I love to kiss your lying lips —
when we love our honesty slips
but soul to soul is always true —
a love lie is truth in another hue
Nightstand Journal
Unabashed
Don’t edit the demons — let them scream.
Passed down
To journal is a present of the past to your future self.
Selves-realization
i am so many people
it’s impossible to be myself
but i can almost always
be at least one of myselves
Windblown
The veil concealing truth gets windswept in the wee hours, revealing all to the silence of the night.
Glows & blossoms
The glow of the moon is poetry
The blossoming of flowers is poetry
The blossoming of woman is poetry
The glow of woman is poetry —
and even more so, because
the light comes from within.
Tempus nunquam dormit
Three A.M. is when
all the quiet things
become loud —
the drip in the sink,
that clock on the wall,
our hearts, our minds.
Alone in mid-night
Midnight — the luller
Midnight — the advisor
Midnight — the fabulist
None excluded
Prayer is for the grateful and for the
A lesson
Death teaches us meaning
of the word sudden —
one minute there, one minute
not —
the blackness, the blankness,
the emptiness, the silence, the void —
the most palpable, oppressing nothing
there ever was.
Forty-two-tick-tock
the body is a clock —
bones tick and tock
years gather in flesh
an alarm set for death
Do I write grief or is it writing me?
I write all these death poems, these grief poems —
and does it really make me feel better? Or am I just
twisting my heart so that I can feel, to remember?
Because I’m afraid that if I don’t feel, I will forget.
Don’t-do-it list
currently i am about halfway through
doing the list of things i swore before
i would never ever do when i got old