Backless Maroon Dress


If you could only see into me
from the inside out


Swaying to the ode that I wish to sing to thee
Wind whispers at my back


Curling around my skin like crafted paper edges
Fingers tickle my spine, seeking the smallest spot


Trailing my tender bows, wrapped loosely with design
Maroon lines with a satin smile that gleams
 

Leaping legs making love to wild flowers, gallop here…
Skip there… slow, nearing the bramble bush


Jumping off the flat gray stone to flee
Into mystical woods of aromatic apples leading to a magical stream


Leaning to dip my fingers wet, raising the water to glide
To elbow, raising to reach the sky… droplets under my arm


Opening myself to your winds, licking dewdrops down my side ~

First Day of Autumn

Lay your soul in the grass

washed away yellow or young green

streaming stars over

a storm of skies

silent the crow

settled upon a withered branch

an autumn evening

he cries not alone

black-marbled eyes

fly… fly

flown 

"Yesterday's Bookmark"

            Wearing shades in a paperback used book store, nothing dressed me up more than running my fingers through the light, dusty paged edges. Titles, cover illustration, colors running the lines of the first paragraph before opening the book to page one. Immediately, my mind trails off like a lost kite without a string. The why’s and who’s surely to be unmasked within this $4.00 marked down edition on this “FINAL SALE” day.

          I barely noticed the plaid shirt standing behind the counter with a bent collar from years of “I don’t get to ironing, just throw it in the dryer” look. I imagined him as having been the local high school’s Science teacher who was only too happy to sub for English 101, now newly retired. Signing the lease to this store front was his latest gig and boy was he proud to announce that today was certainly the “best” day for a deal on used books, holding his chin up as to speak above and over the shelves that would deliver his message to me. After a brief utter of acknowledgement, I shuffled my feet to give up my remote location in the Arts section. A section so clearly labeled with black permanent marker beginning with an italicized “A” on a sticky note taped for good measure. He questioned, “Have we seen you in here before?” I wanted to answer you, and the books you mean?

          It was here I stammered, hemmed and hawed, reluctantly replying, “No, not my first visit, it’s been awhile.” Clearly, I did not want to say it was before he became the gatekeeper with his stylish bent threads. The truth being, I was a regular Saturday stroller and at times a midweek “just stopping by” when I wanted to step in to escape from the pages of my own life. You see, Charlie had owned the skeleton key to this paper castle before bent collar guy. Charlie was also known as the town crier. He was born and raised here in these rural parts of the southeast and if he knew you, he knew your neighbors and the dog who got hit by the car down the street. Charlie was not what I would call a ladies’ man, but a sweet, caring man. You know the type, great personality with a nice face. Charlie was always asking all sorts of questions as one would try to browse in silence, but good ‘ol Charlie was chatty.

          It was the chatty in Charlie that earned him his toe tag and gave bent collar guy his dream job… the key to the door that is rightfully his as the oldest brother, kin to sweet Charlie.

~ Padi ~

Rice paddies in
cocoa muddy shores
center heart of shallow puddles
pressed and steeply sloped
where brown eyes smile
are sunken deep into hillside hopes

~ Ruby Jewel ~

Seeded black ruby jewel~ juicy bits of wild strawberries, red… more than red… from a forgotten farm overgrown with yesteryear.  If ever a fruit spoke, your voice would be sweet when nibbled upon and deceptive when drawing one to devour.  I come hither and surrender to your fleshy, heart-shaped cape of sugared flame.  I will engulf you straight from stem… red, more than red.

~ The Unspeakable Bloom ~

What ravishment behold a beauty say thee?  Where you stand on stem and bloom?  Lest I reason with wild stain and creasing folds of fragrant breeze… say your name, speak your colour, must I wither with hair askew?  Now, what flower bears the fruit before me dressed in petal dew?

~ An Early Song ~

An early song of savory green

flutes of pale primrose and tulip cymbals ring

sift the words softly as winter’s scape

stilled the budding scene

cup a whisper in your hands

an early song of Spring

~ No Other ~

Does the sod not need the sow ...
Does my heart not heed your know …
I will always love you and never it be told

~ The Crease in Ink ~

As ink recedes back to well, I lay me down to sleep ~ your words scent my pillow crease... folding, in my dreams //  *Inspired by Photographer Marc Hauser's upcoming book on tattoos*