Welcome

I love contemplation, curiosity, self awareness, imagination and strange things. I write about the human condition, and often write about love lost. Tragic, haunting, graphic, strange, heart-wrecking sorrow calls to me, and so; I write. I believe there is beauty in sorrow. I’ve lived it, seen it, felt it, know it. I hope that my words create a Universe of their own for you, full of visuals and contemplation.

Please note, because I feel that some posts are more for adults, just drop me an email and I’ll give you the code 🙂 Anyway, thank you for reading my words. I hope that you enjoy.

The Last Dragonfly

Spectacular Sign

You
Were the highway of my childhood –
Aspen birch skin, feline green eyes, waterfall, platinum tresses
Curves and legs
Hollywood voluptuous in a small-city girl; You were Marilyns prelude
Your joie de vivre lighting the Hollywood strip, pale, candy cane pink kisses trailing behind you
You inspired eyes of desire, and I
I chased your magic –
It followed you everywhere, although you rarely noticed
I tried to catch it in a jar, but it was trickier than those fireflies that lit the lilac bush in summertime
I tried to lure it onto my palm, but it was fierce and wild
But as the years fell away, you did, as well
Clouds of fire
Rolling through the sky
Roiling, toiling angry monstrosities
Beautiful chaos like your embattled eyes
Violin lips pressing a haunted melody against every blissful season, chilling each pleasant breeze
Blowing icy kisses that frosted the ocean waves as you stood barefoot in the cold, wet sand
Lingering somewhere that could never be touched…
Captured in a Polaroid, your hair whipping in the wind, face turned sideways, eyes numb, like your smile
And I dared never ask the question –
Since your demons easily tripped you up
And your spurs, and quills shot to attention, punching through your delicate, pale skin
Like tarnished armor that kept you separate, kept you scarce and alone
But I remember how I played in your shadow, looking up at you with adoration
Heel to your toe –
The whole world rose in your smile and danced to your laughter
And should there ever be a measure of my soul
It would be those breaths taken within the span of your ethereal wings
Moments when your love unpeeled times grey shadows to reveal exquisite pastels beneath
And, having forgotten who I was
I found myself in the glint of your soft, fragile, velvet eyes
While your lacy wings wrapped me in their lilac-scented sweetness…
We brushed against, and pushed through the clouds that ringed the mountains
Carbonated wilderness full of specters drier than a dead desert –
Coughing up their putrid sawdust, choking us
But you gathered me up and without hesitation, dove into the sky
Wings beating a lullaby
Flew past the sunflowers and marigolds
To land in the clover-dotted grass
Where we tended to our nicks and gouges
And the world righted itself, surrounded by a cornflower blue sky…
Your silhouette unfurls and I reach out from my dreams, my fingers sliding through empty air
Drops slip beneath my lashes to flow down my temples into my dark hair
I don’t want to open my eyes and admit nothingness –
But it resides there, the yin to my yang
Kitchen table coffee mornings were a best part of us
Each time I traveled back, feet on the blue concrete landing, peering through the glass panes into my childhood
Hand on the doorknob, eager
I remember the time the egg shells cracked and I hid in the bathroom, sobbing –
Unable to understand how I could make you so angry
I still don’t know what happened that day, but I hold it close to me, along with sweet, candied moments
Now that I can’t hold you
This morning, I feel separate, scarce, alone, and wish for a lullaby; I’m looking at the sky
Wishing for that fierce and wild in your long ago
As you darted and dodged, hovered and swirled
Prisms of colors, purples, greens, blues and lush black
Wings that kissed my cheeks with tenderness as you flew by –

The last dragonfly

Witch

Tempestuous Testament

Anathema; Reviled and shunned, by my own hand, having written my own, detested story
Pages turned where the voice that speaks, my own, creaks with cursed harbingers –
That I am damned, and detested, within my own cruel, disordered mind
These sharp and rusty fragments do not dissipate in this ill begotten wind
That blows through the hollows beneath my cheeks, through stiff joints and swollen knuckles
Brushes the low curve of my spine producing tremors that embalm me like a thousand feral gnats
Lapping at my meringue flesh, pricking it with their tiny stiletto teeth, as if I am a succulent –
My plump flesh ripe and sweet
However, their hordes are merely demons smelling my earthy scent, a dead giveaway of my wretchedness
I am witch
I seek no harm to others, only to myself, and on my behalf must admit that I am full of wrath
I call the clouds, the wind, to roil
To chastise myself for my grievous errors, upside down and sideways, singular and plural –
Threefold when webs cling to corners, and ruse slithers up the walls, my minds eye blinded –
Unfolding a collateral morn…
Debris crunches beneath these funeral boots, antiquities phantoms smeared upon their withered soles
Briar and bruise, cut and burn mars skin with a map resembling a tortured playground –
Like the one long ago where my 5 year old self first met its shadow…
A circular teeter totter from which I fell and broke my arm in two places; A greenstick fracture
There was no teetering… nor tottering… no movement… only sitting
Barely the space of a few feet between ground, and girl
The beginning of wreaking mayhem on myself for my helplessness to exterminate abominations
How else could this occur?
Perhaps I bore marshmallow bones?
Or were they volcanic; Full of holes and feather light?
Some believe that there are accidents, but the rest of us know there aren’t
From the time that I could tie my shoelaces
My mind at war with itself
My heavy eyes observed the intricacies of the universe –
The pecking order of oblivious mannequins
There are few saviors, and none blessed me with their good deeds during those 2am night terrors
As, swept up in soft arms, we would creep into the brittle, cold night air…
When he, fulcrum to her lever
Ran amuck through the wormwood fields, leafy oils seeping through his skin, staining it green
Until his mind was gone and his demons breathed, inhaled her forlorn miseries –
Throwing them back at her in a cyclone of blood
Brutal, metal zig-zag teeth leaving bite marks on her tender faith
Droplets of bitter crimson climbing up the hem of her precious wedding gown
The only bit of good in the bad; She would not collapse, would not pass onto her offspring the feeling of forfeiture
But even with her clever, feline, agile tenaciousness
Her medicinal, crafty armamentarium of spotless, contemplative infinities, intuitive planes, and transcendental artistry
She could not separate the heart from the hurt, the child from the tarnish, the soul from the shame
I am a product of primitive gardens; Seeds that bloom threads of dark divination –
Harms that need not be human faults, though they be!
I screech and scream in red splattered so brutally across creamy walls that it settles; Into silence –
I am a ghost in Time magazine photographs
Bleeding and bled yet revived and fueled by fury; A porcelain pinata exploding with a parched bloodlust
Come Fall I feel its nearing –
That inky wash staining my skin and eyes
Its dark, dreary appendages, spider-leg fingers reaching for my spirit, clawing at my dreams
A childs memory mottled with guilt
Its skulking shadows magnified on the wall in the candles flame
I am a chromatic aberration, circles of confusion along the path of chronic calculations –
Energy exhausted, to determine sacred ground, where my eyes need not plead for, nor fear… love
Mugwort tea to bless my dreams, yet knowing that I can’t undo those parts of me that now travel through each lifetime
I can’t spell an answer when the question is irrelevant –
Whatever determines what remains, so shall it be
And I can scream red, can cut off these scars, dig deep and long, break these wicked bones rip my hair, my lashes
I can rage that I will not become the results of blights, and plagues, and ravages –

Of brutal things wrapped in pretty bows (vile atrocities should be thrown to hell, but even hell doesn’t want them)

I can fight the good fight, but as the long, grey shadows of fall slink over my face with their cold, wet tongues
I am all I am, and although I loathe certain things that have brought me here
I loathe the abandonment of myself even more

I could not save her from his thieving arms
I was a child with an angelic spirit whose wings were torn, ripped from their tender seams
Left on the floor in a crumpled heap, in their shattered bedroom –
Holes and glass, metal and wood, paper and pierced photographs; What vile dream is this?
My child is a monster
I invoke the clouds, the wind to roil at her strength
While my wicked eyes send heartbroken tears down my lonely, empty face

I am witch
I seek no harm to others, only to myself, and on my behalf must admit that I am full of wrath

Unraveling

Caldron of Churning Cumulus

The night caves
Folds itself into this asylum of darkness
Pillow talk, then twilight sleep beneath our sheets; Your lunar dreams mirror mine
Moontide conjures shadows in our minds
Our web-weaved dreams, melting in the flames of the damned…
A chessboard of the same battles, just different demons
We howl, curse such threadbare sanity –
Lungs inhale a distance that tastes of cold hammered metal, which becomes exhaled coppery alienation…
Nursery rhymes are grotesque illusions, demons live between the pages
Disturbing minds, spewing torment made of afflictions too dreadful to name
Maiming Love; jagged pieces scattered in careful, erotic poses in a barren field…
Blood seeping like dahlia ink between hagged, bony fingers bereft of loves prose
Their most ravishing calligraphy churning into a demon-scented, premature eulogy
A dissection with unsterilized instruments and no remorse
No respect is paid when loves cadaver is indistinguishable…
Hopeless corrosive seizures, fueled with a fury paralyze loves flesh
Tear it, leaving it raw, flawed and reviled –
Lost beauty morosely beautiful
Glittering hyacinth recollections hiding beneath lacy, silver moon rays
Carried on wing and wind back into monochrome dreams
Petal-perfumed memories blossoming despite what offenses have tarnished
Reach for me; I will reach for you
Through cosmic cracks –
I see your soul
This inertia, that were going through…
Mathematics, mechanics, mutations and molecules
Obscenities –
Reach for me; I will reach for you
Paradigms a solitary, thorny cage; Puncture wounds stain a crisp white page
Sunless silhouettes rotting on the walls; Undrempt dreams unravel in the hall…
I’m your destiny, not your fate…
Your choice, your desire –
Not an inevitable chain
I’m the oracle of your truth
I’m the medium of your pain
I’m the vessel for your moody soul
Your silky lair to rest your nightmares of woe
Our savage, raging specters are forgeries –
Restrain love with each morbid, carcinogenic striptease
Shibari bound, to choke on kinks that masquerade as fantasies
But, my love, you know my eyes in your dreams
My whispers, my warm breath against your skin
Eons of sweetness, star-ice wrapped in moon fire…
Our thirst, faith, perceptions, fill the abyss
Time is this skeletons skeleton key; Through the dimensions our harms seep
And though whether wrought by fair or foul; I suspect that shadows creep
Through the sun to catch the moon
Tell me love, will you come home soon?
Wrap us in your tender words…
Give love a voice to be heard?