Monday, April 18, 2011


~A prosaic poem dealing with the passage of time; inspired by my desire to revisit my own past.

mental decorators seem to have tarried in my endlessness. the shades replaced with iron bars; draped cloths upon the desks. eyes of ancient ancestors are watching dust fall, silent, down the hall. mahogany panels starkly flank me, rising far over my head. like a mausoleum cold, like a tomb dark and trapped.

footsteps ring within my skull like a hammer of steel on the anvil of now. dim fires that burned once in chambers of clarity snuffed out with a kiss far too cheaply given. the shadows that play in the darkness run down paisley corridors of then, as ghostly footsteps do echo before they do fall for they forewent forever many long years before.

all is dense like a fog on the lake is. all is cramped like an embrace of the desperate. the outline of a door ends the hall to my back. i have walked down this path for a long while now; turning often, seeing less than before. light is dying as is time, dimming sight of that door that i came from so many painful, padded footsteps before.

down the spectral blackened hall i can still make it out–why there’s no point in returning down the hall of my wraiths–for where the great door’s brassy door knob should be is a hole through which eyes watch me diligently.

and do not blink.

Car Insurance

~A memory I have of a rumor about someone I knew–a poem about the lengths we may go to if the world closes in on us.

drive me and park
where you want to
do what you need to
in order to insure 
that i get home safe
down dark asphalt
papers scattered on sidewalks
meant for passers-by and not
for me wishing that
i were walking them
in the cramped sweaty confines
of a seat now for two
you reek of regret and revulsion
and my only option still around
handsome once but now spent
car insurance–that’s all you are to me.

Photo by Tomas Castelazo

Sunday, March 13, 2011


siphon off a little silence
in a day of endless hustle
guide your hand to touch me
on a morning like most others
lose a little violent feelings
with a smile spent on life
and find your way out my bedroom door

sometimes that's all there is
sometimes that's all we have
sometimes it's time that sums us up
sometimes we've nothing left but laughs

strike the pavement with your step
on your lazy way to work again
switch on your Bluetooth once again
with practiced efficiency
snag a coffee from the cute barista on the corner
as you daydream what's ahead
and find your way into your office door

sometimes that's all there is
sometimes that's all we have
sometimes it's time that sums us up
sometimes we've nothing left but laughs

evening rises in the west, white kisses on your skin
in your own room, own home, own retreat
where you're conscious you're finally alone
with a smile you play through your highlight reel
years of playin, dodgin, winnin, lovin everyone
familiar emptiness that needs to be filled again

sometimes that's all there is
sometimes that's al we have
sometimes it's time that sums us up
sometimes we've nothing left but laughs

i hear you voice, near a whisper it seems
as i settle down in bed
and the clock is ticking ominously
but i can't work out the rest
and you say i should come over
and you say you miss my laugh
and i say you shouldn't ever have left
if you were gonna want me back
i can hear your breath take suddenly
as i hang up on the past
i can hear my heart beat slower
as i smile in the dark and laugh

sometimes that's all there is
sometimes that's all we have
sometimes it's time that sums us up
sometimes you move on at last

Saturday, March 12, 2011

As of late

As of late, I have been toying with various ideas for short stories and novels.  It has been quite some time since I sat down and wanted to write anything so involved; I have mostly been focused upon my professional life.  A recent move to a different state, a change in personal roles to pseudo-housewife, and a sick feeling unpleasantly blossoming in the pit of my stomach as I watch our government continually pour the acid of capitalism upon education have all combined to realign my vision.  I do not wish to simply scrape a living out of this mess anymore.  I need to contribute something; I need to leave some mark of my mind, however covered over it may become, to stand in my place as proof that I did not go quietly.

This realization has prompted me to re-examine the career I am so forcibly involved in sustaining--education in this country is dying, despite the best efforts of thousands of dedicated and effective teachers.  Many of these educators could reach minds like never before if our system did not demand every ounce of energy, every second of time and every cent of one's paycheck to achieve testing margins and continually realign course materials with state and school scopes and sequences. Many of these educators never find the opportunity to become an active voice within their subjects' ongoing development; they are too busy attempting to teach students meaningful lessons while fulfilling the auxiliary state-mandated, federal-funding-dependent requirements.  The students and teachers deserve more from an experience that lasts decades.

 If the US government gives me the opportunity to set foot in front of a classroom again, I would sincerely like for my students to know that I have been active in this field of English--that I have communicated beyond academia, beyond my assumed social groups, and beyond aspirations I once held.  If I am to teach expression, communication, the betterment of self through hard work and determination, then I must model and exude these.  Otherwise, what right do I have to teach this subject?

Let Diogenes have his sunlight, for the Stoic will become the sun itself.

Finding Me Among

there is a hollow chamber within and of my memory, illuminated by the glow thrown by the sparking cedar fire
where shades clad in dying dreams and molded  hope  dance deftly round the stones
echoes off the moonswept  bay, upon my face the wind and the din of all the sin i wished had been
the scent of grass as the sky yawns wide in this room i have locked away
where silence sings far louder things than life's strings howling at my flesh
and you stand here, not dancing, not laughing, not having
that which i have selfishly locked within.
your smile you wear upon your lips
my own locked safe within
and i have not the key for you
for i dance still within

Friday, June 11, 2010


you have some sort of 
ill-placed faith
that i will rise again for you

you have some sort of 
viral belief
that the true me's locked within

you have some sort of
that i'll make you what you weren't

you have some sort of
misled fiction
playing out that you've not created this

i have some sort of 
painful wish
that you will be proud of your child

i have some sort of 
malnourished dream
of being valued for who i am

i have some sort of
pibroch song
playing for all you warned me against

i have some sort of 
you within me
keeping me trapped in "potential."

when all i want is kinetic...

Thursday, June 10, 2010


small eyes, fragile limbs
bright smile, curls of burnished gold
skin like snowy china
twirling, radiant happiness
black and white world of color
she makes it
silence that sings like a child
to me across time
the mother who has always been there
dancing, singing, smiling