Once Upon a Time

Tears came down..tears dried up along the way

I wish there were a better way to say I love you

holding you, loving  you, weeping stories, shed day after day

I clasp your hand, I open the palm and hold it to my tear wet cheek

I can feel your pulse, and with every beat I loose a dream, that last night of hope and longing for acceptance.

Do I speak, will you listen, a song never sung, a word never written, a time without laughter, and sorrow gains the threshold

lost are the glorious waves, gone with the tide; sand prickling our toes, salt air filling our lungs, filling with a richness, a harmony of music unspoken to wipe away the tears; I cannot stay, I cannot say:  I will always love you.

In my dream

a little poem when you lose someone you love

I dreamed a dream, you were in my dream it seemed

walking, hopping, skipping jumping

running in my dream, it seemed

I loved you once, I loved you twice

the second time was awfully nice

you sat beside me in my dream

you told me stories, dreams of ice cream

I couldn't play, I scared you away

to you and to me, what could I say

I let you go, I threw you away

lonely now without my dream

lonely days and lonely nights

no longer in my dreams

never to return, it seems

I cry in my sleep now

I cry in the day too

I cry every night without my dream

I cry all for you, it would seem

I DELIBERATELY

       

I deliberately said the things one friend doesn't say to another

I deliberately made you angry  

I deliberately threw you under the bus

I deliberately hurt you

I deliberately caused you pain

I deliberately caused myself pain

How many ways can you cut off your arm

How many ways can you shut a door

How many ways can you say goodbye

How many ways can you say I love you

…...and this is why I deliberately…..

Moth, a Tapestry

Evening brushed air against moth’s strong wings and sturdy body, she stretched and then darted around and between the leaves of gold, yellow and green, leaves tinged with  hues of autumn, with just enough color to camouflage the moth’s rusty stripped wings, to fly, to flit, to land for a while, just a bit.

She perched in mid flight, what an incredible sight, supping nectar off honey soaked blossoms of brilliant red to cool white, the moth wasn't particular just as long as the flavor satisfied and fueled her tiny body for flight to next stop...until next landing on an old fence post in morning shadows surrounded by warming fragrant fields.

Moth becomes a dormant winged butterfly with leaden body but wings so fast a hummingbird takes shame; now waiting in comfort away from day’s dark furrowed earthy fields of browns, resting in night’s closing hues, away, away from the bright burning rays of day.

Knock-knock, Enter Once, Enter Twice

Love is an old word, a blown out of proportion cumbersome old word

What keeps its endurance...Maybe it is exercising it, playing and bouncing it around a bit? 

I am old, the word is old – it is work, yes, it is as old as me and it is work.  Yet love is a new word, a young word, I am beyond young; I cannot seem to clean up this mess of a word, is it for the young or is it for the old?    

   

Love strokes the ego, the breast, the mind and the senses to nest

Love alters passageways, trails, and pathways

Love seeks to care, to share, to spare

Love frames a picture, masks a painting, takes out memory

A shelter in a storm, a soothing salve, and a cooling cloth covering hurt.  Love puts out the fires, makes believe, holds your hand and quenches desires

You do what has to be done, there is no fun, love blinds, coerciveness shames and bludgeons dreams, can love bloom again, can it grow stronger, everlasting, beautiful as only love can swell the earth, swelling the heart, and endures and lasts

Love is everywhere, love unfurls its masts, it cheats the best, takes the heart into full arrest, control is gone, a free spirit arises into the far and beyond, the conscience labors float away on clouds of grey, and where blue bird flies through the rain and sings, and buds of love show off into a new spring

one in a million

a million, a million and one times - another poem maybe, maybe another story, maybe. i just don't know what tonight will bring.

i feel as though these words, a poem, a story, nothing can cure time gone astray

i feel as though the world just spun around, forgetting to take me on its way

i feel as though I've let what is meaningful slip away

i feel as though the days grow long

I feel as though the flowers grow old without you along

i feel the emptiness expand and tear away at my soul without song

i feel...what are these words..... to feel?

i feel as though my life is on hold, never ending and burnt

I feel as though there aren't enough tears to fill the void, to put out this hurt

Chapter One: The Little Girl and the Fish

The little girl sat on the edge of the river, dangling her toes, daydreaming “I wonders, and what-ifs”, what if I were a fish?

Just then a little fish jumped out of the water and kissed her on the tip of her nose!

So startled out of her reverie, she batted it away and dashed homeward bound

Her feet never touching the ground

I wonder if the little girl will come back to the river bank to let the fish tickle her toes again, without worrying about one jumping out of the water to kiss her on the nose.....?

The little girl ran home and went to her room. She thought and thought and thought about what happened by the river bank. She reacted badly. She knew. She was surprised, but who ever heard of a fish jumping out of the water to kiss a little girl on the tip of her nose? Fish jump out of the water all the time, but this was just unheard of!

She thought and thought and thought.... she could only ask the question – why? She thought some more. I will go back to the river bank and ask the fish.

I watched the little girl walk slowly, slowly, slowly back to the river. Her mother told her to play, but be careful.

Mom, I will be

I know, she said

The little girl stepped quietly through the forest of trees. Birds were there. She could tell they were talking to her.  A beautiful day to stay they said. She knew she should, If only I could, she said.

So frightened of the fish that jumped out of the water to kiss the tip of her nose, but wanting to tell the fish she was sorry she ran away, she couldn't decide which foot went before the other. Was it left right left, or was it right left right?

Confused, she abruptly sat down on an old hollow log, a log she passed a million times on her way to the river to dangle her toes. But today her toes, connected to her feet, would not go. What do I do now? She asked herself. She sat quietly. 

She must have sat there for a day, it seemed to her, a minute at most I'm sure. Should I go or stay? At that moment a small bird flew down to sit next to her on the log. Then something green hopped into her lap, a frog.

She didn't bat them away, she learned her lesson, and this time she sat very still and waited. The bird chirped, the frog croaked.

Well little girl, are you going to just sit there all day, or are you going to get up and be on your way? She wasn't sure, she thought, birds and frogs can't talk!

The little girl continued to sit on the log until she felt like a bump. She laughed at herself, a bump on a log. 

Chirp-chirp, croak-croak, in unison the bird and the frog said, little girl, little girl, it's time we moved on. The little girl was so busy worrying about the fish, she jumped in alarm.

Why are you talking to me, she asked the bird and the frog. And what do you mean "we"? Chirp-chirp, the bird flew into the air and tousled the little girl’s hair. We should hurry, the bird said, before something comes along furry. The frog jumped off of the little girl's lap, and out of the log a wombat waddled. Yes indeed, a wombat!

The light in the window went out in the kitchen. The little girl never knew. She didn't look back, she just sat on the log and thought about this funny furry creature looking up at her from her hollowed out log.

What are you? she said to the little animal staring up into her eyes. 

I'm a Wombat
What's a Wombat? She asked.
I'm a little furry animal that lives in this log. I've come to walk you, Bird, and Frog to the river to see the fish.

I don't know why any of you feel you need to walk me to the river to see the fish that jumped out of the water and kissed the tip of my nose while I was dangling my toes.

The Wombat sat and wondered.

Because we are your new friends, Miss Blue Bird chirped her name, Freddy Frog said his name with a croak.  And Willy Wombat told the little girl his name and waddled around.

Frog hopped and plopped into a puddle of mud, I'm not going anywhere if you're going to be a dud, he said to the little girl.

Bird flew in circles. Come on! Come on! Bird chirped. We'll be late.  

The little girl stood. I don't have a date!

Yes you do, yes you do, yes you do. The three new friends said to the little girl.
The little girl scratched her head. I think I should have stayed in bed! 

The fish are waiting to tickle your toes, Frog said as he hopped out of the puddle of mud.

The little girl decided it best to keep walking to the river's edge. Miss Blue Bird flew, Freddy Frog hopped, and Willy Wombat waddled in and out of the thickets and the hedge.

The little girl was just called the little girl. 

She didn't have a name, not like her new friends.  She sat on the edge of the river thinking about this. She told this to the fishes in the river.  She told this to Miss Blue, Freddy and Willy.  They sat down beside her and listened.  

They said to the little girl, it didn't matter to them if she had a name or not, because she was still who she was, with or without. She became still and wondered, but with disbelief. Everyone has a name, so why not me too, she asked.

The fishes swam around her toes, but since she was too busy thinking her deep thoughts, she forgot and stuck her toes in the water.  The little fishes tickled her toes again, but this time she just giggled.  It tickled.

One little fish saw her smile, and in that moment, the little fish jumped out of the water and kissed the little girl on the tip of her nose.  Oh! The little girl said, startled.  But this time she didn't bat the fish away or run home.  She knew it was because she wasn't frightened, she had her new friends beside her.  

The little fish jumped out of the water again, and in the blink of an eye, he told her he was called The Little Fish.

Not all can have a name, he said, as we think of a name...

Nevertheless, all precious creatures still the same

Now what do I do, she wondered….what if, she thought….?

The little girl sat on the edge of the river bank and dangled her toes….

To her ankles...to her knees...her hips, her waste, her chest, her eyes and nose.

I cannot stay, she told her friends.  And in another blink of an eye, she swam away.

Goodnight, Bird, Frog, Wombat and Little Girl Fish

The moon looked down and winked and blinked, and the spoon ran away with the dish

The Little Girl and The Fish

continues...

Part 2 ~ The River

.........The Little Girl swam and swam, faster than her friend, the fish, could swim.  Catch me, she said, and all that was heard were the bubbles that came from her mouth.  She swam faster, but her friend couldn't keep up, instead, he turned around and headed back to the edge of the pond, where small fish gathered to play in the shallows of weeds and muddy water.

The Little Girl came to a big pool that turned her around and around, water came splashing down from a giant waterfall.  The current took her under, deeper than she had intended to go. She needed to come up to the surface soon before she lost all of the air in her lungs, but the swirling water wouldn't let her go, and deeper and deeper she went into darkness, hitting rocks and weeds, catching her arms and legs, then the tug of the water tore her loose and pulled her deeper and deeper.  She was dragged down, until no light at all filtered through the darkness.

Disoriented and afraid, she was lost completely now, exhausted, her breath was gone. The current played against her lifeless body, and just then a ledge appeared out of nowhere, she was lifted up from the water as if floating on water wings, then gently placed on dry moss, the entrance to an underwater cave.

Part 3 ~ The Rainbow Room

Lie still, a voice whispered close to her ear, lie still.  The Little Girl didn’t move, actually she couldn’t even open her eyes, she was sorely afraid it was all too real.  Had she drowned?  Was she dead?  

Open your eyes Little Girl, open your eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, afraid to move, she opened her eyes, blinking uncontrollably but keeping herself as still as still could be.  

Do not move, Little Girl, the voice again whispered, you are near the edge of the ledge of the entrance to the cave of all things bright and beautiful.

The Little Girl stared straight ahead, only to see the rush of water tumbling over mountainous rocks from where she had come, and the roar was deafening, but still she heard the voice whispering in her ear, be not afraid.

The Little Girl felt a touch on her back, and soon she was being lifted and carried away from the edge of the ledge, and into a bright sparkling room, or it appeared to be a room, for the walls were covered in glowing shells, shells like she had never seen before; she was motionless, she was speechless, she was being carried, but wasn't sure how or why; she had two feet, she was able to walk, she was sure of it, at least the last time she looked she had two feet.  But for now all she could see and think about where the bright sparkling walls that illuminated the room of shells with bright colored lights, rainbows, millions and millions of rainbows, shells of every shape and color of the rainbow.

Let It Go

Let it go I say! I can't, I can't. I fight.

Something delicate and sweet at my finger tips, on the tip of my tongue, in a whispered word something soft spoken, a poem, a rhyme, a saying about time. How far do I travel, how far should I roam, do I reach out and pluck it, or snatch it from thin air? Do I travel the highways and byways, do I stray from home? How far do I search, how far until I'm lost, how far do I roam?

Someone soft and beautiful I see. Can't be me, it’s someone far, far away, over land and into the sea. It’s fragile, a petal, a snow flake, a bird's song. Soft as a baby's touch, I border disbelief; thoughts fail me now.....I’m almost there, almost there. I can't fight the intricate softness of the sounds of the nightingale, or the touch of your hair. Feelings become a plural word, defines Who.  We.  Are.  Do we exist if the absence of feelings? How many words define me as complete, whole, or falling asleep with the word love written upon my lips; a three dimensional word, clutched between two hands?  Hear it...see it...feel it beat, taste these feelings...no physical explanation for being filled... full…Bursting…Breaking…Drinking to fullness

Soda…Beer…Champagne bubbles, bubbling over; effervescent foam tipped with tears, falling empty, hollow, without feelings.  I wonder do you stop feeling when you run out of tears.  I wonder who I am, some days, some days I'm full, some days I'm empty, flat.  What causes meanderings and fluctuations? - Or just lumpy clam chowder this week? I think it’s time to sleep. 

Dreams of broken pieces gone sailing across the universe: fragments, filaments, anchoring time, the compendium of life.  Vibrations!  Can you hear them?  Can you feel them?  Worlds collide!  Tears - A river, a breach in the bank, a hurt, an ache in the heart.  Let it go, let it go, let it go to the shore.  Let it go no more into your eyes. 

She enters the path, a long winding path; the gate is open at the end of the path.  She runs to the stream, a long winding stream, the stream is cold, but she crosses the stream.  A field of blooms, wide open with blooms; walk ahead, walk ahead, step gently through the blooms - One step at a time, one quiet movement through time. Don’t wake the frogs and the birds; the sleeping day is captured in time.

Cotton Candy Dreamscape

Floating, floating off across the rivers, the plains, through the clouds of puffy white...sweet dreams conjure candy; cotton candy tasted by you, you...the world in all its wonder, oh to wonder, to wander the length of time. Never ending… never going forward, just standing still, times to enjoy the now, but time takes off again, never ending speed. I trip, I fall, I pick myself up to climb the wall...always a wall...too tall. Lay me down to sleep in the green meadows, where streams run clear...so close, so near. I fear. Memories go past in time, halting for one true second in time. Stop, starting up again…a blur, the noise of an ocean's roar...stings the water, salty water…close your eyes, the ocean cries tears in your eyes. Always comes back to time gone by...bygones, silent bygones rush to wake my soul. remember, no, remember to slow, go slow...grip the railing as you fly higher into the clouds, don’t look down, don't look back...fly through the cotton candy, lick the sweetness from your lips...taste life, now...not yesterday, not tomorrow, but now.

Night Musings

Letting mind go where it wants to go, oh the relief, the life, the floating away of grief where sorrow encases a big pile of heavy days load, and time shovels the crud away. Scoop by scoop by scoop, one scoop a day, one scoop away. Weight bogs and bends and buries. You cry and sigh and terry. Wishing and hoping away the bad dreams, the yesterdays, the good, the bad, the in-betweens.  Feet slogging through mud until boots are sucked beneath the surface, and bare feet become shiny and glossy crimson, meeting hot coals beneath the mud.

A voice in sadness beckons from reading words, Murakami...reminding of a marriage...sleeping next to someone, feeling alone, to lie beside and feel alone....how sad it is to be next to that someone. Never so unbearable, oppressive, depressive, smothering as the mud bogging down, sucking feet into hot coals, waiting for that day of freedom, to walk with bare feet across cooling grass...reaching a place of calm.

Morning breaks. Cool air takes care. Blue skies wash over eyes. Tears dry. Musings call, call, call me home to ramble in thought, set free as a feather, to float in the air, drifting words, catching words, tossing words up, up and up off the ground...light beckons, light as a feather, no sadness to be found.

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.