.

The women

continue to give.
Each generation,
each culture,

knead their bread.
Finds the food
to fill their bellies.

They take to their

beds. Want passion
and softness.
Some win,
get to sleep in
his arms, safe
through the night.

Some not so lucky.

Wam Bam
Thank You Ma'am.
Or worse –
     hit
          bit
               torn apart.

Lie in confusion,

in despair.

They gave it all.
Tried to hold
on to their souls.
But some gambled,
lost that too.

POETRY - Why Do Poets Write

Why Do Poets Write

Why do poets write?

The obvious, trite answer
because we have to.
But why?

I write because

I have no choice.
I need to tell my truth.

The words tremble

in my body
on my tongue.
My mind sometimes
frightened, terrified.

Banks of fog.

I pull phosphorus
letters from the sea.
I gather them
begin to build the words.
To tell my tale, my truth.

When I am afraid.

It makes me –
     face
          confront
               fight.

I pick I choose

till it is right
and then I sleep.

But still it is not done.

I say my poetry
gives me voice.
It does.

It requires that I speak

say it out loud. The words
spring to my lips.
Get caught in my tongue.

Sometimes tastes of bile,

other times so sweet, so light.

They can be sticky

grasping to my body
not wanting to leave
the safety of my lips.

Each time a word is

spoken, a sinew rips
and it is strengthened.

I am so tired.

I fall asleep.
I can rest.

I wake, I tremble

I write again
because I have to.

POETRY - Star Over Abiquiu

Star Over Abiquiu

One of the most

beautiful sights
I have ever seen
is the pinnacles of stone,
moon bathed
silhouette.
And a single star
over Abiquiu.

POETRY - Thunder and Flute

Thunder And Flute

I crave the thunder

the roll, the black.
I want to feel
it under my ribs.
Feel the boom
the one that comes
with the rain.

Have you ever heard

a flute
in the rain?
The sound pure,
so sweet.
Then the crack,
then the rain.
The sweet longing
of that flute
calling the thunder back.

POETRY - He Is Breath

He is Breath

He is breath upon my skin.

I feel his kiss upon me.
He lingers as he slides
across my life.

I loved this man.

Still love him.
The essence of him
will caress my body
invade my soul
forever.

OREGON RETREAT MAY 2014

POETRY - I Wander

I Wander

I wander

what do I see.
A bee, feeding
on the lace of flowers.
An old tree
sharing food and shelter.

I see swallows

soaring through the morning
and evening skies.
Two stay behind
begin their beginning.
The sea kisses the shore
never tires of her.
The osprey, the wind
meet and dance.

The clouds

stroke the mountains.
I see the sun
and it watches me
as I wander.

I'M COMING BACK

It has been way too long.

I am coming back.

Just a heads up to look forward to or run from this blog.

Starting 21 Secrets tomorrow!!!!

So ready to begin again.

See you this week.