"Early Autumn Hymns"

The sound of crickets is all too lovely
As they sing in the early morning.
And squirrels chitter to one another
Searching for lost things here and there.

Birds won't sing until they see
The faintest hint of dawnlight peeking
      over the horizon.
But when they do, it's a good morning to
       to the world
A happy, pretty song for those eager
And patient enough to wait for their song.

"Laws of Motion"

When two forces clash
A sound is born,
Fierce and Terrifying.
A howl that rips through the night
And the collision is encompassed
In furious light.
A vibrant streak tears through the sky
And the millions of stars in the evening
Cry upon this desolate land.

Your palms slap the table
Hard enough to make me wince.
You stare me down with angry eyes
From where you stand.
The old, worn, wooden dinner chair
     lies on the floor,
The clatter still echoing in my mind.
I stare you down from my own chair,
Brown clashing with Green.
I took off my glasses so I couldn't
See you screaming at me.
But I wish I could have seen you
     react when I calmly stood,
When I calmly spoke my piece,
And calmly left the house, into the rain,
Down the street and into the night.

When two forces clash
A sound is born.
Roaring and Resounding--
A cry to be heard in the night
By a girl who is ferocious in her own right,
Encompassed in glorious light.
When the storm calms down,
When the clouds depart,
The stars shine and twitter
In the voluminous dark.

"Anemoi Song"

We meet again, West Wind
I, the southern belle you caught in your stream,
Float easy in the air
Like the down of the eider duck
Weightless
You're the stuff of legends
And I've been watching you carefully
We're of different coins
And of different metals
But we are forged the same
And because of that
    --Our differences and our similarities--
I would love to see you
Maybe one day...
Maybe someday...
O and how nice would that be?
For two roads to intersect?
For two differing zephyrs to meet?

"Wonder-Worker"

Saint Peregine, I have for you a prayer
For a woman who's many years strong.
She needs your ever diligent care;
Her malady has thrived too long.
Please hear my plea, O Saint Peregine,
And help her through this hard, trying time.
I wish her body be washed clean
Of cancer's dirty, wretched grime.

O pray for her, good and blessed saint.
To the Lord, our God may your pray'r make haste!


--To my friend's mother; please know I love you and that you're in my prayers.

"Forget-Me-Not"

A faint brush of fingers
Soft and fleeting
And a rush of emotions
Cascading with valiant force
Over two who have only just met

Those flowers grow wild here
In bushels aplenty
By this old barn
Abandoned for ages
And for ages has gathered rust
And for ages has gathered dust

Why by this barn do they grow?
How do they thrive in these over-grown weeds?
 Can you hear what they whisper?

"...forget me not...forget me not..."

(Oh curious, new-met stranger, take hold my hand
Gaze into mine eyes and never let go.
Can you hear what my heart is saying?


"Forget me not...forget me not...")

"Nine Steps"

Nine steps are all it takes
    to usher in the End
One to slow time;
Another two to steal strength;
Three more to stay the heart;
Two that stray the focus;
One more to still breath;
Grand Thunderer crumples to the earth
And Mjolnir lies in the dust
Cries of the Trickster
    --anguished and mournful--
   wash over the sands of the earth
At Ragnarok's Close

"Hawkeyes"

What works for one works not for two
Idle hands, idle shoes
--there's a pair for me and a pair for you
Loose, loose are the soles of the boots,
mine
That are far more travelled than yours
Yours that tread gently over those who fell for you
Gave gave their lives for you
And you beat them black and blue
With the high heel of your shoe
And you made sure all their hearts broke in two
That won't do, won't do, won't do
Mad men don't see the verdant view
Mad men don't know the heart of the Ewe
And you don't either, do you

I can see through you
--you know that, too
And maybe I can help you improve
That broken heart that belongs to you
Because don't you know I love you
I do, I truly, truly do
How can you believe I don't when you know it's true!
How can you claim to be one way, but be two?
You're lying, aren't you?
Remember I can see you
Right through you
Like a bullet that pierces through
Or a knife that cleaves in two
Much like the way you used to
With words that smothered to me from you
And to others from you, too.

"When Chronos Drags His Feet, The Children Are Restless"

Again, we sit and fidget side by side,
Again, we hear nouveau fanfare,
       reminding us with whom our pennies lie
Feet tap and legs shake
Excitement roaring through our veins

(Bruder moves his hands over the keyboard,
       fingers nimble in their flight across the keys
A steady, rhythmic beat is born.

Mein bruderlein is no Debussy,
But today I prefer his song to the silence)

We sit and watch with baited breath
Will it be?
Won't it be?
How many days have gone by?
How many more hours must we wait?
And as Time drags his tired feet slowly through the sand
My bruderlein and I grow restless
(But I so most of all...

Mein Bruder teases me:
"See? I think you've found your soulmates, Shwester-mine"
"Watching it again? You're obsessed!"
"I think you've got a crush, Shwester-mine"
Again and again and again, again, again!
I would protest his heinous claims,
But I vowed never to prove Hamlet right
He is, after all, quite the boaster)

Could it be?
Doth mine eyes deceive me?

When the (seemingly) endless wait is through,
When Old Man Time has arrived and set aside his dusty shoes,
With eyes alight and fixed so steadily, we watch
And a symphony of another kind resounds through the night
And livens that which has lain dormant for far too long.

The players are brazen, but know their pieces well
They stumble a bit, but fail to miss a beat
None better could put on a show

Bruderlein guffaws like a hyena
Inky rivulets of tears wind down my cheeks and drip off my chin
And by the time our duet dies down,
        the duet we sat watching has long finished their show.

Bruder and I sit, still, side by side, stomachs aching and cheeks too sore
We cast miniscule glances at one another--we always know what the other wants
My hand reaches out slowly, steadily--a finger elongated with but a painted nail
        --and drags the mouse over only a weeee bit.....

....and lightly taps "Replay.


---Dedicated to the Game Grumps, who I have been watching religiously since my brother-friend first "innocently" left one of their videos upon my facebook wall. Never have I ever found a channel that has kept me so enraptured! When I watch, I almost feel like I'm right alongside them, watching them play the game (and politely pointing out that they should have "frickin' jumped, dammit! The hell?!" and the sweetly offering answers while they play Jeopardy like "Diana! It's frickin' Diana! Are you kidding me?? What's wrong with you!?).

The point I wanted to convey is that they are artists, perhaps not by the classical definition of art, but artists all the same. Artists want to bring about feeling and emotion in their audience. If you ask for my oh-so-humble opinion, comedy is an art-form and laughter is the most beautiful of music! (And screaming for only the most hardcore of art connoisseurs).

"Enigma"

White and small...
Weightless
Powerless against the wind upon which it rides
And dancing oh, so slowly
Until gently lowered to the ground
Soft stuff, what could you be?
Feathers from a sparrow
That shoots like a rocket through the sky
Or
Seedlings from thousands of dandelions
Grasping one another in fear
of landing in the unknown?
Or are you the down from angels' wings
Blessing the ground beneath our feet?

"Love Dirge: Dream of Intervention"

Bitterness is an ugly thing
That sometimes spreads its wings
At the drop of a hat and envy springs
Into hearts so usually clean
Of that sort of thing

Acrid smoke will fill the mouth
And leaves fall from the highest bough

Times will come when hope will ring
And pluck against fragile heart strings
Echoing and echoing
And dreams the heart will bring

Off the heart, dust will shake now
And sworn-off envy is her vow

Hands will shake, so close to being
Hope rears and coyness springs
And then SHE comes and she he's seeing
Hope she dashes and begins fleeing

Flees into night, shadows her shroud
Her footsteps, she fears, are far too loud

For her, St. Mary's praying
--what are you saying,
Desolate child whose shoulders are shaking?
Do you fear how fast your heart is breaking?

Two pairs of steps do come
Two pairs of hands engulf in love

And three pairs of eyes, brown, shaking
Meet and love not-forsaking
A sleeping heart begins awaking
Hands that hold refuse your breaking

Sacred Mother's prayer came through
Sweet child, you know what to do

---Certainly not my most favorite...but is totally what I'm feeling right now. No such thing as instant reconciliation for those with broken hearts. C'est la vie, c'est la guerre...

"Dandelion Wishes"

Let's make a wish tonight
You and I
On these tiny earthen stars
Barely clinging to their microcosmic universe
Bright white and soft
Will-strong like faith
Flighty at the first hint of movement.
So let's be quick--Ready?
1...
...2...
........3...go!
Shhhh!
Oh soft winds carry our wishes far
And let them not die on the backs of stars

"five o'clock in the morning"

Steps turn heavy at the darkest part of morning
Eyes stare blankly into the black of the backs of eyelids
--there is  a steady pounding of the heart that drives dead men wild.
A thirst, a hunger, a desire unattainable to the lost.
Mourn the dead morality of this place
Seek a saint and pray for miracles
Pray for your children: sons and daughters
Pray to the Sacred Mother: ask her to pray for mercy;
   you need it
It all comes down to you
   in the end
A pattern, a cycle, a waltz
Dance it, dance as they have danced
   those lonely and lost
And remember their smile
   when they are given bread

"Music Appreciation"

my heart is the Organ you play.
you love the whistling of the Pipes--
you adore the baritone of the Foot Pedals--
you delight in the press of the Keys--
my heart, My Joy, is yours.
please, play your Hymns well.

"The Clock on the Mantle"

The ticking behind my ribcage
    grows intense at the sight of you;
        a bomb ready to ignite
    exploding into stars behind eyes
--my eyes hot milk chocolate pools
   for your oceanic ones to drink in
on cold days.

"Boreas"

The ease of breezes--
Wind combing my hair into my face.
      Tugs uplifting my jacket
      And a whuuur-eee-uur
          that screams into my ear.

You know, I really can't hear you
       over the wind.
But I won't tell you that
The fact is this:
           You complain too much.
           And you have a listening problem.
           And you fight too hard to be heard
            --when I can hear you just fine.

Can't you bask in the golden?
Wind wouldn't try so diligently to
mute you if you simply muted yourself.
He would probably sing a softer tune,
           mellow and sweet
           soft and syrupy like soda pop
           something, maybe
                  possibly
                         (hopefully)
            in three-four time.
A summer waltz
        for those who are still Spring at Heart.

"Truth"

What Is Truth?

she asked

and i could not reply

for such a jewel

is best defined

in one's own guessing

Eye

"Sea-farer"

Seductive Siren's Song
--I hear you
Calling so persistantly on me
And I am Tempted--to follow
--your sweet Aria parfuming the air.

Sailors, seal your ears!
Bind me tight to the Mast!
Steer away from the hungry rock
--personified Sin!
Don't allow the song to steal you!
Persevere--give not In!

(attempt at Ms. Dickinson's style)

"A Star for Ms. Dickinson"

O star in Orion's calf,
How brightly you shine!
Burning in the night with your brothers
         In the Great Black Somewhere;
         In the Great Wide Nothing;
A stationary blinding orb.
White like passion
And as vibrant as virtue.

For Poppy

My last grandfather died before I turned eleven several, several years ago. He was the last of my grandparents, too. I had no more. My friends, God bless them, have since shared their grandparents with me and I have been ever so grateful to them. On Wednesday, one of my best friend's grandfather passed away from pancreatic cancer. They called him Poppy--and I did, too. He was that surrogate grandfather I had needed. he would send me home with tomatoes in the summer and call me "little girl." It made me feel special. My friend's family held visitation tonight and the funeral is tomorrow. I have a 98 year old great aunt that we go visit every other week (she has no children of her own--we're the closest thing) and I'm going to miss the funeral. So, to have a service all my own, I just wrote Poppy a poem. I haven't told my friend about it--I'm a little embarrassed about it and she's cried enough as it is. I don't often share my feelings with people. It's kind of crazy--I hadn't cried or anything until I wrote the poem. It's so hard to believe he's gone. But, in a sense, he isn't. I know he's watching over us all and praying for us. Anywho, here's the poem.

For Poppy

You weren't mine
--Not by blood
But I loved you no less
Than had you been
I figured you were tired and I don't blame you
Times is hard...
...Can be harder when the love of your life left first
For golden streets in lofty skies
I didn't know you long
But she knew you before you knew her
Deep in your daughter's womb
And when she and I grew closer in friendship
I steadily grew closer to you
You reminded me of Pepaw
Mine blood, long since cold and gone
Having worked hard all your life as he had
Laughing loud and free as he had
A love for music and guitar like he had
He was my last
And years later Father would turn me to you
I wish you and he had met on Earth
And I hope you meet in Paradise
You cain't miss 'im
He's Big John and his brother Jesse will be with him
And 'Lil Ruthie will be on his right
Maybe you and Nelvin could find 'em
And Nanny can talk with my Memaw
Play your harmonica--Pepaw will sing
And Jesse is a wizard of the guitar
Or so I'd been told
O, Poppy how your granddaughter misses you
The one by blood
And the one by Blood

1/20/12

"Thermostat on 68 Degrees Farenheit"

I greatly dislike the cold
smooth skin morphing into goose flesh
soft breath hitching,
                             hitchinghitching,
trying to start a fire in half-thaw lungs

The jacket is never thick enough
My scarf is always too thin
Sun, where have you gone?
        Come back and heat the earth!
        Come back and thaw my marrow!
        Come back and boil my blood!

I long to feel the ice melt from my scalp
and trickle, slow as molasses down my temples.
And I long to burn under Summer's passion
And I want to be cooled by the kiss of the wind
          (Cooled, not deep-frozen under bone-crushing embraces such as yours, Winter!)


9/3/11