The Attic

happenstance (d)ripped steadily
until the core became
harder than the shell &
tears were just a by-product
of Going Through The Motions

the soft spot where
You used to reside
has long since
faded into nothingness
& hung its hat
next to wishful thinking.



tucked away in the smallest of closets
the child in her bellowed; holding fast to the promise of
an aging hyena’s sly smile, fully prepared
to deny those few strands of self
still clinging to pumping calves
on her steady decline

she left her name at the doorstep
along with her unbound fate, dropped
what little truth she had
into the blossoming weave of her mesmerizing colors
& displayed her heart for rent.

– The Sunday Whirl –


ambushed ~
the rearing stallion
muscled; shining chrome,
takes her breath away;
leaves her
reduced to
and clinging, shredded fabric

his knowing eyes
cross her mind, briefly ~
laughter lines, framing Blue;
while blood-red pumps
barely twitch

blood-red rivulet.

… based on the poem Escapade

Rocks and Reasons

as we move,
step by step,
up the side of the mountain,
the valley below
seems so distant,
so unreal.

covered in fog,
we no longer see
where we came from…
how it felt
to be
by earth’s womb.

facing the cold and biting wind,
we force our feet
to keep from freezing solid;
we chase our fate,
our desired
(and sometimes feared)

photo credits:

Waiting for the Storm

can you feel it in the air?
the delicious tension
making the hairs on your arms
stand up
the eerie and yet enticing
fateful colors
in the sky

can you smell the rains yet?
long before they arrive?
driven to stimulate your senses
by teasing winds
slowly increasing
in intensity

you are awed

for you know
no matter the outcome
it will be
one hell of a show.