Indie Author

Finding & Creating Beauty in Unlikely Places

Month: May 2016

Poem of the Week: Rose-Colored Glass

An antique metal remnant
preens at the end of a
lonely drive for one of those
houses untouched by decades
takes you back to those fifties
fantasies of families yours could
never live up to
imagining backyard barbecues
sharp chlorine scent from pristine
blue waters and the mosaic patterns
that glitter like shells under painted toes
pick-up games in the yard
she remembers
surrounded by coral bubble glass
and a turquoise kitchenette
eighty-years old she stares
out yellow curtains
remembering what was
Her son has busted out the
windows of that antique car
and filled them with rose-colored
I wonder if
to sit
behind that steering wheel
with the scent of brown leather
and Camel cigarettes
he can hear his father’s keys
dangling against the dash
I imagine that
staring through that
magenta haze–
as the ting ting ting
of silver makes its own melody–
is as startling
and overwhelming
as memory.

Poem of the Week: Fave Song

“Come down off your throne and leave your body alone/Somebody must change. You are the reason I’ve been waiting all these years/Somebody holds the key. Well I’m near the end and I just ain’t got the time/And I’m wasted and I can’t find my way home.” Blind Faith ’69

I am daily waiting
for loved ones gone
daily preparing for goodbyes
daily lost in the melody of your eyes
every word from your mouth
is a heart song
Most days I get my spiritual
nutrition from nostalgia
their missing beats beat
lonesome in my eardrums
and I conjure lost places
like memory is a Ouija board
that skips over letters and
waves uncertain in the corners
of those absent lyrics with no
answers I sway in the deja vu
that the summer brings
a red picket fence
a cat black as sin in
the sun who’d drip affection
from his fangs with his ears
scratched right
those faraway faces materialize
like the bass line that vibrates
through the woods I can walk
blindfolded they are the constant
hum beneath the car horns and
harsh voices that sing out of tune
with you
the Conductor
I am waiting
for you to wave me in
to become a note
sweet and haunted
freed as my soul to mirror
the cry that yours makes
like music
when we remember home.

Poem of the Week: Losing My Religion

I’m sorry I don’t
talk about you more
that even in
closed circles your name
on my tongue sounds
that I can’t put us into words
fighting old-as-mankind
stereotypes I’ve been taught
to let my actions illuminate
where words give no light but
I feel like my silence screams
volumes like I’m ashamed to
know you. But I’d like to set the
record straight once and for all.
cause people who think they
know me assume I’m Wiccan
that I need to be toke’n to be
this Zen this calm amidst the
apocalypse they don’t see
it’s your kind words in my mouth
your soft-spoken acceptance of
our human-ness Why? Am I that
poor or that good of an imitation
See, the “religious” clan
once assumed that you were a
demon and the people thought
your prophets spoke with alcoholic
ecstasy I suppose I’m not
that far off the mark but
I wish it was plainer for people
to see
You.Saved.Me. You. In Person.
Often I talk and you listen but
when I shut up long enough for
you to get a word in your voice
is like nourishment the more I
pay attention the more I’ve come
to know peace–Brokenness mended
is attainable–You’ve taught me
there is no empowerment in bitterness
or hate but to see my own mended parts
behind the tantrum-lashing pain in my
“enemy”‘s eyes You remind me
that I am no better
On my own
and when I remember all that’s
good in me comes from you and
all those threats, jabs, slaps, cries
in the night are merely the absence
of your light so how could I feel
anything but compassion? feel
anything but saved from that daily
death life’s only guarantee all that
living and dying without you can
know is darkness. I’d like to tell
all of those so caught up in the idea
of hell that if darkness is the absence
of light then hell is merely the absence
of you it’s a choice and anyone who knows
what it’s like to burn–I’m talking about
feeling dead inside– knows how broken hearts
don’t sting they flame but you are the
antidote. I am sorry for how people
who claim to love you go so wrong.
how no amount of Bible-thumping
judgement-spewing, rule-obeying
ever swayed anyone to have a one-
-on-one with you. How we took “judge
not lest ye be judged” as us vs. us It’s only
seeing through your eyes I’ve resisted
succumbing to that state that it doesn’t
matter how many verses I quote where
my car’s parked on Sundays or where
my political allegiances lie if how I
treat someone makes them curse your
name. The best I do with my incapable
hands is to say I fear nothing this world
can take away that death is overcome
and afterlife is only home. I would say that
to verify your existence is to shut the
hell up and listen I would say that I
lost my religion long ago that Jesus
loves me this I know b/c He, himself
tells me so that try as I may I’m still
human and for them to judge you
through me is to critique the refraction
not the source like the dawn through
stained glass our spirits are all
fighting to get back to you and
when I stop fighting and just
with you
the closer I am
to peace
the better I am
to myself to others to you
I pray someday to have
the words
to speak this truth
about you.

Poem of the Week: Blue-Green

This poem is dedicated to “BB” and everyone whose holidays hurt because happy days often remind of of who we’ve lost.
Robin’s eggs
and salt sea
it’s the color I’m lost
in most days
I let it suffocate me
until the taste of your tears
feels like home
it’s like Fiona said
“It’s calm under the waves
in the blue of my oblivion”
when you’ve lived long
enough in unshed selkie skins
that tie-dyed horizon
after a storm becomes
a welcome atmosphere
let your clenched fingers
holding onto phantoms
let it cloud those tomorrows
you can’t seem to stop
when it’s no longer easy
to breathe let those
fins fill your lungs with
emerald gills
when you see their spirits float
heavenward let that undulation
of ocean swell become you
no fears just floating
no grief just grace
from the bottomless black
I pray your body is too
wind-carried to reach
and the uncertain light wavers
from above
I send blessings in bottles to
breach its surface and float
to your rescue
where the color of
birthday cakes, afternoon rain
on the sidewalk, crickets
calling in the night, snowflake
fires glowing, sunrise stencils
across your bed awaits you
it hovers there
with outstretched hands
waiting for the day you’ll
take them.

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