monster

you’re a monster spreading terror
a shadow blanketing the ground
but you draw me closer
gripping me with your hands
surrounding me with your arms
whispering your desires in my ear
i run into your insanity, your protection
defend me with your golden trident
your cunning and your strength
and i’ll stay here forever
the prince of your dark otherworld.

3 Secret

I have a secret. But I can’t tell you.
It involves insanity and death and sex.
The allure of dementia and sleep.
Flying away, than a crash,
And I’m stuck back here again.
Running, morphing, murdering, laughing.
Freeing and leaving.
Rehabilitation and building
With atoms and cells only
To start an internal fire
And soar into the sky.

Wake Up

I dreamed, your hand on my knee and we drove.
Far away from this place and everyone I know
Now it’s just me and you.
A bright sunny day, your lips on my neck,
Flashing eyes, flickering smiles, laughter and kisses.
I want this and I want you.
It’s bad when one needs someone like I need you.
Wake up (and love me).

Healer

Herbal potions and
Magic lotions
Brewed by the smart and few
Must be made
In a hidden glade
When the moon is full anew
With the words
Said so bold
To make the liquid bubble
Summon the light
From this dark night
The healing power shall double
He closes his book
While the mixture cooks
Bathing in the light of the moon
He takes off his cloak
The candle he smotes
Smells his brew with a spoon
The potion he gives
The sick one shall live
Make it through the night
Now he must go
Swift as a doe
Out of sight

-2004

4 April 2009

i’ve been laying in the dirt under the sun
under the leaves of sprouting plants
dreaming of colors pushing their way out of the green towards the sky
feeling the weight of my body press itself into the ground
like roots going deeper and deeper searching for water
while my soul soared high above my vision
drinking in the sights and sounds and smells of heaven

i’ve been laying here dreaming about you
making love to the moon and the stars
basking in the heat of your touch during the day
and your nightly lullabies that give me peaceful sleep
finding you when my eyes open and feeling my whole world expand
into a living and breathing ball
of dirt and water and air and the fire contained in your eyes

when the rain stops and my lips are cracked like a desert
you bring me water and drop it gently on my face
slowly reviving me pouring your liquid love into me
bringing me to life and setting me free
free to grab your hand and jump into the wind
scattered together and spinning under the sky
above the flowers trapped in a never ending midair dance
whispering secret love songs to each other.

suffusion

shaken furiously
feathers fanned out
thrown into the wind
blown far and farther away
clouds searing across the sky
over green and fertile land
raindrops hurling splintering
exploding into ink blue lakes
holocaust of collision
multiplied by infinity
gods children dancing with drums
beating blades of waves carried high
high into the sun
burning flaming into existence
riven again and again and again

sunflower fields

Being one, from one, we are one
all descendants from the same
grandmother, grandfather
our color
of a beautiful quilt
spun by great great grandmother
our ancestral rainbow in radiant hues
cinnamon ivory creamy
cayenne colored notes
of music playing
the spiral of life.
One beat one ecstasy, one native soul
blending and pouring
the mouth of life giving breath
giving kisses of life and love
bodies, together in the sand
breathing together
creating together
creating colors from the rainbow,
the sacrosanct rainbow.
It is good
the Creator says
it is so good,
blessings from the sun,
sunflower fields for worship
river, mountain, valley, jungle
celebration of the love children
eternally woven together,
the divine tapestry
in the one temple of adulation,
the Creator says
it is so good.

untitled

its pretty
a big empty space
like a canvas
but first you have to find paint

jump in and out of the river
there is no point of this,
the other people say
but it doesn’t matter because the water
covers you and rushes over your body
falling across your skin and muscles in waves
dripping back into the river creating music.

Evan

Dorris Watts had a friend when she was a little girl. Nobody else could see or hear this friend, and Dorris called him Evan.
It was 1939 and Dorris was eight years old. Her family lived in a large house outside town near the edge of a forest. Dorris spent a lot of time out of doors, wandering through the trails of the forest with her friend Evan. When she was fifteen, she spent most of her time in her room. Evan’s name was no longer whispered audibly in the house, he had seemingly vanished with the toys and books of Dorris’ childhood. But sometimes, if you were to listen very very carefully outside her door in the black of night, you could hear the name, not even a whisper, slip through the air.
Dorris was very beautiful. She had fair skin and dark hair, large dark eyes and a pleasing figure. Her voice was silky and her words charming and carefully chosen. She was shy, however, and despite having a large group of friends, she never had an extra special relationship with any of them.
The years passed rapidly and Dorris graduated high school and then college. She was twenty two when her parents died. The trauma lead to her nervous breakdown and she spent the next several months of her life recovering in a hospital full of wealthy patients suffering from all sorts of nervous and emotional disorders. Dorris had few visitors, a couple family members and an old friend or two. She was well liked among the other patients, even if they thought she was a bit odd. Dorris was very close to another patient named Phyllis. Phyllis was always sad and was prone to spells of uncontrollable crying and incoherency.
When the doctors determined that Dorris was stable enough to be released back to the world, an estranged aunt came to the hospital and took Dorris by plane to her home in England. Phyllis had been in bed for days and missed Dorris’ departure, but upon hearing of her friends release, Phyllis told another patient, among other things, “Dorris is so lucky she never has to feel alone. Her lover Evan is always with her, clasping her hand and whispering in her ear. He never leaves her side, not even when she goes to bed. That’s why sometimes you can hear them at night together.”
Dorris’ Aunt Emily was a handsome old woman, full of sharp criticism and opinions and money. She was a writer of poetry, and encouraged her educated niece to transcribe her emotions into her writing. Dorris became popular among Aunt Emily’s society friends for her clever versus and descriptions of romance and love, nature and childhood, and of spirituality and heaven.
The year was 1956. Dorris was engaged to a good looking and charming young man, Christopher Pleeting, the youngest son of Aunt Emily’s closest friend. Christopher was the first man Dorris had given her heart to. Far more than lovers in love, Christopher and Dorris were close friends, traveling the country and abroad together, even before their wedding. They were married and together wrote five novels and raised three children. Sophia was the eldest, smart and beautiful, a writer herself and married to an American politician. Evan was the middle and the smallest child, possessing an aura of weakness from childhood illnesses, though his paintings were brightly colored and vibrant. Julian was the youngest and the strongest. His personal stories of adventure as an airplane pilot entertained the family on the rare holidays they were all gathered together at the family home in Manchester.
Christopher died in 2003, and Dorris’ health sharply declined, falling calculatedly as the months and years slide by. Dorris Pleeting moved in with her daughter Sophia Vutesch in Alexandria, Virginia. Her grandchildren and her books occupied her days, but her nights were long and too often sleepless.
Dorris looked across the room and out the window. The moon-fashioned shadows streaked across the floors and walls were still and Dorris felt tender fingers sliding across the skin of her arm. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, letting go all mental images of her deceased husband, falling back into a mental state dusty from childhood, but solid and real as ever. The shadows shifted and morphed across Dorris’ eyelids and lips murmuring silently the name, Evan.

See Now

Some people think the world in their heads
Gathering the earth together in their hands
Mixing it together in jars and bottles
Writing down the secrets they observe
Growing old and wise.

Some people see the rainbow
And chase vivid dreams down long hallways
They find life beautiful and sweet
Like butterflies and honey
Surrender to happiness and long life

Some people feel the rain and hear the thunder
Growing strong in spirit behind piercing eyes
Learning to feel with their senses and with their hearts, speaking words of compassion and spreading light like a thousand candles.

And some people can’t wake up, so intoxicated with the prowess of sleep and warmth
Bathing in satin and fleece and silk
Dreaming in color on clouds of innocence
Raining opportunity, but so often blinded by streaks of lightning.