Visiting HoursThe orange jumpsuit really didn't suit her complexion. But, then, they're not exactly intended to be fashion statements. The slow steps with which she moved, her lank hair and sunken cheeks weren't her either.I frowned as she took a seat across from me, "What were you thinking?" I tried to sound curious instead of judgmental.I needn't have tried. She simply lifted a shoulder listlessly, dismissing my question. "Nothing, really."Her appearance already had me so shaken, her attitude disturbed me even more, "Then why?"She lifted her eyes to meet mine, and there was such pain in their blue gray depths, so much strain that had pushed her to the breaking point, I had to look away. Shame that I hadn't seen her pain sooner filled me. Could I have helped? I had no way of knowing, but I wished I'd been able to try.Her quiet voice emphasized the hopelessness of her response, "What's it matter?"
Days 15 and 16Day 15Didn'tBroken windowIncriminating batGuilty lookAnd grass stained clothesYou glare and you yellGoing on aboutResponsibilityPlaying where stuffWon't get brokenBut, I said beforeAnd I'll say again,I DIDN'T DO IT!Day 16Stay A WhileAlways before, when I was afraid orMelancholy, you would hold my hand.I knew everything would be alright.Danger couldn't touch me, IRemember. And I rememberEverything stoppedAnd I forgot to breathe, hearing you wereMortal, like me. And you were gone.I sense your comforting presence,Nestled in your arms, everything'sGoing to be alright.
Thanks, LadyWelcome glimpsesIn the spring,Lakes of colorsDancing on the roadsideFlowing in the breeze.Lady Bird Johnson's legacyOffers this treat,Welcoming to our gazeEvery year,Returning for a distressinglyShort, but beautiful time.
Broken VowDaring the fates,Only you would make such a promiseNever one to fear what may lie ahead"There is nothing that will take me away."Gone now, despite your vow,Oblivion has taken you.
In the ShadowsWhere you fear the dark,I find it a lark.When your eyes cannot see,You will try hard to flee.Your desp'rate flight will be short,I will have the last retort.
NaPoWriMo Catch upReach (Day 9)Grand goalsTerrifyingly out of reach,Causing a paralyticLack of action.Break it down,Bit by bitIt can be done.Opinion (Day 10)Poison dribbleStaining the airOr inspirational blessingsIlluminating the dark.It could be eitherOr anything in between All dependingOn yourOpinion.Poison(Day 11>The snakeHissing into the earVenom drippingInto the brainDissolving synapsesUntil the mindIs the shapeThe whispererDesires.
Storm CallSeasong carriesover water, awaySailing the windTo the end of daySurrounding soundHigh fidelity, hearkenA weather eyeSensitive evenWhen autumn skiesDarkenDistant thunderRestless wavesClouds scatter and fleeThe nightStarless,Breathless,Pressure buildingThe pauseBefore taking flightBetween here and awayThe moment stretchingThe pause between breathsTaking lifetimesThe calm that comes before the storm...Ocean already tugs at the lifelines.A whisper of cooler Atlantean airPolite warning… The storm comesFrom the breath of susurrationTo the thundering wave's drumsInexorably now, it comes.Caught up by horizon stormsThe shore beneath you disappearsThe sea provides fair warning.And from the savage night — Full-throated furies howl and rage — Emerging, battered,Fragile, shattered,High and dry by morning.Cast up by the seaStrange creatures and mysteriesLeave beachcombers to wonderBut what the sea providesThe storm-surge yie
Painting the SkyMother Nature:Effortless in her grace,Flawless in her beauty,The world a canvas,With her palate of infinite color,Any method or tool at her disposal.She is the master of pieces,The composer of ancient lyric,The writer of every story,The artisan of all trades.She paints the heavens at dawnWith hues of violet, orange and rose,And strains the clouds on the horizon.The rising sun’s light reflecting off their surfaces,Cascading vibrance onto the weary eyesOf those in slumber, and those awoken long before.She calls the birds to sing the melodiesKnown to them by heart,And as they face the new morning,They bravely sing the intricate verse,A language all their own,But one that all are blessed to hear.She takes her brush and streaks it across the clouds,And carefully flicking the moisture down to earthShe adorns all things with the finest crystalline water,Dew covering the grasses,The weaving of spiders,The flowers untouched by crude hands.She gently blows a sin
ForgottenBlot the fetid spews of AutumnEvery blossom once soft; Now rottenVegetation once lush; Now soddenSwallowed by earth; A promise solemnAll those fallen will birth new pollenEach lives on; be naught forgotten..
NaiadI am of the tall kelp and hard cliffs madeI do not bow, I do not breakI am coldness, I am hungerNo one is older, no one is youngerMy soul is pure yet deep as the lakeInto which Bedivere returned the magic blade.If you find me hiding in the reedDo not be frightened by my blue-grey faceMen who come wish to cover me in dressesBut I’m fine, my dignity saved by my black tressesWomen may leave an offering of delicate laceOr gold coins, as if my hunger is one of greed.But don’t come too close to the water brinkI am the guardian of all those who sleepEternally in seas dark and rivers wildI embrace every spurned lover and unwanted childAnd drag them down, for my sisters to keepClose to their hearts, their blood to drink.
each autumn is another springautumns where every leaf isa fumbling wildflower andevery deep sunset where colours bleedagainst the horizon,pools of melted copper andshreds of cloud like glittering morningdawns:i hope you realise how eachautumn is another springhowthree blackbirds fly across painted skies,tearing up the dust ican still taste the peppermint the sugarhills and every midnight, dandelions theydance in my chalice ofchipped china coffee mugs.whilst islept, bluebells, baby crocusbuds swept apeek round my doorway andI didn't prepare for a drenched bouquet ofsilk netted soaked morning lights onmy doorstep wheni'm still dreaming of circledstreet-lamp hues as soft as whispers thathang high above thedew drops in the air-come take me there.
SuprasolarWe call it the Local Group,this, our neighborhood of galaxies,in which only a single staramong billionsis even remotely reachable.And we tell ourselvesto dream big.That hard workwill get us there.But on the cosmic scaleour collective capacityis nothing.For every star in the Milky Way,all four hundred billion or more,there is a galaxy.Even the Local Groupis nothing.Yet since dreams are orbitalwe hold our breath to reach them.And when we perish in the vacuumthe stars still burneverything that matters.
True BeautyTrue beauty comes fromyou're inner self,Not makeup.
cosine wavesliquidParabola hits shoreas x^2obtuse angleflattens to 180°numberlessFoam
DisdainThe statues crumbledAt the might of the earthShe holds such disdainTowards our shattered idols of marble.The likeness of the starsGifted by the godsErected upon her surface,But intolerant is she.She shakes so harshlyAnd spits up her coreBetrayed, she feels,As we put pale ghosts before her.
Bright ShadowBright shadow,Edged in goldAnd green.The entire cycleIn one simple view.