Nanosanchez-WikiMedia Commons I feel your weight in my trespassing hands, alone in this deserted house. I wish to unseal the silver urn, as an archeologist searches a ruin; churn through your bisque bones-- eyes and heart reduced to...
In blues and greens, a woman folds over her knees. She aches in cold colors. Sunlight brushes the weight of her back where winter never warms. I conjure her tears, face sunk in fenced arms, feet tucked beneath the canvas. I imagine...
Goods2go You say you are afraid to wear the pink sweater that blushes your skin, to be laughed at in your bluff-side town. So you put it on here, in the city. How your mother wished for you, among her seven, to be the one...
Wikimedia Commons as it's intended? Hubpages, insists it must be substandard, due to the length of this poem. So, I feel compelled to blather here to add text willy-nilly until Hubpages leaves me to my own devices. Until then, I could write about...
The way I see it, we all have two choices. No more. No less. When it comes to acceptance, we can either grab 'hold the slippery reins--or dig our heels into more misery! The options seem fairly clear. Even clearer, is the insight garnered from...
Just lean into it! Whitman Photographic--Mobile Photo Feeling slumps rush over you like a tsunami? A slippery beast washing out your last dim light? You, a dark pile, now crumpled in your bedroom closet, hoping you'll wash away in one, swift gush....
Apple crisp? Aloo? Banana cream, Blackberry, Pumpkin? Well, pies, that is. Ummm...doesn't really matter which flavor you choose, in my line of thinking. Bargaining for something that can't come to fruition, is either an exercise in futility--or a...
Okay. Don't bother. This stage needs no introduction. It introduces itself quite brashly-- one finger at a time. Actually, just one finger: a skinned totem 'shooting a bird' in this bleak sky. I think you can see where this is going. Do you not? Are...
I wouldn't take a bite out of it. Not even a ceremonious bite. Its fleshy constitution is reminiscent of bad holidays. The kind some of us experienced as kids. The kind where everything is all dressed up like Aunt Betty, but falling even flatter...
Yes, I know. Pie. Even more pie. I've already established that I like pie; most any pie, some more than others, obviously. It lingers in my senses, and I figure this could be a weak excuse to explore it further. Pie has some grit about it. Don't...
I have more bags than cents. And, a pocket (just one; see photo to your right) bursting with hope. Isn't this the makings of the American Dream? I mean, well, kind of? That's all it took for our grandparents' and parents' generations to launch...
Photo by Mvkulkarni23 (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via W No. Not the kind that blows your skirt up with fear, as you glimpse flashing lights in your rear view mirror. Immediately, you find your mind racing...
Don't we all want to know what's in the brown bag? The weighted wad clutched in tiny hands--wafting ripe banana though linoleum halls-- yielding it's last bite of life on the path to Miss Love's classroom? But that doesn't get to the bottom of...