and why would it be, really
we have cool blues for that,
dark midnights and
periwinkle fields to float upon
but it’s winter
give me some vermilion
a scarf of scarlet, or crimson,
lipstick stain on landscape grey
singing loud and unafraid
nevermind who’s looking,
or who knows you’ve been here,
never let them turn away
you steal them in the silver haze of twilight
fighting hard to keep from being swallowed
by dark forest and beckoning fern
snatching words and phrases by the tail
as you fly from branch to broken
in a black ribbon melody of midnight
an owl in the pines smiles at your attempts
to scribble scrabble puzzle out each line
with dissonance and hollow heart echoes
into a ransom note of bittersweet cacophony
hoping only that one star will listen
all the while knowing it will come to rest
in the cached out core of a long dead oak
with shiny bits of treasure you collect at dawn
and offer up as sacrifice to a beacon
that will never shine the light of beauty
on your coal-flavored eye or add the flair
of accessory to your brittle silhouette
but no matter no matter
you mourn you caw
you fly
i’ve spent much of my life
seeking out the illusion
of peace and quiet
hiding in corners and
pasting wallflower smiles
onto ruby red lips
curling inward and
protecting a tiny kernel
called heart {hope}
listening to silence
even as the music
blared boomed sizzled
looking up at sky
while a rainbow
had its arms around me
making wishes on stars
burning brighter
than ancient ceremony
and all this time
all these years
all i really had to do
was open my arms wide
and dance
.
..
.
none of it is pretty
but all of it is beautiful
silence is a game
we have forgotten how to play
shrapnel has become
the currency of time
…….. (as difficult to remove as ever)
sarcasm and wit spin down
from two entirely different trees
evil is the root of the flower
whose petals we eat for breakfast
sacrifice always begins to wilt
just minutes after dinner
the moon is not there
for our amusement
it’s a seed that has yet
to be sown
.
.
.
snow piled on snow
white on white
grey on grey
an exclamation point
of black
silence falls from the sky
and blankets
this earth
this house
this garden
my shoulders
.
i stand
arms outstretched
palms up
gathering crystals that melt
at my touch
ice queen midas
the opposite of gold
yet somehow
i feel
so rich
i have no place
to put
this broken heart
no shelf wide enough
no bucket deep enough
no abyss dark enough
it sits in my hand
beating
beating
beating
bleating
hope dripping
through my fingers
faster
than i can catch it
i stand here beneath
this forever sky
naked and afraid and
raise arms high
until this cracked love clock
eclipses
my view of the sun
backlit kaleidoscope prism
the color of everything
hold on
hold
on
i have no place
to put
this broken heart
.
.
.
I am the wraith of winter
I spin loose tales of death and direction
decorate with grey and hollowed out stones
.
I light the night with moondust and parody
weave rough wool from forest and folly
paint the sun into places you’ve never imagined
.
I can warm your toes and chill your heart
breathe life into howls that could tear you apart
sit silent when you beg for a song
.
I wear a belt of keys but never open a door
rattle chains that were forged from lost days
hope is the ring I wear on my finger
.
I am always gone and never away
neither friend nor foe in your subliminal story
I am the wraith of winter
.
.
.
pink raspberry rhyme of sky
in a slice of winter window
pie-faced and pretty
and asking nothing
in return
no one ever said
a clean slate
was required
to be grey
.
.
.
.
She lifted her face
to the moon
and sang the song
of soon be gone.
I stood before her
in a shivery bath
of shimmering light
as clouds rolled past
the face of night.
in a world filled with too many choices
how do we ever decide?
and why is the apple always drawn
to the battle of good versus evil?
adam and eve, snow white and
the wicked, hello my little pretty
and one bad can ruin the barrel,
crab and golden, eye and pie
caramel candy truths and
half-baked sugar coating
delicious, filled with life and seed
s(k)in and marrow
i wonder, tiny orb, as you hang
from your dreary tree of ornament,
why i was drawn to you and not
all the others, those brothers
of fall and folly and, of course,
you do not answer, being all ripe
and ready for the picking
you hold no wisdom beneath
the blush of skin, just beautysinbeauty
and the flavor of earth
in your heart.
.
.
.
.
