Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Trouble with time...

photo source
Elusive seductress, time.  

She dance to the beat of the Siren.  

All other things melt away.  

Then in an exhale she is gone.  

You leave as you came,

All alone. 

Sunday, December 9, 2012

11 days and counting

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The click of the clock tick off the days we have left.  

Streets hold the glisten taken from lost dew.

Neither know the end is near. 

Cool wind blows in winter from the North.  

The poles are changing. 

The shift is here. 

There is green on my front yard,

 painted from summer.    

All proof the government is in on the illusion.  

They sit behind the curtain pulling strings

 to make the weather dance and change.

Some go out and deny it is all coming.  

But we know different

We saw it online.  

Haaa haaa haaa

Sunday, December 2, 2012

I pretended...

Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be.

Kurt Vonnegut

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I acted like a writer.  

Put pen to paper.

Agonized over plot line.  

Fretted over character development.

Looked for names with meaning.   

I spent time in the form of hours, days, weeks and years.  

There was a time I acted like a friend. 

I reached out to you. 

Listened to woes and joys. 

 Celebrated your success 

and prayed during your struggles.

Today I still do.  

Dark things hide

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Steady now. 

The world is spinning.



Let go of it


One exhale, 

one heartbeat, 

at a time. 

Feel it pull?

From down deep inside?

That is where all the 

dark things hide. 

Open up.  

All the way.  

Till it pulls no more.  

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Not giving in

The universe is not made of atoms; it’s made of tiny stories.

The Tiny Book of Tiny Stories: Volume II, Joseph Gordon-Levitt
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There once was a girl that wrote a book.  

It took a year.  

Words would hide, blur and escape her 

She came to a spot and wrote, "the end."  

The girl put the book away.  

Disgusted at her story.

Not willing to share it any more.  

Along came a challenge.  

The bruises from the first book had faded.

She had forgotten their pain.  

The girl took up the pen again. 

This time the words were not so deceitful.  

They flooded her in hurricanes, at night, during the day and when the music filled her. 

The story unfolded, quickly.  

Its shape was pleasant to her.  

The characters were charmers.

She was in love.  

The girl didn't give in.

Deep release...

photo source
Literally, let my spirit free.  

It was a deep release.  

She was tired of me.

I understood.

You left me once.

Maybe one day I will get that too.

I buried a story today.  

It lived in my head. 

Words wrapped out of soul and fell through my pen.  

The page was bright like the sun.  

Now it carries the pieces of when we were one.

I saved it to a file.  

Did not know what name it deserved  

so I gave it your's.  

It sits uncomfortably in my hard drive.  

Next to the recipe for knock me naked brownies.  

I'm not naked anymore.