December 21, 2013

A Skippidydooda Night

I think I’m addicted to my little white pill and my half a peanut butter sandwich. Peanut butter....should be spelled, peanutbutter, one word...its sticky and crunchy, ofcourse ofcourse...the nuts have to crunch, what's the point of peanutbutter without those little nuttynut crunches? 

The pill can only be taken with's a rule, my rule.  The little white pill has to, must, absolute irrevocably, stick to the yummychunkypeanutbutter - a must...if it doesn't stick, I get sick.

Ofcourse, ofcourse, I would prefer the yummychunkypeanutbutter on the kind of bread that sticks to the roof of your mouth, but healthy habits dictate a wheat bread...a little dry, at times, but I overlook these minor issues while absorbed in the rapture that only Skippy can offer a crazed woman in love with yummychunkypeanutbutter at midnight can, now you see? Love comes in all shapes, sizes, tastes and textures.

One mustn’t give into a second class early morning/late night addicting love.....first and foremost, keep milk or water at bedside....I prefer water to enhance the release of those little bits of chunky nut from between my teeth...a nut second helping is cool at 2 in the morning.

So let’s hear it for a second feature...a last hurrah...wide screen crescendo, an overture with each teeny-tiny-bite, sailing me off into dreams that stick to my ribs, and into a nutty-love, counting those little dancing peanuts in a delightful way - a Skippidydooda flight....and to all a good nightynite….

December 12, 2013

night falls fast

Night time, no other time in the world.  Shadows settle on the dusty river's edge.  Cold envelopes an earthy nature's beauty.  She smiled at me...tonight.  She held out her hand to me...tonight.  To me, only me.  She said, see.  I was there.  I loved her.  I told her I care.  The rivers edge is near.  I told her I loved her.  But, she didn't care.

December 11, 2013

a bit of cloth

By the river's edge, I found a piece of cloth.  A little bit of cloth.  It was white, pure white.  Still bright.  Were my eyes deceiving me? Could it really be?  I picked it up.  I held it for the longest time. Eternity.  A long, long time.  A little piece of cloth, torn from her hem. I held it, I held her in my hand....for me.  I knew...I knew it was left for me.  A tiny bit of hem, a tiny bit of cloth.  I smiled....she smiled.  She left this all for me.

November 29, 2013

Longing Illusions

Step to the curb, flag down a cab
Harmony blends city noises
Indecision cracks the lens  
Shimmering the edges of sad

Swing through the night air
Whispers with wind and rain
Songs beat out a melody
The rustle and tussle of your hair

This is for you
For yesterday, today and tomorrow
You can feel it, you can’t hide from it
Where love takes its cue

To sleep, to sleep
Struggling with sleep, exasperated longing
Dizzy with haze, yet beautiful pictures
My soul to keep

November 24, 2013


Before the sun rises
Before the rooster crows
Before the dew dries the leafy green
Before the earth sighs away the in-between

The dawn of morning light still struggles of new beginnings of today, of yesterday, of all the tomorrows, but with a present breaking path, I will have no shudders, no shakes; no tremors with lightening bolts of silver, with no piercing arcs of light to hold me back, held high above my head.

A sharper image of present days, of the now, with hopes of returns on the morrow; hold me fast, no sorrow, as the days are just beginning my girl, today we shall win the race of the chosen few; with the gathering speed piercing the air to win, to win, victory becomes a shout, taking the lead without falter of first step, of last, to win the race before time. 

November 17, 2013

Confessions of the Letter F

A chicken carcass; bone, picked clean of all of its skin, muscle and sinewy meat, and parts that now dangle deep into a simmering broth on the stove, edge to edge vegetables seasoned to taste.

In the bathroom the shower runs hot, I hear slight pulsations of drops bouncing off the walls, vibrating irreverent white noise, reminding me that this is where I will take my next step. 

But wait  

Standing here, stripping my layers of night and lounge clothes off of my body, I think:  I did not get dressed in my daytime cloths today, because I didn’t have to.  I didn’t care.  

No makeup
A naked face looks back at me from the mirror

I look down to a hard and soft layer of belly protruding below my breasts, like a hungry child waiting for its next meal on the outside of this world, yet growing smaller.  As I drop the rest of my layers to the floor, the water is yelling at me to crawl into its hot cocoon shaped nest.

Safe from mirrors
Hide yourself with water

Scorching drops hit my arm, my leg, and my backside; beckoning, come closer; I turn my back into it, allowing this stream to soak, sensing cooler drops running off, down the front of my torso.  I avoid the hot stream of water to my face, only allowing it to careen over my shoulders, down, over and between my breasts, cooling; down, over my belly, that fat eruption which reminds of what my hunger brought into my world, onto this naked carcass.  

I try to wash it away
It stays

I wash my hair, but this motion does not take away intrusive reminders, soap cascading down, into yet other places to wash clean around my belly. I had eaten to fatten these nerve endings, these muscles, these tendons, and the bone from which it all lies.  

A child is brought into this world, starving, because of my hunger to produce this fatty shield in which to hide.
Now I want to throw it all away, this useless fat, when there are children who have none to spare.  

My selfish nature did this, I tell myself
But, but, wait!

I tell myself we all have that part inside of us to be selfish
Only mine shows up like an unwanted letter F

November 12, 2013

White, the Color of Silence - Three in One

Think about this:
Everything you hear is color, whether black or white, or anything in-between, it is all color
What is color?

The wind blows specks of brown, noisily pelting sides of steel
 ping, ping, ping, the air floats
against grays of dust motes

Lingering, sounds of gritty rocks lodged within shoe treads, etching sidewalks a chalky white.  It’s music, hot as a red poker, shooting arrows of vibration over dirt covered streets, straight to the underground, nerves of steel shattered; straight to the drums of ears, straight to the heart, a hot red noise.

Sounds of blues and greens; cooling the undercurrent,  ripples splash over a moss-green log, rolling, sideswiping boulders; get out of the way! 

Leaves, translucent, supple green, soft spoken as a kitten’s purr; yellow as the afternoon sun; orange and reds muted brown, rustle, falling across the ground, a crunch you hear, steps into this litter of leaves

Clouds merge, a rainbow shot with electric current; dance a movement, a rumble, to a clap of hands, a stroke of luck; a nuance of what’s to come.

A heart beats, visualizing a deep shade, blood, a red buried on Valentines Day, a beating a thumping, its pulse to show the travels of love for each.
Falling to the ground, yellow returns; heat melts the white of a snowflake, what color lays in a puddle, as yellow burns away the skin and heats a room 

A room
The room
A white room
No windows, no doors, no floors

White’s voices are hollow
No voice
No one is there
Not even your own voice

Just the silent in and out breathing catches your mind….
Until white speaks
A voice that may never open the door, never fill a room with color
Never recognized; a sweeping landscape of space and time

Again and again, the sun mounts its orb against silence
Reflections of color lighting the window’s bevel
Hitting snow capped hillsides, melting back the day

Shadows begin the awaited internal brow of sunset
Catching your breath, setting the night
A Cymbal’s clash strikes away elusive color

Black, the color of bold, you hold in your arms
A hint of blue motioning quiet
No one can hear you but you

Enter silence, swept with the wind of glistening crystals
Don’t melt away, don’t melt away
Embrace the sounds of night, pleading to stay

The gray, holding court to mount the valiant effort
The monochromatic, invading hues
Blaring sounds of color becomes illusion

Is this true? 
Can you not stay?
Time to be alone, you say?
I’m home, I’m home, she cried
Silence answered her call
But I’m home, she sighed
No answer, just silence is all
Silence pulled her
Silence pushed her
Silence waited for her

Alone, to be alone
Where silence is silence
And no one is home
Silence huddled around
harsh and round
fragmented and torn
well of resentment warn
decayed and concentric
down to molding fabric
Swells on a breeze
Gone, gone, gone
Gone are the words
Gone are the thoughts
Gone into night
The space I created is gone hot white

Guilt, the tormentor burns and scars, scabs break and bleed, rendered useless from silence and grief
cascades the rivers to cool the wound
Yet only to yield to pathetic filaments born unto the air
born out of fear
Gone are the words that busy the day
That saves the day
That makes the day

Gone are the words that wash a well of hurt away
Gone is that day
And white, the color of Silence, does stay

October 19, 2013

A Child's Voice

She stood by the road, responding to conversation, cryptic formations; a child’s response to adult themes.  Life bombards her with self awareness, and she responds in short, obscure replies. 
A child’s voice I hear, and I wonder if you are mimicking life? 
I talk in full sentences, she cannot reply.  She looks away, and the world around is left with deadening silence.
A paragraph, she now speaks of fears; telling of what she can not go beyond:  A past together of feelings of pressure; she absolves responsibly, to a snail’s pace, more or less.  Slow down, she asks, and views the past. 
Words I see, just words.  She places, not just responsibility, but guilt onto the world.
I am the cause of these spoken words, the world at large.  I am the problem, the guilt ridden.  Am I to grant her this imaginary world, or a forgiveness she does not recognize?  Where is this ethereal line in which we stand?  Step forward, step backward, step up?  Where, please tell me where we take this stand?  A quandary, there is no easy answer; where do we draw this line?

A timid voice spoke from the crowd 
No Time to reply  
No Time, had she to give
No time to try

The earth shook
The child trembled when she tried to stand
Help me, she pleaded
I will try

Stand up, stand up
March in the parade
Stand up, stand up
Do not be afraid

Stand up and be counted
A strong voice command
Stand up, stand up
She hears the band

Standing very still by the side of the road, not able to march, just waiting for time and the band to pass

Stand up, stand up
March in this line
Standing, standing
All will be fine

I’ll march tomorrow, this I vow
Life will continue, if time will allow

No child to be seen, no time to play
Time marched on, life passed away 

October 8, 2013

A Word in Rhyme-Time

Small talk
Big talk
In-between talk

A loud word
A soft word
A small word

Hang me a note
Cough up a joke
Don’t matter a stroke, bloke

Mustn’t be absurd
Hiccup a word
Shout out the word, turd

Stand to your feet
Fly by your seat
Send in a treat, peep

Spit out that speech
Grind me a peach
Jot down a word, nerd

Give me the time
Weave me a rhyme
Have a fine time, line

October 6, 2013

Uninvited Guest

Photograph by Donna Donato

Dry, lined, withdrawn
floating in the wind
bending, brittle, rustle of leaves

rocks, buried, rigid, cement
smooth, gray and embedded
lines are drawn, drawn within

veined, brown, old, rejected
harsh realities submit their requests
 clang, signaling weathered change

Transferring tones into cruel, forced connections - Into and out again, alternating futures pointing the way...Swept away into vast smoky skies - A soul set free to drift, to skitter across a hard and cold rocky surface, separated by patterns, signaling steps from dusty ruin.

The conundrum of purity and wholeness;
Sin and the sinner; not without the other, the uninvited guest comes to rest, holy and damned.

September 14, 2013

Senseless - In Memory

There stood a boy, when the shot was fired
A shock that jarred the world
Gave way, a body of proof
Gave way, a body to truth

Just a child, wanting to skip and sing
As light of morning stirred
Then the world shook a fist
Felling my boy, a boy becomes a list

A body lay dying, only remains is sorrow
Against a hard won fight
No justice, no justice, to show the way
He only wished to play

His body is wrapped, with the warmth of love
But deep within the earth he cries
Buried beneath the cold of clay
To hear no more, no more, the smiling laughter of day

September 8, 2013

The World at War - Survivors, another name for Hell (unedited)

 Hear me! 

Eyes avert
Down, around
Through curtains

The world shouts

A hush falls
Troops led
I hear you now
Is said

Bombs drop
Blood runs
Torrential rains

Shrouded forms
Shrugged away
Shattered lives

Fuck you!
You’ll pay
Don’t stay!

Blocked views
Feigned desires
Severed bonds
Who’s to blame?

Party’s over
New day
Bonds to sell
Into dreams

She shook her fist in the eyes of the enemy and yelled, FIGHT!
She held her hand up and whispered, stop.

She walked; she marched, for miles and miles
Across desert, a hard pan earth

Through sand, and rocks, and storms that followed
Through cold, through sun scorching heat, until she could go no more

Gather around, she said to her children
For this is your home, this is your life, for the rest of our lives.

The enemy surrounds us, but holds its tongue on the edge of war
It waits, it watches, for the right time, for the next time, for the only time

Claiming our land, a sparse piece of dirt we called home
We can rest, now; gather our strength for the next flight

We call this living
We take a breath, for the next fight

We call this surviving
Because we know there will be a next fight

And a next
And a next

Lay down your sack
Lay down your head

Just a sip of water
They are sure to come back

August 25, 2013


She’s home, I said
And then whispered, but it doesn't matter, she won’t hear me
I could yell, I could scream, what good would it do? 
Why is that, you ask?
It’s in the knowing, I say
What is that?  What does that mean, the knowing? 
She hears what she wants to hear, she knows; only she knows, it’s in the knowing

The shadows in her room know
The creak in the floorboard knows
The breeze on the dusty window sill, it knows
The roots growing in the cellar, they know
The damp earth, the shiny leaf
They all know
I wrestle with the truth
I wrestle with the lie
She won’t tell a living soul
She won’t tell, unless I cry
Tight lips
Closed fists
I cry
Eyes shut, downcast where silence is met
Shout down the mountains, the valleys, the rivers and streams, the rocks and trees
Shout down the hills, the plateaus
The desert, the seas
Go to bed.

I’ll tell you in a dream, she said.

Borrowed Time

Speak to me
The clock chimes one
Speak to me
The clock chimes two
Speak to me
The clock chimes three

Sounds of gnashing is heard, metal upon metal, the ancient clock groans; age heightens the ache in old bones; saying it’s time to go.

Down to the street
An intersection
Where all hearts meet

A place where goodbyes are stuck to anger, a reverie of lost hellos tear at the heart; where feet stray, where strangers go, found in humble beginnings; then hands slip aside, allowing darkness to wear the cloak, shuddering, drawing it close. 

Early morning, the clock strikes one
On window’s ledge, she stands
Soon, the clock strikes two

Closing eyes to sleep, she hears the tick of the clock’s reverberating beat.  This time, this time, is it mine; to go, to go from here to nowhere, from here to nowhere on three?

The moon rises over the lake
Her soul
Her soul to take

August 9, 2013

A Leaf

Photograph by Donna Donato 

Beside a lonely leaf
White on black
Tears are shed
Severed grief

What is done is done
Do I think of you?
This leaf, taken from a tree
Or do I think of me?

Cutting ties
A leaf with purpose
From a tree so fine
It was time

Where does the wind blow, without a trace
Light upon dark, evoking conflicts, secrets
Buried in shades of grays and blacks
A sacrifice, drained of color, of life
Life, a leaf, with or without strife
By itself on the rim of the world
A single leaf across my vision
I think of you, I think of me
Blanched, set free

July 31, 2013

Life, Oh Life

I wrote this poem in 2008, after watching International on Dateline with Ann Curry.  Serbia's Horrific Institutions a Relic of The Past.

Mentally disabled kids, adults given no hope for recovery, poor 


Life, Oh Life, I see it in your eyes

I see it in a crib, when a baby cries

I see the struggle, the moans and sighs

I see it in the limbs that have nowhere to go

I see it in the hands that reach and know

I see it in a whisper, when I lean from above

I see it in the stare, when they see my love

I see it in their pulse

Life holds in my heart

I see it in this Life

that has no start

July 19, 2013

A Race for the Human Race...

I'm so done with people killing people; with people killing animals and insects and plant life; the damming up the rivers, changing their course and blocking their flow to the ocean....and life, in and around it, all but destroyed forever. 
A mess

I'm so done with the political and religious arena, a horrible state of affairs, where again angry people are fighting each other over the most insane things; the radicals, the ultra-conservatives, the neo-whatever-they-are, where common sense no longer exists. 
A mess

This movement that is happening at record breaking speed....I'm waiting for the day to come, where people simply annihilate every living creature....
Mankind, what a mess 

When are people going to think of someone and something besides themselves? When do we turn hate into love?  Am I being negative to the human race? ----I'm mostly disappointed
I guess

July 10, 2013


Time to be alone
I’m home, I’m home, she cried

Silence answered her call
But I’m home, she sighed
No answer, just silence, is all

Silence pulled her
Silence pushed her
Silence waited for her

Alone, to be alone
Where silence is silence

And no one is home

July 9, 2013

Plowed Earth

She folded her arms
Around the world and its charms

She seized the load
Of a million miles of road

To stop meant despair
She traveled here and there

Trails led her on
Trials took her beyond

Little did she know
From tears seeds would grow

The moment is now
Lean forward my girl
Put your back to the plow

Her tears moistened soil
The sun burnt her skin
She did not recoil

Another day, another time
Brought closer to you
She shrugged off her coat
 Time to renew

Like the bird on the road
All covered in dust
She brushed off the clay
To night’s purple dusk

Move on, it said
Move on to your home
To the flutter of wings
She continued to roam

June 29, 2013

Summer 's End

Photograph by Donna Donato

Rose, dear rose of Sharon, the last days, the last days of summer where blooms go
where time escapes
where the past hints of color
where seasons' last breath is joined
to inhale the last light from summer's warmth.
 Though faded, expired, the rose of Sharon still stands 

June 7, 2013


It pulls, It tugs, It twists - It plucks the strings
It hardens, It lightens, It brightens
floating, falling, forgiving

setting like suns
rising like moons
flowing like oceans
in, out
to, fro

belief suspended
for just one moment
to hear
to bear
to care

June 1, 2013

I Am

I’m beautiful and sexy, at times
with an imperfect body
but I am who I am
Who knows what it means to be me, or you, or Sam?

I am who I am
I'm a sinner, which means a day to day project
which means I need day to day attention and work
Who, or whatever I am, it’s a quirk

I am who I am
I'm proud to be a work in progress
I'm proud to be a human, a mess
"The truth hurts," She said, seriously, more or less

April 29, 2013

To Say Good-Bye?

How to say good-bye?

To those you've barely met; so long, see-yeah, quietly leave.  But does that say it yet?

I never really said good-bye, to those I used to know. 
I guess I always knew I’d return again one day, rain or snow.

It’s been fun, it’s been long, and it’s been great to have known you all. I’ll miss our family outings……we always had a ball.

The empty space within me cannot be filled by anyone here.  I look around, and now I see it clear.

No matter where you go, there you are.
No matter where I go – there I am.

To say good-bye would close a door, a window to a room, a space within a space.

I am not lonely or feel alone, but feel a part of me not yet complete, so I look for that part of me in silence, in my room – when I create.