7/24/14

And one more makes four.

The Daughter's voice
calls in the night.
Through the stillness
it lingers.

7/19/14

trouble.

So I know that I should be sleeping
and that the morning is sure and soon to come
and I know that there is no reason
however here I sit
thinking of the energy/connection/connectivity between people
whether I like it or not
and I think of a man purely from the standpoint of what I see reflected back at me
or what I feel when he is looking -or thinking -of me.
Am I right? I don't care.
It doesn't matter.

So, in this situation, I get up and text. He is nearby and I know it will be wrong by morning
yet I am compelled.
And so I set in motion a rolling that gets us within connection distance of each other.
Connection distance.

And, there I was
floating
in the pond
in a boat
high and mighty
and gazing at the stars
food for the living night
in whatever shape or form it came in
and what I saw is unexplainable
and unable to be recreated
and mine
somewhere in the deepest recesses of my brain
whether or not I came home with damp feet
and breathless
grinning.

7/17/14

Gardens of Dreams.

Don't know what I am here for
living like wasted space
many avenues
of people slinging the blues
masks to shed
trading spaces, trading beds

If following the heart
is the way to go
who pays for the ads?

The head
leading in another direction
marches in line, in tune
sublime

yet, the soul
the something other
knocking
clocking
follows its own path

brambles
streams
rainbows
dreams
there are no dishes, no laundry, no meetings, no outfits
just feeling
and doing
and
the grin is wide.





7/3/14

Little Dress Black

There is a dress with my name on it
a something
a little something
that has a neckline
causing

a dream
of flashing silver
of a smile and a spark
and a shy gaze towards a magical moment

and fade to black.

Hays Field

the mornings
which could have been early or late
dew on the grasses at the bottom
just drying up on top
running fingers over the tips 
feet following the path
up Hays field
looking for the milkweed
blossoms still tucked into their tidy and perfect felt pockets
the flight path of the monarch leading my way
eyes closed
I can smell the earth
smell the sounds of the day
and I am one with this all
my universe
finding my place
not knowing I needed to be found.

Only later,
later,
having to call what I had been given a name
thinking on the experience
of being wild in the wild
connections to trees and grass and sun and rain
it was a life
and it was mine.