Our Song

Credulous, demented rhetoric
Clasped Hand
Drowned Demeanor
I call upon you

Waiting
I dance to a song that We both know
It hurts to turn
It hurts, every twist & twirl

If I could only share the weight of my dance, …
If you could only…
I ask too much
I’m sorry; …

Weren’t Our Voices Raised?

A door swung open
A familiar figure
Silence
May I have this dance?

Clasped Hands
A Song
We both Love

Monachopsis

Draped in Liquid Laughter
Dawned with Pretentious Hope
fraught with silent Resolve
silent Resignation

I clamor; I wait
Pressed against the glass
against the glass of self-indignation
Watching people engage & Smile
on the other side of the window

It begins to rain
Dripping liquid, pretentious laughter
Crying, “Hope!”
Now, I realize that I am the One standing outside
The One, without an umbrella

In Search of Acceptance 

Delving into minds Unrendered
The Light bestows no Hope
To those whom Seek its Brightness

Well traveled & learned
Versed in many tongues
The Fool clothed in a sage’s Garments

Prominent figures all Aligned
They seek the Awe & wonder of a Few

Only to receive the admiration of
The Masses
Their calling weighing on them
Their yoke Tight

Break the cycle
Break the chain, your hands Bound
Your fetters Tighten, your Resolve
Tighter still

“Shine Bright!”, they say
When one merely needs to Shine.

Moved to Heavenly Tears

Trying to find Love on a
Rainy Day

Finding love in each
and every Drop

Falling from the Sky
As they fall, So do I
As they break, So my heart

As they Sound, so my voice
In my head it Rings
The singing of the Angels

bleeding into my
Veins

giving me Life Again
or better Yet
or better yet, Let it Ring for me
Just Once

and maybe
just maybe
my heart will Sing

A Funeral for Music

The ear welcomes like a kind host
Then betrays its humble guest
A knife, A twist in the back

Life’s Gift
has gone
and past

The beats bleed forth
gushing Rhythm
and Rhyme

Its body gasps for
Its last Inspiration
rotting lines of meter

Its flesh decays

Ashes to Ashes
Note to Note

It returns to the mind
That ground of creative
thought

To sprout, To blossom
into another form
that eternal Beauty

We write with many pens.

Flowers bloom on the dark
side of the moon
If a Tear was a Word
I could write my story

“Don’t write”, I say

She writes her story
on the sidewalk

“Don’t Cry”, I say

Let it be laughter
Let that be your Word
Your smile, Your Pen

She smiles and laughs
Her stream of tears
Now beautiful sparkling rivers
From the Homes of Iris

Now, I write the Story of My Life
On the Pages of Each Day
With Laughter and Tears

The Sight of Silence

Enter the Newcomer, the Door now Closed
With bewildered eyes, seemingly deaf
A sea of faces before her, A myriad of expressions
Though their ties to the place where they emote be nearly singular

Nearly one, their bodies pretend to rest in cold-blooded seats
Bodies positioned, facing a single direction
“How quite it is”, “How numb the feeling” says their eyes
reading, fidgeting, pacing, staring…

“Oh, how I wish this monotony be broken” says their faces
waiting, waiting, fidgeting, pacing, Glaring!
A giggle Escapes a quite reader; An Old Woman begins conversing with a New Parent
The clerk signaling, “Next, Please”