self opposition

ocean slams
into the breaking wall.
i build this wall,
reinforcing with steel beam,
concrete and stone.
higher and higher it goes,
deeper and wider i build.

ocean crashes onto my shore, washes over my sand covered feet.

oh, my sea love, take me back into your depths.
fill my lungs with your salty waters
so that my song can spill out
and i can once again
dance the delight of words.


--bruised orange

departure

we walked on down the road, following in the shadows of each other's love,
the sweet scent of the sycamore trees distracting us.

we saw a good distance down the red dirt road,
saw enough to know what lay around the bend,
yet we walked on, content in the knowing of the present day,
caught in that moment that felt like a forever memory from childhood.
it was hot cocoa and animal crackers until the third mile.

you, with your hand stretched out towards mine.
me, with my fingers thus entwined, caught in
that moment of the falling sycamore leaves,
the crisp fall air, the red dirt road,
the lingering memories that blinded us to the changing seasons
of our hearts, to the curve of departure up ahead.


--bruised orange

i stand here, tossing pennies

the poisoned well of my inspiration
no longer quenches the thirst of my longing.
those crystal clear waters that once sustained me and
were a balm to my parched lips
are now tainted with the quick silvered
spill of regret.

i stand here, peering into these waters.
i wonder, can this well be saved? or should
i take the advice of the experts, and cap it
now, before it takes another life?

i beat my head against the cold stones
of my resistance. giving up is so hard;
it runs counter to my nature. i stand here,
watching as an acid rain falls down.

i stand here, my eyes locked on the scattered
image of myself in the water below. i stand here,
my feet frozen in their place. i stand here, tossing
pennies at a face with eyes accusing, eyes with
answers i don't want to know.


--bruised orange

you can't blame this silence

you can't blame this silence


this silence is the other sort.
not the silence of stillness born,
that meditative calm that washes
you when morning's light shyly
peeks through your curtains.

no, this is the malignant sort, an out of
control cellular growth that pushes out
other thought and claims the territories
of your mind all for himself.

this silence screams at you, "listen to me!"
and you can't do anything but hear his absent voice.

this is the silence that shoves his way into your brain
and demands attention, stamps his foot and shouts
"look at me!" and all you can do is stare at his
invisible face.

you wonder, "who are you, to invade my sanctuary?"

but then you remember, you left your key laying casually
on the window sill outside your door, red ribbon tied on,
an exclamation point.

no, you can't blame this silence.
you are the one who left the light burning in your window all night long.


--bruised orange

decoupage of dream's dalliance

cramped in the close quarters of my logic
there's a painting party going on.

but i've brought some shellac to seal
the tender places, the cut out picture postcards
of memories i saved, savor, slave over so carefully.
their disconnected connections splayed upon my walls.

i should paint over them, i know.
i should cover them over with a nice, bright white.

but the colors, the patterns, they
are a blueprint on the bones of my house.

they are my proof, my logical proof of illogical theories.
my picture postcards of impossible possibilities.

the decoupage of dreams' dalliance
dances upon these walls, definitively,

the cogent evidence of our coup de coeur.


--bruised orange

winter music

this water is a sleeting ice falling hard,
needle pricking upon my earth.
the sting and bite hits the frozen soil, drills it.

did you think warm spring showers were all there would be?

winter offers her own song.


--bruised orange

choking on the outcome

i've locked away my love
behind steel bars of remorse
(i forgot my pen was in your pocket)
and now i've swallowed the key.

muse sits and laughs at my predicament.

i stand against the cold stone walls
of a prison cell i never meant to back into,
wondering about the cruel hands of fate
and other such nonsense and predictable phrases.

phrases that make me want to vomit.

i stick my fingers down my throat and gag,
wretched heart, too full in my mouth,

that copper penny flavor,
this poor man's meal.


--bruised orange

flowers spring up where they will

i am a leaky faucet.
the crescent wrench of control
tightens,

righty tighty

but i drip, drip, drip.
a stronger hand has gripped my handle.

lefty loosy, let it flow

my dripping waters spill into your ears,
where earth flower seeds fell in late summer sun

oh, quick! quick! knock out the dirt
somebody call a plumber

blossoms like these
won't survive the coming frost.

blossoms like these
will make your head explode.


--bruised orange

something's brewing

cooking pots simmer on the back burners of my mind
steaming, steaming

wordy vapors rise,
spreading syllables across my bone-dry ceiling

letter clouds are gathering

i stand below,
head raised,
mouth open,
hoping to catch the rain of inspiration


--bruised orange

and fragrant blooms the jessamine

you wandered into my lonely place and held my hand,
taking my heart and singing into the wind.
we went like that, you and i, for a time,
feeling sunlight upon our eyelids;
we held laughter in our palms.

and we walked on, together, you and i,
the kiss of moonlight throbbing in our temples;
we felt stardust powdered across our shoulders.

the fragrant jessamine on the bowered paths
led us to the garden wall. how high and tall,
this garden wall! we thought to rest a while there,
our backs settled against cold stones of resistance.

we dreamed to ride again the moonbeams
and float away on silvered wisp of clarity.
we mused the moment of sunlight streaming
through open eyes, a fate eternal, and entwined.

and fragrant blooms the jessamine
upon the bowered paths.


--bruised orange

love is patient

stick your head in the sand, ostrich.

when you finally decide to come up for air,

you will find me sitting beside you,

stroking your feathered neck.


--bruised orange

cycle the waters

My green river flows into your blue ocean.

Swiftly now, as the rain falls down.

Into your salty waters i gladly spill,

and our waves danced upon the shores of eternity.

Our vapors rise ever skyward.

Your blue ocean falls into my green river,

and on we flow, together.


--bruised orange

squeeze

i want to ask you,
why is the orange peeling?
which is the pulp?
how will the zest be
grated?

and what essence, once distilled,
will i find?


juice runs down my chin,
and i am sticky.

my tongue, numb and tingly, together.

i want to spit it out.
i want to devour it whole.


--bruised orange

susurrant sighing

susurrant sighing


sadness settles on this sandy shore.

suffocating,

song of silence.

on blocking (unblocking)

i cannot seem to write anymore.

gone, the days of furious penning
that delivered a trail of thoughts
to your door.

now, my inkwell is full of air
and dried crumbly scrapings
of purple berried residue.

and this paper? yellowed onion-skinned
husk of memory, too flimsy to withstand
the heavy strokes of my pen.

no, i cannot seem to write anymore.

here, thought floats through my head.
i play snatch and grab, clutch at nothing.

swimming, swimming words,
a wispy film before my eyes.

in the stillness born

this music plays on and on,
and the melodies i hear are the
sweetest taste upon my tongue

i kiss the pen that sings to me
and embrace the lover who
whispers stardust into my ear


--bruised orange

Bankrupt

Today is a hollow day.
I am a shallow voice
in a tin cup.

I rattle and clang.

I am five copper pennies
wanting to add up to more
than a nickel.

Brother, can you spare some change?


--bruised orange

within

listen,

you, who are of my heart
you, who still the breaking waves upon my shore

i am but a scratchy grain of sand,
yet i knit the pearl of your longing

crack the oyster shell you cling to
and know your beauty

see that your heart's desire
has been within you all along


--bruised orange

human folly

misunderstanding flows, like beer on tap
and as we drink it down, pint after pint
all reason is spilled onto the table, wiped up by the dirty bar mop
that stinks of yesterdays brew

the proprietor of this establishment
stands at counter, smiling his knowing smile

that sadness in his eyes which can only come
from seeing pantomimes like this one play out before him
on every night of his long, long career


--bruised orange

here lies love

here lies love

within each murmuring whisper
of every question

in the silence of dawn

born of everything that can be
and each moment that ever was

it pours forth
and flows through

it is you
it is me

it is


--bruised orange

and i dig, i dig

and already i see the lay of the land before me, all it will bring
i travel up this mountainside, for what else can i do, but move along

the cold fear grips my head and leaves my hands bloodless, frozen upon the reins
and i dig, i dig the spurs of my resolve into this steady steed

to this place i go now, this hot burning land where all my anger dwells
and the music there screams my name, screams my complacency

i train my gaze upon the horizon of my freedom
and i dig, i dig the spurs of my resolve into this steady steed

here be my dragons, and their hot, fetid breath will scorch my vapid plain


--bruised orange


Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final
― Rilke

there are mysteries that defy attempts to explain

ah, i've been enjoying Rumi lately. His work speaks straight to my heart



where words leave us sore lacking,

silent heart language perceives

~~~~~~~~~~

listen, now, to the murmuring,

let quiet knowing fill you




--bruised orange

this shell is for you

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
its surging depths, a frightening display

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
tide's pull would have me drowned

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
breathless within its fathomless measure

i lock this ocean away inside my shell
but you may hold me to your ear
and hear it still, and hear it still.

whispering, whispering
(for who can contain an ocean?)


--bruised orange

to sound the depths

within a single letter
of a single word
of a single phrase
of a single line
of a single verse
of a single heart

there lies enshrined
all the stars of the
heaven of understanding

what mysteries there are
enfolded within all of creation

how many the parallels
that may be drawn

how deep and wide
flows this river of
connection

how vast this ocean
of remembrance
into which i plunge


--bruised orange

o, to weep

o, to weep
were i to cry the tears of a thousand eyes
my lamentations would not bring me relief
even as this salty lake broke dams and flooded
the valleys of my homeland

o, to weep
would that the ocean's tide would break upon my shores
and tumble this shell in its depths, washing away the sands of my remorse
this alabaster heart, unable to crack open, and spill


--bruised orange

liquid truth

i hold my mind up to the light,
and turn it this way and that,
examining the cracks,
peering into it,
checking its clarity.

i can stand this way,
outside of myself,
and say 'this is a clear mind',
'there are cracks,
but nothing too serious,
nothing that can't be mended'

but my mind is a tricky thing.
it breaks glass.
it slips and oozes through my fingers,
falls to the floor,
spills.

liquid truth stains the carpet of my interior.
no spot remover can take this blemish away.
and i cannot just leave it there on the floor for all the world to see.

i'm down on my knees, scrubbing and scrubbing through the night,
but liquid truth just moves on down the hallway.
it is mercury, skittering away from my frantic hands.

all the while, my mind sits in the corner and laughs at my futility, recording everything on film.

news at 9.


--bruised orange

everywhere

if your love were but a song's whisper upon my heart,

i would hear you again and again

in every tree and stone and cloud,

in each letter, of every word, of every poem.

also, probably in those maddening instruction manuals
written by people whose native language is not my own.

you know the ones i'm talking about.


--bruised orange

i hold fast the cord

answers come where quiet stillness lay,
when love born near stars
rushes through my veins,
surges through my heart,
and splashes on my page.

all the while, music feeds muse,
whispering truth, singing my soul.


--bruised orange

crack of breaking

and here it comes again,
the cold winter chill
darkness falls and icy
fingers are never far from me

feel the crack of breaking,
the aching of my need
taste the bitter sweetness
that makes the poet bleed

the rain sheets upon my window,
drives away my joy
breaking aching tasting
the loneliness of need


--bruised orange

Muse Wanders the Strange Landscape of Dreams

While driving the backroads last night, I cranked up my stereo
and let the music take me where it wanted to go.
I'd heard the songs before, but I began hearing a different tune.
Must've had earplugs in before. I drove on, and the music played me.
When I'd driven as far as I could, and lost myself completely down those roads,
I pulled over at some strange station I'd never seen before.  
I thought I'd sit a while there and rest, do a little reading from
the book I've been writing. Damn my eyes for seeing words there I'd never
read before.  My book was writing me, I had never said a word.  

I thought for a while about how you can wake up one day, hear the same song,
read the same words, and they tell you something you've never known before.
I realized then, I'd been driving with my eyes half closed.  
Then, as the sun came up, I saw with my naked eyes a strange landscape I had never seen before.

Road signs were everywhere.  One showed I was on I-9, another read, 'Welcome to Idaho'.
I heard gentle clouds roll on by, and felt alone in my wanderings.
I saw paint blistering off the walls of some hotel, and wondered who would save me.
I thought about wicked games,and felt accused. I saw crossroads, up ahead,
with a honky tonk on one side, wanted to go inside and order a case of finest wine.
I felt so alone, sitting in my rudderless boat (you know how dreams can go).  

Then I looked up, saw a man standing at the crossroads
with a golden hammer in his hand.  I wondered if i knew this man,
and wanted him in my boat with me, to sail on the uncharted seas.
I wanted to drown in a deep blue bottomless pool with him.  Then I wanted to
accuse him, for walking into my dream, for standing in the middle of my aloneness.

I looked up at the sky (it was night again, as dreams go) and saw the
stars in the sky.  I wondered if the stars were real, or painted on
some false ceiling.  I wanted to climb a ladder and break through,
to find true.  I wanted to tear down the veils that kept me from
knowing all the secrets of the universe, to burn up the clouds
that hid the sun.  Then I wondered again if the sun was already
shining, if my rudderless boat was being guided by the soothsayer
of dreams.  And I wanted to know if this dream was a nightmare, just a picture
show, or some prophetic vision.  

I felt pushed and pulled, with winds blowing a strong gale, and wanted to know if they blew from
the east or the west, but I could not tell, I'd dropped my compass miles back.
I wondered what the man was thinking, if he saw the same strange landscape.
I wondered if he had driven me here, or if we had sailed here together, our backs to one another.
I turned my radio on again, but only heard static, and wished that I could find the perfect song,
to express exactly the strangeness of this tale, to sing the truth.

I wondered again if I was dreaming or awake, if my ears
were hearing the real music in songs, if my eyes were reading
lines as they were written, or if I was still asleep, only dreaming.


Sometimes, when you wake up, you just
want to go back to sleep, and dream a little longer.  And sometimes
you think you've woken up, but you are still dreaming.  How do
you know the difference?  How can you ever tell? And where is
a good soothsayer when you need one?  

I'm still wondering.


--bruised orange

lonely pilgrim dreams

the lonely pilgrim fell asleep on his pillow of dreams,
as muse sang songs that floated on air.
he struggled to wake from his trance like state,
as he found himself deep in the quagmire of disarray,
wondering how he had found himself wandering
in green valleys, and who had led him there.

he wondered, too, if dreams are real, and what he
would see at morning's light.

muse sang on, into the night, singing all good things
into his heart, breathing love into his pillow, playing for
light, playing the tune of her heart strings that night.

she was not sure what song she sang, but
wanted to sing, and sing some more.


--bruised orange

adrift

how can you receive an ocean, and hold it in your heart?
won't it leak, won't it spill, won't it explode upon your shore?

how do you feel an ocean's tide, and keep it locked away inside?
won't it pull? won't it drown? won't it surge you in its depths?

how can you hear an ocean's call, and not within its depths fall?
won't it wash? won't it sink? won't it tumble you forever more?

this boat just floats and floats in fathomless waters
no rudder, no rudder, no bay here in which to drop anchor.



--bruised orange

fall arrives

ripples flow out, flow out some more
when tiny pebbles break the still waters

small disturbance upon tranquil pools
pushes sailing leaf boat to shore

where breezes tumble her fallen form
far away from crystal pools
she'd had no business sailing on

(she hadn't had a rudder by which to steer)



--bruised orange

only fueled

she had thought to extinguish.

but she could not,
and would not be able to,
as the fire burned curtains
and consumed the air she breathed
and flames licked the blistered panels
of her sweating walls, where she had
hidden the secret letters of her youth


--bruised orange

universal

tides pull, stars burn
comets chase their tails

waves that break upon the shore
return to ocean ever more

sun shines down on shadow land
cleaves the clouds, the darkened band

moon rises, star falls
comet streaks the sky

sun shines down on shadow land
burns the clouds, tips the hand


--bruised orange

who hides the sun?

how did shadow walk into this light filled home?
did i forget to bolt the door? or leave a window ajar?
did he steal down my chimney while i slumbered in my bed?
while dreaming words of love and joy?

he sits at my table now, demanding another cup of grief from me.
how can i tell him he's emptied my cupboards? and what
will he do when i ask him to leave without quenching his thirst?

and why, oh why, do i want to offer him anything, anything at all,
if he would only stay?


--bruised orange

i pull the bones from my throat

a toast to the ex, in the end, i drink to myself


you set the table just so,
with candle light's warm glow
musical notes drifting on air
with the wine you serve, i'm there

but then the meal arrives, with bones for my throat
bitter poison, leg of goat
i notice the wine has lost its clarity
now you laugh at the perceived disparity
you rise to leave, say you've lost your appetite
i've ruined your supper, your planned delight

you, who so carefully arrange brutality
crafting my demise with skillful hand
i won't be served by you again

i finally found my own clarity
i'm sweetest champagne, well chilled
now i realize it was your own disparity
once your evil brew was distilled

never mine, never mine
i'm sweetest wine, sweetest wine

tumbled again

falling down into the pit,
tumble my stones into the
gravely grave, where my heart
pours a sieve, where rain
falls down in sheets,
enshrouds my truth.

my seething, growling, gnawing
tiger caged in her corner,
spits into my dark night;
she's ready to pounce.

i thought i'd tamed the beast,
but she was only waiting in shadows.

now backed into her corner, she strikes
her razors across my face.

i bleed onto packed dirt floor.

tiger's eyes glow green.


--bruised orange

sail on, sail on, into the deep

this is the ship that hears the horn blow
and seeks the brightest beacon of light

her port of call, that sheltered harbor
on stormy dark and windswept night

my ship will break upon the rocks
with no steady compass in hand

ride the mystic waves with me,
we will sound the depths of the ocean

let us plunge our line into the fathomless love
in that oneness, find our measure

then sail on, sail on, into the deep


--bruised orange

welcome song for the weary traveler

with unsure steps, tread the ground
gaze out with open eyes
cast away all fear and doubt
let the music sing your soul

this river will wash your bedrock
polish the rough stones of your longing
flow away your worried mind,

when this love-seed settles in the soil of your heart
your rose will bloom, in fertile field
where nightingale warbles its melodious tune

lay down your head upon alfalfa pillow
let the music take you high
where daffodil dreams and mystic streams
sing you sweetest lullaby

now close your eyes and feel the pull
this song the lodestone to your heart
drawing out your own sweet tune

hear gentle clouds that roll on by
smell sweet the scented breeze in sky

feel the love,

let go,

now fly


--bruised orange

walk on, lonely pilgrim

would that you would go a step further,
fight a round harder, walk a mile longer,
perhaps you will see the clear waters,
the soaring vistas, the spring flowers

sandstorms blind your eyes and sting your throat,
your music lost into the wind

walk on, lonely pilgrim, walk on and meet me
in the green valley

its just 'round the bend

i've a song to play for you


--bruised orange

tell me more

i would like to speak to you in prose, not verse.
for what in verse most carefully metered
cannot with ease portray what my heart longs
to spill. and while your words most eloquently
express the beauty of your soul filled vision,
sometimes, rough lines spell out best
the truth of who we are

ethereal music has its place in the stars,
that castle of dreams, of visions afar
but hands that dig in dirt, mold the clay
of our connection, binding moon and star

tell me more of who you are...


--bruised orange

return

the tide of my longing
pulls me from the shore,
i plunge back into your ocean once more
waves will never break me
only wash me back into your depths

he is moon, but you are sun
he is shore, but you are the ocean of my remembrance,

ever flowing through me, ever returning me to your source


--bruised orange

one taste more

night is the time you come to me,
whispering me in the dark

your feather breath sings
moonlight and stardust,
sacred places of my youth

i breathe you in,
exhale you onto the page

your ink stains my fingers
as i write you into my heart

intoxicating wine upon my lips you are!
one taste, just one taste more


--bruised orange

let it spill

when i first lifted my glass
and nosed your polished aroma
i hadn't realized then, how your
perfumed bouquet would intoxicate me

you, accessible one, with all your
heady complexities, deserve to
be brought out from the cellar

and no mere tasting will be enough
bright and clean you would be
upon my tongue

held midpalate, i'd swirl you about,
swallow you down, your finish
lingering, demanding of me
another sip

to me, you are at peak flavor
no mere tasting would ever be enough.
pour me a glass, i will drain you
to the last. pour me another
until my cup runs over

stain the tablecloth,
i don't care about that
let it spill.


--bruised orange

muse says...

slipping from your mouth
dripping forth from pen
poem speaks its own
language of within

name me muse,
imagination,
inspiration,
soul-speak

your truth is drawn
forth from my lips
kiss me quick
or kiss me long
i'll have you sing
your mirrored song

i'll trace my pen
'round your most
sensitive places,
drive you to madness
with my exquisite phrases

or strike at your eyes
with this raging dagger
let the ink pour forth,
your wounded stagger

kiss me quick,
or kiss me long,
choice is yours
now sing your song


--bruised orange

bloomin' words

if i could
copy and paste
you into
my book
i would.

i'd lock you
into the pages
between my
covers

bookmarking
your sweetest
lines with my
red silk ribbon

i'd open you up
and read your
darkest secrets
in still of night
by candlelight

and under full
moon's glow, drip
my honey'd words
upon your tender
heart.

oh to copy
and paste
you into
my book

where our love
affair could bloom
in words.

the only place it ever could.


--bruised orange

present me present

return to me, that gentle place
settled in contentment of the
who that i am and the
all that is

trace me back
to the eternity of now
spiral me forward
to the forever of
here


--bruised orange

blow, winds, blow

he wanders in and out of dreamscapes
seeking refuge from the nameless ache,
the burn of a thousand cloudless days

the tumbleweed of his joy blows in the dunes of neglect
vaguely rooted in the sands of discontent


blow, winds, blow
shift the sand beneath his feet
tumble him to the river of rejoice
where his seeds can bury deep
in the fertile soil of complete


--bruised orange

desert of longing

this desert of longing
digs for distraction
in sand dunes
shifting endlessly
in the winds of change

rain on me now
settle my form

i'll grow you earth flowers,
a boundless array
intoxicate all your senses,
wake you up


--bruised orange

fine-tune my enthusiasm

another 'adopted metaphor' from a poetry board, this one, 'fine-tune enthusiasm'. now i'm an out of tune piano. lol



bring your hammer and mutes.
temper my just intervals and
i'll beat a sweet harmonic series.

stretch my octaves,
correct my dissonance,
fine-tune my enthusiasm,

i'll play you some smooth sounds


--bruised orange

unveil sanity

this is just a little trifle, a challenge from a poetry board i belong to. this, my 'adopted metaphor', unveil sanity. it was a fun exercise, and i may add more to it later



no curtain call for you.

you tried to
unveil sanity
but the show flopped.

nobody likes a bad actor.


--bruised orange

sleeper

oh, it must be Monday again


as night marched into day
she saw that light cast through her window
yet being too much enamored by the darkness
she pulled the covers back over her head
and went back to her sleep


--bruised orange

hop, skip, and jump away

laughter skips into view,
turns a corner up ahead.

i run to catch up,
stumbling over lemon drops
she's spilled along the way

coordination's never been my gift.

i'll just follow the trail,
her citrus tangy scent
flares my nostrils

i forget myself,
and skip.


--bruised orange

break out

see the wooden statues,
how they walk about,
locked inside, their
heartwood screams
to be cut free of doubt

watch the alabaster statues,
dance around the room,
their translucent skin
masks the beauty of
roses' passionate bloom

break the marble statues,
real beauty's trapped inside,
chisel away, bright flames ablaze,
with light too bright to hide


melt your bronzened statue,
show me your true form,
though lovely, copper and tin
can never compare
to gold that shines within


--bruised orange

towards a more authentic self

real, real, who's got some real?
lay it out in front of me now
spill the beans, spill your guts

goody goody may look pretty
struggle struggle is oh, so gritty
true to me, true to you
who do you think is fooling whom?

build up walls, lock yourself away
hide from the world, cover your shame
you'll only have yourself to blame

let it out, scream some more
find yourself, and show the world

let it out, scream some more
show yourself, and inspire the world


--bruised orange

crack me open, spill me out

i embrace the darkness within me
and find there is light enough to bear
no longer need to run in fear
or pretend i do not hear
the call, for it is strong,
and will commence the
silent scream within my
brain when i stubbornly
turn a deaf ear to its song

i'll find it oozes through
the pores of my skin
attacks my kith and kin
it only wants to be loved, too

i find a full on frontal address
relieves it best, no mere
handshake will do. darkness
wants to feel the love, too

SO:

darkness, my old friend
what will you share with
me today? what juicy
news to me impart
what breaking waves
upon my heart?

sit a while, have some tea
i know you have something
good for me. i know you were here
just last week, but i can't get
enough of your sweet embrace

so crack me open, spill me out
leave me breathless on the floor
in the morning, you'll leave my side
and me? i will have enjoyed the ride

my thoughts impressed by all you share
and i, the better for your care
morning light upon me breaks
you always leave me, but ever return
bearing gifts, so thoughtfully prepared

you always leave me,
awakened, and aware


--bruised orange

poets possess, possessed, possession, possessor

four little poems born together today, one after the next.



poets possess

dreamy romantic hearts
with notions enough to
stitch a quilt of love
to blanket the world


poets possessed

of cracking wit
and sharp tongue,
by darksome reveal,
spur us on towards
a bold new frontier


poet's possession

immeasurable wealth,
freely distributed.
the mighty pen sways
hearts and minds.

treasures inherent,
readily bestowed.


poet's possessor

the world own's her heart
and she, the world's
through words, none new
arranged fresh for you:

delight and beguile,
awaken again the senses,
as morning dew strewn
on Kentucky bluegrass

or creep up behind
and steal a kiss,
bringing pure bliss
to dry, parched lips

or rush and attack,
leave you flat on your back,
wind knocked from your chest,
in a state of unrest

words own her heart,
they always have,
right from the start

whether
white, black, grey, multihued
they're all so so good for you


--bruised orange

funambulation

eh, its all a balancing act...
funambulation-rope dancing
great music by Maria Mena



funambulation

there is a clear, fine line
cuts a path through the air

each step, once gingerly tread
with my balancing pole,
my highwire act of tight control

its a slackwire i walk this time
i'll need my dancing feet
no tension between the two poles
i'm my own pivot point

no time to practice,
i'll make it up as i go along

i'll be over the edge soon
pretty sure there's no
safety net below

but what the heck
it'll make for a great show


--bruised orange

transference

i wouldn't worry too much about it
my heart is a fickle home these days
filled to the point of explosion
with longing unfulfilled

i'll get a handle on it, i swear
what i feel is just a reflection
a mirage in the desert of my soul
no need to worry about me

my cracked vessel oozes out
some of its contents have
puddled at your feet
please don't worry about me

my life is just too much abstraction
with no concrete proof of any good kind
only the remains of my yesterday
where inky clouds befouled my water

my heart's just looking to make a statement
to prove to myself i'm capable
of something a bit more worthy
than what i've displayed before


--bruised orange

vested interest

my heart's statement
longs to be in the black
it's been showing red too long
i've gotta find a better accountant

you can't balance my books, i know
although i appreciate the loan
you gave me in my time of need

i've been spending way too much
on picture shows with bad endings

its time i transfer some funds
into a savings account
and begin planning
for my future

i'll play the market
once i find stock
that'll yield high returns
on my investment


--bruised orange

this ill-fated show

it'll get bad reviews, we should scrap the project before it breaks the budget


we sit and talk
art and beauty, love and fear
my heart cracking open
and you, rushing in

we sit and talk
play at the deadly game
ignore the consequences
shun the inconsistencies
the words, words, words
they swirl
and we slip, we slip, we slip

--its a real cliffhanger

hearts on sleeves
music weaves
stories come to light

secrets, oozing out between
the well crafted lines of
our carefully scripted plot

we sit and talk circles around
the herds of white elephants
that come to watch the show
mocking us, they laugh
as we tiptoe through
fields of daffodils
under dark skies
with rainbows

scene change now

in dark of night
i squeeze out hope
from my heart
god damned hope
twists up and knifes
me in the side, leaves
me bleeding on the floor

and you, fool you are
rush to my aid

if you're saving me,
who's saving you?

you with your secret
decoder ring from your
box of caramel corn
cracking my heart
you peel my layers

your questions run deep
but your feet will run faster
and i'll fall, i'll fall, i'll fall

gravity's a real drag
i've felt it's pull before

me with my third eye
see the pan and play
this show will end
leaving us all sitting
in our seats wanting
another thirty minutes,
a tidier ending
this ain't Disney

we'll feel like we've been
ripped, ripped, ripped

no refunds here,
go file your complaint
with the man upstairs

the audience stands,
turns to go.

white elephants know there's
no silver lining, no pot of gold
they threw popcorn at the screen
but you didn't notice

i always hated white elephants
i thought you did too
who invited them to the show?

we step outside
no curtain call
no applause

this hail falls down
on a sunny blue day
afraid to touch you, but

i want to catch you in my mouth

would you please
just go away
before i end up with lumps
on my head, in my throat

my eyes blinded by the sun,
the hail, this ill fated show


--bruised orange

your music sings my soul

your words go to my head
intoxicate me with their
flourishing scents

you are my hopeful sunrise
you are my wistful yesterday
you spur me on to new heights
you lead me back to quiet valleys

your music sings my soul
oh, dear poet friends, i love you all!


--bruised orange

at times we beat as one (has anyone noticed?)

melancholy hearts
harmonize their tunes
beat as one in their
longing for love's
uniting embrace


--bruised orange

music, ladder for my soul

i just love music, don't you?


music, you push and pull me
i blow wherever your wind sends me
oh ladder for my soul, your
notes send me high, or cast me low
i blow where ever your wind sends me
yet
my roots are deep, no tumbleweed am i
you, music, send me traveling the stars
while my toes sink deep into the mud,
where the earth flowers blossom
and waft their potent scent of heaven

secrets of the universe are folded within
you, music, ladder for my soul


--bruised orange

Melancholy Mondays

Melancholy Mondays
always leave me breathless
and longing

like a sad friend come to visit
to share a cup of grief with me

and i, with my breaking heart
welcome the feeling of lonely arms
entwined in a wistful embrace

too much to share,
i sigh into my teacup
my tea sighs back at me

leaving my vision foggy
and my face flushed


--bruised orange

paper heart

reams of paper at my feet
words i write, my desolation

my coward's heart locks inside
the words i long to sing

my pen is stilled, my heart explodes
my words tumble to the ground

the evidence, on clear display
in reams of paper at my feet


--bruised orange

not mine to know

i have planted my words
in the soil of your heart
my tears have showered
the land at my feet
my hands have pulled
the weeds in the furrows

now i must trust in
the mercy of the sun

what bounty will come
is not mine to know
time is not mine
to complete


--bruised orange

when he stole words

Gaslighting is only one of the many tricks in the psychopath's bag of brainwashing magic. The quiet dissolution of the mind that occurs over time as a result of this sort of deception, is what i write about here. I was voiceless for so many years. Towards the end, I had nothing left to say, to anyone. I was, after all, unable to trust my own mind, and obviously could not even trust my own thoughts, let alone my own words. I had no idea how close he came to bringing about my extinction. You can read a little about gaslighting here: http://victimsofpsychopaths.wordpress.com/2009/01/27/gas-lighting-messin-with-your-mind/


when he stole words

when he took words from me and stole my voice
i had given up the notion of having any choice

my life became a muted scene
i lived each day in a nightmarish dream

when he stole my words from me

reaching down into my throat
he pulled them, one by one by force

and words lay in a puddle on my floor

i left them there, not knowing how to get them back
one day he simply swept them away, they tumbled into a dark crack

now that he is gone, i've pulled them out, washed them off,
i arrange them on a page. but some words, i've noticed, have gone missing.

i wonder did they blow away in the wind? never to be found again?
or are they broken in the dust, waiting for me to find them, to mend them with my hand

or perhaps they are smashed beyond repair, and i will have to live my life as such
never being able to say all that i feel, never able to say the words that can mean so much


--bruised orange

a love revisited

when once i saw his dear sweet face
and memories came to be retraced

my heart it pounded loud to hear
the rushing blood within my ear

funny how a memory can play
and bring you fast to yesterday

time unfolded inside my heart
and brought me right back to the start

when love was fresh and full of dreams
that time we danced upon moonbeams

we spoke of futures brave and bold
and never pondered growing old

now here i see him once again
my face is lined, his hair's gone thin

minds entwined in love's embrace
where memories came to be retraced

time thus refolded into my heart
what eyes of wisdom do best impart


--bruised orange

trembling, poises this blossom fair

she's poised to flourish, poised for ignition, poised to be poised with good intention. she's poised on the fence, at the starting gate, quick she comes, but finishes late.



this rose she trembles, shy to bloom
yet longs to share her sweet perfume

of spring this blossom is now consumed
how suddenly hope has been exhumed

by force of nature too strong to stay
faltering, leaves have begun to sway

intentions to keep tight in bud
cannot prevent the rays that flood

trembling, poises this blossom fair
quick comes the bursting forth with flare


--bruised orange

burn away, burn away, burn away now

of pain and suffering many have written
of those fiery tests we've sung forlorn
this, my hymn of how i've been measured
here is my song, of experience born


plucked from the heap with sense of dread
from murky darkness how long obscured
not knowing the glory which lies ahead
we balk at the process to be endured

impurities burned away by flame
the kiss of fire does smelt us
dross once skimmed, reveals the claim
a fine treasure, with beauty ageless

though kiss of fire will burn intense
in hands of master metallurgist
how malleable we become at his bench
fine works of art, fashioned purest

now aglow with joy and praise
no longer are we bemired
singing this hearth song from hearts ablaze
with gratitude we'll next leap to the fire


i welcome the kiss, brought once more to my brow
and embrace this pain, my fashioner's distill
burn away burn away burn away now
create of me what you will


--bruised orange

someday maybe i'll get it right

swirling thoughts
inside my head
lead me ever
inward
but
love is
something
that needs
always to be
flowing outward


--bruised orange

solitary business

i'm growing weary of sitting in this room
loneliness, a sad flower, has begun to bloom

next week i'm making plans to step out for a while
see some old friends, always good for a smile

fire's been ignited, i feel its slow burn
my pen not enough to supply what i yearn

i need some sharp wit, some healthy rapport
there's a garden's delight, just outside my door

a project for two, or three, maybe four
writing poetry is a solitary business for sure.


--bruised orange

musings of the poet's pen

oh muse!

your true light thus, to me, imparts
by scattered moon dust upon my heart
commences your aery lyre's string
now from you flows the magical springs

i quaff your mystical wine, and sing


--bruised orange

last remains

yesterday i gave away
the last hoard that had
been my husband's

he had left it here
after his final storm
(in his rage it had been forgotten)

i had stored it this long
having too much guilt
(or fear?) to pass it to another

but yesterday i gave it away
it now belongs to some other

i can't believe how much
lighter i feel, to have
finally done this deed

no longer will i bear the name
Storehouse for his Debris

--bruised orange

delicious diversity of thought

if we were master of our thoughts
how boring our writes would be
we would soon grow weary
of our minds' complacency

but as it is the vortex swirls
and we dip in and draw
a smidgen of this a smattering of that
flavors for one and all

the complexities of diversity
in each of us brings awe
a swirling universe inside our heads
from which we all can draw


--bruised orange

temptation's guile

the box poses on my table
so patient in its guise
allures its extent to baffle
and prove me thus unwise

to draw me closer it will bait
and lure by fine sweet sounds
perplexity my new bed mate
mischief that knows no bounds

i lie in this bed and ponder
choice is mine, is it not?
what gifts inside i do wonder
temptation's guile my lot

gilded and exquisitely wrought
intricacy unparalleled
my prolonged resistance for naught
my hand thus adroitly compelled


--bruised orange

rays reflected

noble soul with eyes downcast
digs in dirt for his repast
seeks he there but does not find
nourishment to ease his mind

noble soul in dross obscured
tarnish he has long inured
mirror must be cleaned to shine,
reflect the rays of love divine


--bruised orange

20/20 vision

What would happen if we tore them down
All the walls that keep us apart
What would happen if we threw them to ground
those masks that hide our true heart

Would it not be in our interest if we forgot the tales,
what our fathers told us about the 'other'
and looked for ourselves, with bright new eyes
upon the faces, into the hearts, of one another.

Would we not find there something good and kind?
Could we not discover we have a like mind?
If we look around we just may find
that cord encircling, those ties that bind

Will you see the beauty of this fine garden?
Do you feel the strength of these branches strong?
Can you sense the waves of our connection?
Do you hear the notes of this new song?

open bright new eyes and see

we are made for one another

we are family

--bruised orange

lessons learned by some 9/11

from ashes spring unity
brotherhood of man

dark tale of woe
across our great land

from rubble comes hope
courage witnessed firsthand

of man's love resplendent
for his family, this firm stand

up from fire we grow
and see no reprimand

lessons learned by some 9/11
all members of this band


--bruised orange

tipping point smile

a bit of a soapbox moment. nationalism, prejudice and racism lead us nowhere, and a better future begins with just one heart, with one smile


in times like these its nice to remember
goodness is inherent in every heart

and even those who you see as lost
have their own truth, true enough

the problem with typing the bad guy
based on skin color or creed
is that (among other things) it only
serves to feed

the suspicion so easily found
lurking on street corners
all around town

so when you see a friendly face today
shake their hand and smile back!
it matters not if they share your
world view,
or whatever it is you think they lack

or if their words sound strange to your ear.
(it's so sad to see people living with this fear!)

what matters is that you have given away
something of yourself that is true.

who knows what kinds of ripples
you'll start with just one smile today?

you could end a war!
you could give someone hope!
you could set the world on fire with love!

the little part you play in this world
make it count,
bring it straight from the heart

who knows what kinds of ripples
you'll start with just one smile today?

--bruised orange

an invitation

my friend Amalia and i were talking the other day, and she said, 'we are the black pit alumni' i replied, 'there is a poem there!' we each wrote a version. this is mine, hers can be seen at her blog, Amalia on purpose, which is linked in my 'blogs i follow' sidebar.

we are the black pit alumni
we, who have laid long
in the depths of despair

we are the black pit alumni
our members, world wide
and diverse

we are the black pit alumni,
standing arm and arm,
we've weathered the fire storm

we've crawled up from the depths
of that dark pit

that dark pit,
where we cried out in anguish,
felt the sting and bite of
the cold winds of separation

that dark pit,
into which we fell unwittingly
tumbled down, we lay broken,
and felt our aloneness

on that park bench in darkness where we wept,
in that bottle of liquid amnesia where we tried to forget,
from our rooms of seclusion where dark fears were met

that fire of separation, how it burned!
this, our initiation, our price of
admission

we cried out from our black pits
and heard that gentle Voice,
felt the tender ministrations
of our hearts

His succoring grace and mercy
sheltered and enfolded us with such
close attention and compassion
we were moved to look up, to gaze out

and found the hands
of earthly angels stretched out to us,
those servants of Glory,

those alumni from the black pit,
dressed in robes of humility and service,
such finely stitched garments,
each a different hue and shade
yet all of a cloth, the same


we invite you today.
take this hand outstretched,
take this robe custom made,
and join us

--bruised orange

in which bo ventures to wear a smile

in which bo ventures to wear a smile



little bo reposed in solemn slumber upon her jasmine bench.
stray words batted about her mind.
she swatted them away
--pesky bugs!

her irritation grew as the words screamed silence into her ear.
clamoring in the stillness,
her cracked vessel had sprung a leak.
--pesky words

those ambrosia scents of jasmine bench
aroused her from her slumber.
she stretched and yawned.

mysterious music, this scent of words
clinging to her pores
dripping as nectar
from her mouth

majestic ministrations
from fairies upon moss
angels from ether, bearing
gifts of words, which
softly soothes her sighing
and succors her heart

acceptance, long forgotten
becomes remembered.

now leaping, now prancing
from her mouth, dance her words.

her smile, a triumphant afterthought

--bruised orange

Dreams (an acrostic suffused with sibilance)

Dangling sweet ambrosia scents
Repose upon the jasmine bench
Easing sorrowful soughs
Amidst lamented long slipped
Melancholy memories singing
Suserant soliloquies in stillness

--bruised orange

which dreams, these?

what dreams lurk here?
i do not know. my night
in stillness reposes,
the only peace i find.

my pen has tried to
reflect, draw forth.
in abjection, i refuse.

reveal! reveal! my pen
cried out.
i covered her mouth.

stuffed that little piece,
lost it (i tried to lose it)
amongst the many
papers crumpled
at my feet.

the ones i say are
trash, or incomplete,
the ones i do not share

what dreams are here?
how could i know?
covered over,
in the foggy mist
that is my mind

my life on hold
my life on hold
so many years
my life on hold.

i've barely just begun,
like some toddling babe
gazing out into the wide
world.

eyes peeled open,
in awe, in fear.

i need to hide
beneath my mother's
skirts.

its all too much
all too much

t'would be nice to have a dream,
to look forward to,
to wake me from

daytime
night
terrors

to wake me
from this

s
c
r
e
a
m

oh dream,
i will struggle
you out!

i will squeeze
you up and
spew you
forth!

this disconnect,
my silent scream.

what dreams may come?
i shall know soon
enough.

i tremble
at the reveal

--bruised orange

in silence

sitting in darkness,
eyes burn hot red
sleep would be the
prudent thing.

but here is where it breaks down,
in silence speaks the pen
whatever lost harbouring dreams
are real in your heart
reveal! reveal!

--bruised orange

a peek through my window

a peek inside my brain
reveals the mess i have become
the ups and downs, mysterious highs,
the crashing diving downs

sometimes i think i may be crazy,
i may have lost my mind
but remember somewhere that those
insane, never ask questions of this kind

so perhaps i am not crazy,
but i surely am a mess.
i start each day and end each day
and barely even get dressed.

i drink coffee for my breakfast
and coffee for dinner too
sometime round about midnight,
i may think of something to chew

my car it sits in disrepair
i haven't the energy to fix
i use a shiny rental car
when i dare go out to mix.

which i don't do much at all these days
my walls, a self imposed prison
i warble away like some caged bird
of my own dismayed invention

you see i get these panic attacks
they come from out of nowhere
whenever i set foot outside
or receive a man's attention

i'm doing my best to just survive
this imprisonment of my soul
i struggle each day to be grounded
fearing i may well explode.

i thought i'd share this bit of me
and my struggle to overcome
a 25 year sentence with a psychopath
has left me well undone.

i thought i'd share this bit of me
whatever i can do to prevent
another soul walking this road
from hell, another sad lament

i've just been handed down
another sentence,
will he never let me be?
my diagnosis now, it reads:
complex-PTSD.

--bruised orange

if you would like more information on c-ptsd, this is a good starting point http://outofthefog.net/Disorders/CPTSD.html

noble tree sublime

to my daughter holding it all together while i quietly fall apart. how true and straight she grows!



sweet sheltering one,
you bear so much, 'tis true.

your quiet love,
brilliant morning sun,
when my feet will not
carry me through

you've borne the brunt
of so much hurt, my
tender, loving one
the observer, the recorder
of too much cruelty done

sweet sheltering one,
your roots run deep
your canopy cools us all

though your hardened bark
defends the axeman
that strikes for your core,

i see that heartwood
fine, beneath your
toughened exterior

you've grown so fine
and true and tall, a
miracle, yes, you are

my heart overflows,
humble gratitude,
for the mercy shown
us all.

you sturdy, sheltering,
majestic one

o noble tree sublime!

--bruised orange

element

this fire, this fire
how it burns!

too close i brought my hand;
i've backed into the burner
now, without a thought or plan.

rages, rages, now consumes,
this blazing fire, how it looms!

burned up my curtains,
the veil's been rent
my joy, it seems,
has all been spent

smoke it chokes
and stings my eyes
this fire,
my searing
reprise

--bruised orange

overcome

fire blazes all around me.
i sit,
waiting to be consumed.

my deeds few in number,
as i
simply sit and ponder.

inaction drives the heart
to madness, and beautiful
words, do not a life make.

--bruised orange

towards a greater understanding

please understand me;

i draw inspiration from the air
the words are there for all of us
to grab, to hear, to share

please understand me;

your words inspire me each day
fly into my heart, carry me away
they bring me to a place new
please listen when i say

please understand me;

greater confirmations are at work
you, the instrument unknowing
returns me to the source

that rippling effect,
that divine connection,

words,
their source,
all of us.

please understand me.

--bruised orange

words in ink

i love your voice.

your words sing
my heart

they fly up,
connect with my soul

you are the ink
to my pen

--bruised orange

the bard's gift

the bard's gift

the reticent bard sits,
strung on a fence.

his fear of leaping
one side or t'other
has given him a sore bum;
he's sat there for years.

his songs, sung to the birds
of the field, fly softly through
the air.

and not a one hears him
and not a one cares,
the reticent bard reflects

his contemplation lost
to an audience unhearing

the birds of the field,
hearing his sighs,
wing their flight
to places unknown.

our dear bard,
in solitude laments
his yearning

the reticent bard has forgotten
the majestic ministration of words.

that mysterious music
which sings into the air,
and returns magic,
far and near.

--bruised orange

euphony on a moonlit night

euphony on a moonlit night



slow slips his sighing.

she succors his heart,
her shades of seduction,
his harmonious hearing

her hushed sonata
sighs softly in stillness

quiet quintessence,
he yearns her
melodious marvels

moonlight makes for
merry mischief,
consorted in concert.

quickly comes the crescendo
of their close cadence

luminescence laments
their languid leaving

melancholy moon
shares hushed solitude
in silence, so sweet

--bruised orange

clamors the silence

insane is the night, this
silence lynches my heart
with each murmuring breath.

silence, you are my scourge.
your susurrations, my torment,
this unyielding drum song
inside my skull

pound and pound some more
as i strike the keys,
composing maddening music
which haunts me even in sleep

i will strike it out,
this pounding
in my head,

i will strike it out,
this pounding
in my heart,

strike it out,
with these keys,

with this pen,
i will strike you out.

--bruised orange

parallels

my number's been compromised,
i've cancelled my card.
today i will go in and
dispute the charges.

i've been compromised again,
my identity taken once more

this time around, though
i've reclaimed myself
within a day.


--bruised orange

exquisite design

this finely wrought tapestry,
so intricately woven by delicate fingers,
has borne the rains of neglect and mistreat

yet, crafted of fiber so strong,
from noble thread and precious metal,
well preserved under that sheltering tree

needing now only a good shake
and brush to knock off the dust.

once restored to that splendor
to which its designer had an eye,

it will please many with its delicate tale,
and bring comfort on any chilled night.

it will hang well
upon this castle
wall.

--bruised orange

soon breaks the seige

i see you there trying your best to obscure,
your hulking frame still enshrouds my mind

yet, `tis i who pierce the veil this time
your own night terrors, will soon reveal

fear and tremble, dragon
your storybook enchantments
draw quick their close

i will smite you down with my raging pen
my hounds have sniffed you out

i am no longer your enchanted
princess, fumbling with stolen
jewels in your dank lair

you no longer have refuge in my cave
this land, my noble birthright

i'm coming for you next, thieving one
i will take my careful aim

and you?
you shall hear my crack of doom

--bruised orange

tinder

this fire breathes
loud inside my head
the clang and crash
of my combustion

trying to douse the flames,

my bucket `o water
has merely served
to excite the element

groaning breath clamors,

its loud vapor screams
my rapid oxidation

waiting beast
inside my head,
you'll have your
meat soon enough

and i, seared upon
your spit,
once again.

--bruised orange

love notes to a Friend

Dear One, please protect
this servant
during this time in her room

and her precious family, help them
to feel
her deep love for them,
and how much more,
Yours.

help them to know this servant's trials,

in this
dark
night
of her
soul

she calls out to Thee
to heal this
affliction

that has
so gripped
her soul

and in the letting go,
her peace will return

each time
she gives over
to You

Dear Friend,
help her in this
struggle
to remain firm.

and return her quickly
to Your most precious
Room

these feet, not yet worthy

to tread
your dust.

she walks on, in
anticipation
of Your Grace.

O Restoring One!
this lowly servant's
blessing she seeks
from Your Court.

do Thou cover
this face
with Your dust

and robe her
with that
humility

that she may serve as
that hollow reed.
her pith, having been
blown clean through

that she may sing out
Your joyous melodies
to any listening ear.

that she may become

Your joyous
instrument

guide her steps
in Your path

O Best Lover!

i'm given over.

you've taken
my heart,
once again.

--bruised orange

color returns (in shades of pink)

My neighbor has advised more roughage. "Healthy bowels
will keep illness away."
My therapist says group will do it. "Share your stories with
those who relate."
My doctor gave me a script for Valium. "Call me when these
run out."
My muse sings urgently into my ear. " Keep writing, we'll
get there, no doubt!"
My friend tells me more prayer is the ticket. "Talk with God
and you won't be afraid."

But my sister (the French psychoanalyst) tells me simply,
"You need to get laid!"

now i've tried the vegetables, they are tasty to eat
and the group i found, well it's just down the street
the prescription's been filled, and easily (twice!)
my pen keeps me working long into the night
and prayer brings me answers, my truths comes to light


but this last advice has left me in stitches
you see, its been such a very long time
would someone direct my feet, and,
please tell me, where do i get some of that?

(and now she dissolves, into fits of hysterical laughter)

--bruised orange

O muse!

break this
break this
break this
wall before my eyes

this wall
that halts my pen

drive me forth
into battle
with these
night terrors!

take this
take this
take this
pen from my hand
and write my truth!

--bruised orange

self-examination (wrestling the demons)

avoiding examination of myself has become an easy task.
plugged in all day long, locked away in the ROOM

here some music,
there some chat
and then there
is always
the

p
o
e
t
r
y

dark monsters lurk in this closet.

i hide
under the cover
of this night
and

t
r
e
m
b
l
e

too afraid to turn on the light

--bruised orange

standard bearer

(she calls)

oh come forth, brave warrior!
i know you are there.
this friend calls on you now,
come, gallant knight

(he answers)

oh noble lady!
you have
courage untapped

await the breaking dawn,
when your standard will wave
proud and regal,
fearless in the face
of foes intimately known
and enemies uncounted (as yet)

you know not yet
what victories
ensue

--bruised orange

good to meet you

that withered body,
twisted by time
sits still, subjected to
whim or care of
those around you.

you are spoon fed
platitudes,
condescension
served alongside your dinner.

eyes, with a diminished view,
your voice locked inside,
unable to sing those songs
of yesteryear.

hope dies a slower death
than these bodies, than this mind.

recognition reaches across
that enshrouded mist.

that tender moment,
your hand seeking mine

you are still an effective beauty.

yes, i see you

--bruised orange

flirtations

words left unspoken, unwritten
tell much of the heart of the poet.

peeking between lines,
truths hidden,
too shy to dance onto the page

words wrapped in mystery,
a subtle nuance,
a grand denouement

now, stepping lightly,
here, a racing tango,
there, a sliding waltz.


words dance around
your heart,
and flirt
with my pen.

--bruised orange

itinerary

would that i could start anew
i may have planned things differently
but oh! for the scenery

some roads best shared
with friends so dear
the joyful discoveries made
and even avalanches survived

my scrapbook filled
with lovely memories
to share with one and all

and those kind strangers
who have watered my horses
when they were thirsting
and unable to go on
during that great drought

yes, they've kept me alive
during these hard times

and now I come to this fork unplanned,
this wild territory uncharted

what lies ahead,
how can I know?
I forge on.

this leg of my journey,
i must travel alone

I'll meet you
`round the bend.

--bruised orange

death sentence

oh words, come forth
do not be shy

your fear of
being misconstrued
has clamped your voice
tightly shut.

words left unspoken
scream silently to a deaf
audience and
are not compelled
to leap and prance

--bruised orange

sing out Oh Joy!

i just felt like sharing
this over abundance of feeling
my heart fills to bursting
and looks forward
with joyful expectation
what each day may bring

whether my sadness and grief
or excitement shared with a friend

coming back to life
is heady stuff, and i haven't words
enough to express
this gratitude of my soul

its not even been a month
since i've begun writing
and i feel that i have traveled
through space and time

an eternity, in the blink
of an eye.

this joy, this soul's refurbishment
has been closer than my life's vein
all this time

moving forward, through the door
one foot in front of the other
never knowing where i was going
what future lay in store

and still i do not know
and it does not matter in the least anymore!

it is the journey, this process unfolding
this living of questions
this being with myself
that has brought me peace

oh won't you please try it?
it is so easy to do!
just take that one step, and you'll find
yourself, too.

peace to all of you
come Joy, oh come

--bruised orange

inside out

A voyeuristic view through the windows of happy friends
is not nourishment enough for this poet's heart
and does not sate this dreamer's hungry soul

before this spirit journeys on
i'd like to know what it is like
to be loved from the inside out

those delicate strings,
that haunting duet,
of love not bound by fear

i'd like to know love
from the inside out
and not from the outside in

that stuff of dreams,
(yet real i've seen)
that one true union of souls

it's honeyed nectar taste
would be sweet upon my lips
and those delicate strings,
tender music to my soul.

oh muse, you take me too far
i must leave off
before i break this tender heart
and having been turned inside out
i fly completely,
apart.


--bruised orange

myriad ways to your heart

and how will He reach you?
in a myriad ways
in a myriad, mysterious ways
He will find His way to you
He will seek you out

your longing heart
His Joy to bring
this Love upon you
this overflowing Joy
this tender Mercy
this warm Embrace

this faithful Friend
Who would not give up
not for one moment
while you run and hide
while you backslide
while you kick and scream
and beat at your chest

O Patient One
O Loving Friend
O my best Beloved
O Quickener!
O Thou Abiding One!

i sing out now
and shout from rooftops
this Joy, this tremendous
humbling Joy.

--bruised orange

enkindled

having nothing left in me to say
today, i've drained the cup
i've been filled up

wide wonderment
fills my heart
this joyful,
rekindled heart

i must rest
this fevered burning
ignited fire,
has left me gasping
upon Your shore

oh Love, oh these Words
this drop of Your Ocean
Your music stirs my soul
and i have nothing left
in me to say.

i've been filled
to overflowing.

--bruised orange

ripples (supplication)

mysterious, her detachment bringing me back to God
His warp and weft, that intricate design so entwined
i fall to my face and grieve, i fall to my face in awe
dumbstruck by Your plans, Your well crafted plans

this sacrifice of her detachment, this blessing on my heart
this love rekindled, this joy reawakened.
i fall to my knees and pray, i fall to my knees and cry
dumbstruck by Your plans, Your heart rendering plans

what sacrifice may i give in return, for this servant's offering
this servant's fiery test, that has brought me back home
oh the intricately woven pattern! i fall to my face and cry out,
i fall to the floor and cover my face in the dust at Your doorstep.

oh Lord, give me grace, give me grace, give me fortitude, robe me in humility
for that servant's heart, that pure servant's heart
that shining mirrored heart, this sad longing heart.

to not waste the taste, once sipped, from this cup of detachment
her sacrifice, my blessing. this is my prayer today.

and this love grows.
that detachment,
her sacrifice,
quickens my soul.

i fall to the floor and cover my face in the dust at Your doorstep.
i fall to the floor
i cover my face
i pray

--bruised orange

these words (my new love)

words, once written,
once spoken
cannot be undone

choose carefully
each step we take

for hearts off balance
can easily be swayed
by these words,
these powerful words,

and words, wind their way
into our hearts

they can smite us down
or make us whole again
all with the stroke of the pen

ah,so much mightier
than the sword!
these words.

--bruised orange

emergence

when even words had been stripped away
and i'd been left with nothing but my thoughts
that became a desperate scream
inside my head.
you had not killed me, even then

my hibernation encapsulated me,
that chrysalis shielding me from your storm

and my words, locked away inside
waiting for the day to emerge
to transform my sad form
with wings wet, slowly unfolding
painful growing

and now,
here i am

and i fly

--bruised orange

this ship

circumnavigating my life
i forgot to read my compass

sailed through the eye of the storm,
riggings now battered and broken
i've repairs to make, `tis true

(she's a sturdy vessel, aye
and sounder for the journey)

--bruised orange

sitting by the window

I've been waiting my entire life.
waiting for him to start loving me
waiting for things to calm down
waiting for reason to find him
waiting for answers that have never come
waiting for life to get better
waiting for him to catch up with me

oh to have grabbed life by the horns
wrestled the devil out of my heart

forbearance taken to extremes
has caused me to lose years of my life
sometimes i just need to scream
at my twelfth century story book values

my knight in shining armor did not come
the dragon kept me locked away
and i've slept, waiting for that kiss
to wake me, but it never has

to hell with fairy tale endings
i'm putting on this shiny armor
taking up that glistening sword
i'm rescuing myself now
i'm the only one who ever could.

--bruised orange

small pleasures

color returns to my world
in bits and pieces
in fits and starts

i've been asleep for so long
soul's stirring, i catch my breath.

a flower's delicate scent
the way wind moves through a tree
the blue of your eyes
my son's smile

--bruised orange

downpour

you are spring showers
upon my parched earth.

i soak you in
and drink you up

your nourishment giving me
something i've craved

i soak you in
and drink you up

i soak you in
and drink you up.

--bruised orange

this one is about you (soul speak)

having given me your love and acceptance
having given me so much of your time
having listened to my rantings and ravings
and comforting me when i am down

for being my sounding board
for being that hollow reed
for being my validation, my mirror,

down all the roads we have traveled
and the journeys we have not yet taken
the deep pondering moments we've both shared

i want you to know my gratitude,
my soul wanted me to say,
from that deepest, most sincere place in my heart
with all the tenderness i can bring forth

you are my true friend.

thank you
for grabbing my soul
for meeting my soul
for finding my soul

--bruised orange

not ready (this isn't about you)

sorry for me?
you feel sorry for me?
how could you,
why would you!

i had thought you my friend
perhaps you've misunderstood
and your intentions were good
and the words just came out wrong
--yes that must be it.

but those tears squeezed from your eyes
so hesitant to appear
tell a different story
one i'm not ready to hear (i'm too tender)

please don't use me as your sad (i am NOT)
excuse to flush out your own feelings
they deserve their own place of honor
you've got your own work to do

i feel used to be taken as your handkerchief
you've violated my process
taken my new found power
(its such a delicate thing)

and yes, this is the reason
i've been in hiding
(i tried to explain)
my distortions of those
who say they care
(i'm so raw).

here slips a bit of his twisted reality
that taste of mistrust,
that paranoid viewing, yes
i've caught a touch of his flu.

a new thing for me
i've been always so trusting
so ready to forgive--
I'll give you the benefit of the doubt

its why i'm in hiding
this strange paranoia
it must be the ptsd talking
i'm sure

yes, maybe i read too much into
your comment, too much
into your tears, forgive me
(i'm working on it)
it felt so contrived though,
you've left me confused.

perhaps you have difficulty expressing
yourself. maybe you thought it would help.

or perhaps you think taking my
feelings as your own (you don't own them)
could help me(don't use me)
its sympathy (don't use me) i don't need it
don't use me like that.

i'm crawling back into my cave now
i'm clearly not ready to come out
more nursing of wounds,
more trying to heal,
yes clearly i'm not ready for you yet.

--bruised orange

headwaters unimagined

O Words! You are my therapy,
sung quietly, my whispered prayer,
shouted loudly, for all to hear.

Shame's weight lifting from my breast,
pain unraveling, gingerly I step,
as these words caress my soul.

When journey first began
I had not imagined
what waterfalls I'd find,
this inundation upon my plain.

Old friend, you've waited patiently
for me to give you voice
soul's longing now embraced,
no longer my sad disgrace.

Now what is this spring bubbling forth?
O Joy! i hadn't dreamed I'd find you here
waiting all this time to be discovered,
to dance with me once more.

O Words! look where you have brought me!
my gratitude overwhelms
to see at last a home for me,
designed with love and care.

O Words, you've brought me back to life
what tongue can voice my thanks?
for such a precious gift as this,
what a bounty upon my banks.

O Words! What joy! My soul's embrace!
my spirit soaring free
you've led me to my worthiness,
you've brought me back to me.

--bruised orange

pioneering

deep and wide
this river i must float
(though fording i'd prefer)

swirling eddies
mark its dangerous
course

and how long to reach
the distant bank?

traversing these sharp rocks
and slippery stones,
i must tread carefully.

and having arrived,
will i find
my wagon train's
moved on
and their trail grown cold?

--bruised orange

apologies

please i don't mean to offend
but some things just have to be said
locked inside secrets grow
to monstrous proportions
(believe me on this, i know)

i could have kept it to myself
written it down in some secret place
hidden carefully, in some dark space
kept it alive, fed on my sad disgrace

but i chose instead to set the secrets free
harsh as they may be, sad as they may be
that world is still a part of me

and now that its been said and done
i do feel somehow lighter
but hoping i haven't ruined your supper

i didn't mean to offend

--bruised orange

fruitful dreaming

by possession of my reality
i'll plow my new existence

( the tree most heavily pruned,i'm told,
brings forth sweetest fruits of the season)

laying dormant for quite some time
but feeling springtime's urging

leaflets springing from my branches
your words, my fertilizer

my soul will give me gentle rains
the Sun, its glorious power

it won't be long now before i feel
tight buds begin to flower

then by wind and butterfly,
by pollen shared and spread

words burst forth, oh fruitful
dreams! these heavily laden branches!

--bruised orange

he said, but(starting to unravel)

the last time he shoved me to a wall
he wanted to know where his lighter was
(or so he said) i had offered to help him
i thought i could help him find it
i was still trying to help him

but you really weren't mad about the lighter at all in fact i later found it where i had told you you had left it and you said i looked there and it wasn't there, (then he said where did you hide it you bitch)

he said i was always sabotaging him
making him come to me making him
ask me for every little thing.
he said i was controlling
he said it gave me kicks,
you manipulative bitch

he said i'm tired of begging for sex
he said you never offer it
i always have to take it,
you frigid fat ass bitch

but the truth is when i offered it you never wanted it it just doesn't do it for you unless you take it which probably explains why i was always waking up to find you there, already taking.

he says i'm tired of doing
all the work around here
you just sit around doing nothing
you lazy bitch

but you spit on the wall in the bathroom and break doors and chairs and glasses
and i clean it up i clean it all up the children's tears the broken promises the bills unpaid the lies discovered the pets gone missing for years and years i've cleaned it up, done my best to make it look presentable

he says i'm tired of working so hard
to earn all the money and you won't
even wake your lazy ass up and
make me breakfast or cook me dinner

but for years i did and you would tell me you didn't have time to eat it or you felt sick and couldn't or it wasn't what you wanted (i'm going to taco bell.)

he says i'm tired of earning
all the money and not getting
any of it for myself.

but you buy beer and pot, God knows what, and we have six kids, do you know how much daycare is? and whenever i get a job you come home late and so i'm late or you start a fight before my shift and i can't focus on what i'm supposed to be doing. and i just can't function like that, i just couldn't function

he says you never want to do
anything anymore come for a drive
let's go out and have some fun.

but every time we get in a car its an opportunity for you to terrorize me some little thing will always set you off and you fly down the road taking risks with our lives screaming and yelling at your captive audience knowing i can't walk away there is nowhere to hide yeah that was some fun, i'll tell you.

he says i've given you all my good years and
i'm all used up and you've broken me, and
i don't have any options left you user,
you manipulative bitch.

but you cut me down every time, never let me share my thoughts, were highly offended at the slightest diversion from your view of reality, your twisted reality, made me sit through your vile explosions of hateful spewing your paranoid viewing, and all along you knew exactly what you were doing, you pinned me down, sat on me once for an hour maybe longer i can't remember, choked me, threw me, kicked me and your words they were constantly working to deceive me your lies lies lies lies how easily you lied. lied to me to your family to your children your coworkers the neighbors telemarketers my friends your friends my family even God.

he says you never listen to me you
don't respect me have turned
the children against me
i'm not a man in my own home.

but i never even got a word in edgewise you discounted every thought i tried to share. and i remember you telling me you'd smash my skull if you thought you could get away with it, but i just wasn't worth the jail time and you hoped wild dogs would drag my body down the street while the children watched. while the children watched, as the children listened, you said that. and what kind of man would do that? look at the big man you are. what a good father you are.

and not once in those long long years
while i patiently tried to help you grow,
while i stood by in helpless surrender and
watched my dreams of love and family
die before my eyes,
while i took it in and held it secret,
made the best of it i could, tried to
hold it all together, tried, did all that
i could think to do

not once, did you let slip from your lips a single sincere apology, not even one word of remorse. and i can't figure out why i stayed so long, why did i stay so long?

--bruised orange

waking

listen
in the still night silence
of my heart's longing
of my eyes' searching
of my soul's knowing

what breath your tenderness bestows
to my life's being
for my love's keening
from my spirit's seeking

--bruised orange

soul child

gentle soul child
neglected and
long forgotten

let me show you
where the water
falls
and meadow
flowers

it's not far now
over the bend
of green
fairy moss
beckoning

sit here with me
i'll wrap tender arms
around you

remember love
and innocence

recall certitude
and acceptance.


--bruised orange

humor me

where the hell
has my sense of humor gone?
i seem to have misplaced it

has anyone seen it laying about?
i hadn't meant to treat it so casually

oh humor, i do love you so
please come back and i promise
i won't neglect you again dear friend
oh humor me, my joyous muse!

--bruised orange

self-talk

oh stop your whining
silly girl
there is much to be enjoyed

life is there for the taking
you only need to try

get out of your head
silly girl
go and enjoy the sunshine

i'm growing weary
of you being so teary

now get out of bed
and put your clothes on

--bruised orange

grateful

you've knocked me down again
taken the wind from my sails

little boy in a man's body
devil wearing human flesh

i fly away to that other place
where dreams and hope live

my secret land, my refuge
the place you've never been

i've offered you many an invitation
you turned me down each time

you're destined to live a lonely life
thank God i got out when i did

--bruised orange

bereft

at first they seemed to seek my soul
searching, longing,
like i was a dish of ice cream
to be eaten

then i glimpsed, oh, what was that?
a disconnect
a smile, broad and inviting
but those eyes would not complete the picture

next i noticed
frightful vision
black emptiness
soul sucking

now, empty unenthused
looking back at me
i see through to the other side
and find
the truth of you.

there is nothing there

--bruised orange

until tomorrow, pain

my therapist wants me to tell her
all about my pain
she tells me this will help me
begin to heal again

she gave me an assignment
told me to write all about it
just put it all down in writing
what that hurt feels like.

but i can't wrap my head around it
it's much too large a task
i can't even find a place to begin
unraveling it's sticky mass

i will begin to think on something
a memory starts to form
but skitters away
before my eyes
my pain must be feeling shy.

i keep trying to peg something down
sit on it a while and ponder
but those memories remain elusive
like some irritating gnat, i can't find.

and what if it does begin to unravel?
what happens then, i ask you?
will it strangle and choke,
bind and defile me,
will it break me as it did before?

maybe instead of writing
about my hurt and how it feels
i should slather it with marmalade
and cram it down his throat!

but no, that just won't do.
i guess instead i'll sleep on it,
and try again tomorrow.

--bruised orange