chasing shadows

She chases shadows knowing it is all just a fleeting gasp
and a dark silhouette with no substance or form.
He told her she should write it but that too
escapes her and leaves her chasing the ephemeral and the
tangible at once until she can grasp each
and make them into one.
Even though she knows when she seizes one the other
will be lost.
Yet she persists with hope against hope that for one
brief moment she will capture the shadowy dusk and know
how it feels to embrace the impossible.

to have and to hold

Small fragile fear, like the wing of a bird…

gently fluttering overhead. 

then the vast storm that sweeps in

and seals the room in its fury

blowing about until nothing is

left but meaningless words

and timeworn stories.

Sometimes you are drowning

in the darkness

hoping to find something
to hold on to...            

But other times you are waiting 

for the giraffe...the one
you've always wished to have...
a lion comes but you send
him away knowing it is not
what you need.

For a moment you follow

the sweet fragrance 

of freedom and escape.

It is an illusive aroma
that leads you to the edge
of the abyss
and suddenly you are spinning,

your feet planted firmly

yet sensing the turn of the earth

until someone takes

your hand and the twirling stops

The startling silence is broken

by the voice

that will navigate you through

the strong current that threatens

to send you adrift  in the river,

lost forever

under the sky so clear

it holds no clues

to finding your way back.

your shirt

I wore your shirt tonight.
You know the one I mean.
Fingering the soft fabric,
lost in thoughts of spring,

being lost and being found.
A loud knock at the door
broke my reverie.
No one there but the moon,
a warm breeze and
 bright stars in a
velvet black sky.
The streets were flooded.
so wearing your shirt
I waded through the
cool water in bare feet.
 Once I turned to go
back but I was compelled
to go on...walking
further and further
away from my home.
The light from the
moon drifted across
the face of the water,
following its path
  led me full circle,
  bringing me
  back to you.

inside and out

We had a storm tonight.

the kind that shakes

the foundation of your

house and soul.

Window panes

rattled, lightning

filling the darkness

with bright flashes

of light. The thunder

matched the pounding

in my chest. The heavy

downpour brought the

start of my own tears.

The wind is still

pummeling against the

walls and I no longer

know if the storm is

coming from outside

or inside me.

I sit where you

once were and let

it all wash over me.

Maybe it will make

it all seem real

again.

Or maybe

it will float

to a further distance

where I can hold it

forever in my heart.

as in Rome...

Angels descend on Noah’s Ark

while Curious George gets shot

out of a circus canon. The

man in the yellow hat rescues

him again from disaster.  The

boy’s steel blue eyes, coupled

with an ingenuous smile seem

bent on pursuing salvation on

the edge of a crumbling abyss.

The Christians give him a dollar

and he waits for his turn to

to be thrown to the lions. They

promise the moon but instead

deliver fables and myths that

soothe him briefly. Eight chairs

and a fly on the wall are not

enough to save him from the

hungry beasts sniffing at his heels.

At first the clamor of the

bloodthirsty mob frightens him.

His eyes grow dark, his brow

furrowed. Then he tires of the

noise and lies down, plunging

into deep sleep. Let him have

this peace for now.  Even if he

wakes to more danger his

fitful slumber offers the only

escape he knows.

subterranean

Rode the elevator seven floors down

And walked outside to palm trees

And cool breezes.

There was a bus there waiting for me

Inside the bus were donkeys

And elephants

And dainty ballerinas stretching and

Preening

I started to leave until a hand reached out and touched my arm

I turned to find a man who looked

Like Bob Dylan but told me his name was Jose.

He led me to a seat beside him

We rode in silence ignoring the circus animals

And their wild commotion.

At a park the bus stopped and let

Jose and I exit leaving the noise

And smells behind

We walked to a bench and sat across

From each other.

His brown eyes held the weight of the world

But his voice transported me to a quiet place

Where I could breathe

He asked if he could help me, ease my burden,

Calm the tumult in my soul

I smiled and asked him if he had the credentials to perform such magic.

He laughed at my innocence and told me

All he could do was be there and

Watch me spin into the wind and

Minister to my wounds when I tumble and fall.

I thanked him and said that would do just fine

Until I learned to catch the wind

And soar on my own.

The bus returned and took us back

To where we had begun.

I left the unruly circus crowd and my friend

Jose to ride the elevator back up the seven

Floors to where I lived. The doors slowly opened

And I walked outside to face the storm.

everything being a constant carnival...

Four days into a new work week and where's the clarity? Seems I need the open road in order to think clearly.

She rode sixteen ferris wheels

in one afternoon,

each one spinning

faster than the last.

Synchronized revolutions

of light and motion

left her shaken and wobbly.

She stumbled into an open field

where an old oak waited

to offer her refuge.

She was cradled in his

knotted limbs,

her head against

his coarse bark.

She begged to stay for 300 years,

there in the shady respite.

But as she slept the sounds of the

carnival plagued her rest.

Frenzied screams of terror

or delight interrupted

her dreams.

Unable to sleep she

left the comfort of the oak

and staggered drowsily

back to the fray,

back to the wild rides.

Buying sixteen more tickets,

and with a nod to the moon,

she mounted the ride,

braced herself against the side

and began to spin again...

wild dogs

Enough already
she told me to say.
He said to end my
attraction to the past
and find adventure.
He touched her
pink shirt with
warm fingers of love
and I finally knew
he was where he should be.
Leaving me with the cobbler,
staring at my shoes,
and calculating the cost
before I even asked.
finding what I need while
smoking cigarettes and
drinking whiskey.
the moon coaxing me
to leave myself and
run with the wild dogs,
in search of the lost path.
If you hear my story
cry for me,
smile for me
rescue me...

mar adentro

Count your blessings,
he scolded me sternly
Stop complaining.
Remember how easy
your life is…

But still the waves
swell and surge.
Dark clouds drape
the eastern sky.
The colors of the sea
fading as I
am carried further
from the shore.

"It's always darkest just before it goes pitch black"

Storm's a' comin'... I can feel it.
My body braced for the full impact.
I can't control the weather.
All I can do is adjust the thermostat
inside my head.

So I'm boarding the windows,
battening the hatches,
securing the valuables
in preparation for the squall.
Then again, maybe I should let it all
blow away in a cyclonic clearing of the debris...

The gale-force winds could destroy me
or allow something new to emerge
from the wreckage.
The goal and my current mantra is to
surrender to opportunity...

a new day

Somehow the bright sun filled the room,

though windows were closed and curtains drawn.

The light crawled in through cracks and crannies

and spread through the darkened room,

as quickly as water flows from a broken glass.

With nowhere to hide and everything revealed,

The people donned bright clothes and festive hats.

Celebrations continued all day and through the night.

Joyous music spilled out of the windows and into the street.

Merriment overflowed from the room, floating in the night air.

Pachyderms and hyenas danced together in the mist.

The taste of contentment was sipped from every glass.

Revelers began to tire and curl up in the sunlit room to rest.

All is quiet; all is bright as sleep fell over the space.

They dreamt of the sun and the way it sparkles on the dew.

mango meditation

the toll of the bell

resonating through my brain

drilling my body into the ground

a cumbersome book clung to my head

and with the next clang

the book opened revealing

a house balanced on my skull

the drilling stopped

my breath slowed

I became aware of my fingers

the peal fading into dusk

the house stood before me

beside it a mango tree

grew strong and tall

with heavy fruit pulling

the branches down low

Namaste, namaste

Who Are You?

making grimy mud pies in the dirt

shaping the dark, cool muck

into round compact disks

scoring the top into wedges

with a bent twig

decorating the pies with flowers

totally engrossed in the task

only the breeze as a playmate

until a caterpillar called her name

breaking her reverie

and sending her screaming

across the lawn

looking for her mother

who laughed until tears streamed

down her cheeks

and the young girl kicked her pies

breaking them in pieces

so they could return to the dirt

from which they came.

late nite quickenings

two men walking down the street

each one following the other

dressed in chartreuse suits and porkpie hats

They’ve been walking for days

a man in drag sits on the bench and watches

while an angel plays the fiddle on a balcony overhead

children run past wearing only their smiles

a woman shouts at no one

girls ride in blue buses, with a snake hissing overhead

No one seems to notice
the butcher sells mincemeat pies

while smoke pours out from office windows
People stand in the street discussing last year’s news

The angel throws her fiddle to the street

And the hands on the clock spin past the hours

while those that wait keep moving.