Green Light Waltz

Time, time, time watching little green lights flicker on, then off...a day of contemplation as a little green light flickers through the day, on then off, on then off, holding still; off in a flash, gone in hopes of coming back...then on, then off, then out, gone, gone into the cold of the night. No light: Out of sight. Here, then gone, gone, gone, one two three, one two three, where might you be?  Tomorrow the sun; up, up, up: Tomorrow, always tomorrow. Bright sunny days, or cloudy, or rain...tomorrow; a little green light flickers on, flickers off....another day of contemplation. Will it be here tomorrow, with or without sorrow - On then off, on then off? Wondering, wondering, will my light be on, or off, on or off....through the day, through the night, through a bright sunny day....or here, out of sight: Contemplations of green taking flight, high, higher than most, or low to the ground, watching the bright green light dance...with a smile or a frown, a smile or a trance? On or off; contemplating moods, falling to sleep, falling, falling, and then falling into, into  the flickering green of a little bright light in the night.....

Tears

Without tears we are no one, without tears we are lost, lost in a world in which we cannot exist. I enter that world to bargain and resist; I enter to scheme, to lie, and live as a thief; stealing the wetness from another’s cheek, in shadows I am there, remorse, overcome with tears of grief.

I live with stolen tears, these tears for you I cry. I carry them into my dreams; to live in hopes my soul to die.  For this I find regrets for stolen passions; never to return, never to repeat what was once a stolen kiss, a tear, a touch, a fear, remorse for life’s lost actions.

Tears shine with infinite secrets, entering the now, to the surface, and then find themselves lost in grey shadows, dark shadows to come; giving me away to the essence of the now, the hereafter; with or without you, we become one.

My tears, I will look for you, look after you, I will give you away, kiss you away, touch you away; always and forever, today.  

I will surrender these tears shed with love, with care, within the fervor of the now. I will survive, I will live, I will do all that I can for these tears, somehow.

Don’t Look Back

I stand on the crest of the hill, overlooking the sea...crashing, crashing; waves; come unto me..!!  The wind replies; distinct sounds...a rumble, a whistle, screeches and howls!  Limbs crack, snap, calling me back.  My soul, my soul!  

The old house hears, yes it hears; to speak, to groan and then a moan, an echo to be sure, to a voice:  Is anyone home!?  The old house beckons, destruction appears, the waves cannot sway; Come here, come near, nearer, and I will speak:  Out of my way!

My foot slips and slides, catching a branch, breaking the fall.  Close, closer, almost there; waves sigh:  Almost, almost caught, almost to die!

Streaming, screaming, howls the wind:  Do not touch the soul’s dead skin!  Numbing, numbed by cold, long lost the sounds, the winds of old.  Buried deep, deeply into the sea; waiting, watching, harkening:  Come unto me!

Slivers of ice, broken, sharp, drop from the sky; winds take the twisted, driving them down and down…drawing lines in the sky, pockmarked designs:  Everyone pines. 

Wind, oh wind look how it sales; look up, look up, glancing arrows, frozen air, sling them aside:  Speak into the crowd:  No wailing aloud!

Little did I know, the earth drew, sucked in the fire, little did I know the flames drew without tire. How did I know, why would I care?   Only you can speak the words I desire; only you would know; only you can share.

Scraps of skin cling to the shards; I walk away, feet into yards; the temptress may be stalking, I'm blind and cannot see. Step back; step back, away from the sea.

The Shoal

What to do, what to do? The silhouette of harshness insinuates my nights. I see it, and then I don't. It's real but not. What to do, what to do? Making the same mistakes where it comes to you. Do I stay, do I go? I wish I knew I wish I knew.

Silence, silence, harsh silence becomes my wall. What to do, when the enemy once again invades my space; in night thoughts again to retrace. 

Close my eyes so I can see. Close my eyes so I can be. In night you call to me. Open my eyes, I look at me. I stop, I'm blind.  Close my eyes let me be. 

I missed the mark, I sailed on by. The race isn't mine, why do I try? Tired, tired of trying, I don't know who I am, why am I lying?

It was raw; it was exposed, harsh and open, I was afraid.

Letting go, not knowing the outcome; setting myself adrift in a lifeboat to go aground; I was lucky. I was found.

The Long Walk Home

A whistle down the lane, a rumble on the track, in evening light wheels clickety-clack.  Down the rails, turning thunder, wheels cross the plains, sights of wonder.  The long ride home, brushed with sage, where oak leaves wither, heaven aged; little did I know, through the canyon walls and tunnels deep, never ending in the nights black, a long ride home would bring me back.  

Snows come down, in drifts of deep, a lone wolf calls but cannot sleep. White, whirling in the sky, ends this ride, with the long walk home, away from a whistle’s cry.

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 chunkypeanutbutter..one word....chunkypeanutbutter...it'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 be...so, 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….

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.

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.

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

Before

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. 

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  

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

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?

Listen

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

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 

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

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.

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

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

 Hear me! 

Eyes avert

Down, around

Through curtains

The world shouts

FUCK YOU!

A hush falls

Stillness

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

Hell

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

Searching

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

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