Poetry, Prose, and Pretense
...a life worth examining
When we are children, we are inspired by the miracles that surround us. As we mature, the marble loses its luster and we become complacent. If we go within, and search for what truly inspires us, perhaps we with find the luster again. As you know, this takes courage and fortitude as well as a little faith. When we learn to see our "work" as an expression of love, we prosper. When we perceive life as a struggle and something to "overcome" it will be just that. Just my thoughts....
My Words Come With Labor

My words come
with labor
for there are few sounds
that utter my sorrow.
The words sink
within me,
fading down into all
the memories of your face
your smile
your hands
your touch.
The words now
escape me; they are swallowed
by visions of you
on the horizon.
I dare not turn away
for fear
they will sink
and be swallowed
with time.

The Beast

Oh, the Beast
who tears lives apart,
who lashes and staggers,
who rips out your heart.
Oh the seduction,
the games he will play;
with color and flavor,
he'll give you courage to say.
Oh the Beast
he'll invade your soul
and charm you with poison
and make you grow old.
Oh the seduction;
he's sexy, he's sweet.
But he'll leave you alone
like a babe in the street.
Oh the Beast
at every corner bar
whispering "Pour us another
To forget who we are."


I let go of a
that tangled my mind
and left me hanging
from the edge of the past...
swinging, swaying, sad.
I let go
and floated
Gently, I caught myself.
I was there all along
waiting, wondering...when
I would trust myself enough
to let go of the

The Lost Ship

If you think I don't notice...
your absence...
the silence that echo's
on my page
and in my ear...
you are not listening
to the breeze of my wings
as I soar past your window
and every night
on the return to my nest.
I am here.
Just look out your window.
I hear your silence
and I see your absence...
and I miss you.

My Bed

i sleep in the middle of the bed now
and wonder if there is no room for you
the space that once was empty in your absence
seems smaller and i wonder
if i need a bigger bed.

~~ 2007
The Other Side Of Something
There you are
On the other side of something
We call time and space.
But it is so much more
Than air
Between us.
There you are
And I can feel you reaching
I can feel your breath
Upon my neck.
I can smell your sweetness
Desiring me.
There you are
On the other side of life
The mirror tells me
You are there
On the other side of something
And I reach for you
I reach for the curve of your face,
The arch of your back,
The firmness of your yearning,
The silk on the top of your foot.
There you are
On the other side of something
I can’t quite find
The path to you
But there you are.

My Unlived Life

inside of me
stirs the echo
of my unlived life.

i hear it beat,
calling to me
like a buried child.

it is the voice
of all i was to be;
all i've yet to be.

my unlived life
which gasps for air within
the box of never.

my unlived life
which claws to find
the light of later.

i want to live
my unlived life
today, forever.

i want to be
with you today
without shame.

i want to live
my unlived life
before i die.

The Ghost Of You

I thought I saw you pass today,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I thought I heard your sultry voice
As I was walking by.
It seems I was mistaken
It's a trick my mind can play;
When the ghosts who come to visit
Are confused with yesterday.
I thought I saw you on the street
Off in the distant crowd.
I caught your eye for just a glimpse
And then you turned around.
I thought I heard you singing
That song you sang to me
I thought I felt you blow away
The shadows, suddenly.

Sometimes your silence
                    Screams at me.
                         In the dark,
It bounces off the walls
                    But does not fade into
Sometimes your silence
                    Is all I hear.
                         Submerged in you
I find myself
                    Reaching out to bring you


I worry sometimes
that you might come back
today is one of those days
I even worry that I worry
that you might come back,
that I am giving you too much
that I haven't forgiven enough
to keep you away.
I worry sometimes that
they missed something
that the little ache
or twinge
or shortness of breathe
is more than just little.
I worry that all the days
I celebrate
will be the last days.
I worry that I will
see his face,
the one I have missed
all these day.
He will
find me.

On Love:

There is intent and there is perception....somewhere in the middle is understanding or misunderstanding. This is the eternal challenge.

The variables on this situation are numerous. Intent can be pure or manipulative. Pure intent can be perceived as manipulative and vice versa. The variable is dependent on each individual; that is to say we each bring our different neurosis, experiences, past life issues, etc. etc. to our reality. Loving is risky...trusting is risky, regardless of the relationship. However, when we understand that we can love without expectations and dependency of a certain outcome, when we realize that love is something we give, but it takes nothing from us, we are set free from this cage. It takes courage to set ourselves free, but when we love, we become so much more than we could ever imagine.
Confessions Of An Adulteress

Somewhere between going
and gone,
I left a piece of me.
Somewhere between going
and gone
I sang between two keys.
Never quite this way
or that.
Never reaching high enough,
or sinking low enough.
I would vacillate
and it left me prostrate -
lying face down
somewhere between going
and gone.
Somewhere between going
and gone
he seduced me.
Somewhere between going
and gone
I sang between two keys
never quite his key
or yours.
Never giving quite enough
but taking far too much.
So I would castrate
and underestimate
that your love for me was
somewhere between going
and gone.

Lost Salvation
There are words
that are left unspoken
to the ears that will never hear.
There are hearts
that now are broken
and lives that died in fear.
And we ask
the empty questions
to the vast and bitter cold.
And we grasp
at our aggressions
and leave our secrets still untold.
Is a soul
void of compassion
and so blackened by its rage?
Is it blind
to resolution,
to the illusion on the stage?
There were words
of desperation;
for mercy they did call
to the ears
of Lost Salvation,
who'd died long before his fall.

~~ 2007

(Written in response to the Virginia Tech Massacre)
An Irish Kiss

In an Irish pub last night I met
a man, Ryan Patrick Sheehan.
His eyes were brown, his lips were soft,
his heart was heavy with reason.

To me, he quoted an early Yeats
as if he were Yeats himself.
"The Cold Heaven" danced from his tongue
to rest on my heart's bookshelf.

He spoke of Goethe and Marcel Proust;
two hundred pages that described Combrayan
eye for detail that bordered insane.
he proceeded then to quote Swann's Way.

Of mystery and shadows his silence spoke.
His words, like kisses quite unplanned.
God speed and hope be in your heart
My brief, Ryan Patrick Sheehan.

Love Letter

what love letters have not been written
and float above the earth
waiting to be born?
what love letters have not been written
and within the silent pen
rages a violent storm?


Heart Break

I will not watch your heart break. I will close my eyes and hold your heart
together with my hands...

Valentine Song

Love, illusive
Love, defined
Love, beholden
Love, be blind
Love, be hopeful
Love, be true
Love, forever
As I love you.
Love, be sweeter-
Fruit on the vine
Love please linger
Love, be mine.

Before The Rain Comes Falling

Before the rain comes falling
There is a breeze that always blows
And I sense a calm delivery
Buried deep within my soul.

Before the rain comes falling
There is a sound that’s heard within~
A silence of deep stirring.
It crawls under my skin.

And when the rain comes falling
To wash away my pain,
Each drop does quench my endless thirst
So I can begin again.

Sonnet for a Captured Bird

I know the song within a captured bird,
A melancholy, rhythmic, beating heart
A breathless sound; foreboding in its start
It carries on the wind yet to be heard
An octave high and down; the cage is stirred,
For all who’ve come to rest and soon depart.
The wing is clipped, to some, a work of art.
Within, her captive song is not deterred.

If flight returns and ever lifts the soul;
If morning breaks forever or one day
Her song, relentless in its reaching beat
Arise, it will, to take her on its way.
As feathers fade, the Spring must be consoled
With heaven’s grace, both bird and song will meet.

~~ © 2007

I am silent
Where white waters swirled,
Bubbles chortled between heartbeats,
Descending down.
Rising prayers
With silky breaths of love
Ascending into light,
Reverberating again
Into Cathedral Azure.
I Glimpsed Eden’s
Soft blue waters.
Farwell Chasm.
On Intuition:

Intuition is the muscle of the soul. The more you use it, the stronger it gets...and then life becomes a miraculous adventure!!

The blue, insurgent flow
Of my passion and lust
Are often tempered by
The ebb of mistrust.
Even as the moon
Illuminates the shore,
Shadow show the depths
Yet leave me wanting more.
With every crashing wave,
A sound permeates my being
And echoes to my soul…
“Do you know what you are seeing?”

~~© 2007


i wake at dawn
and loneliness kisses me on my neck.
he is a consistent lover
yet not constant.
at times he caresses me
to tears
until i sleep again
~~ © 2007

~I Am~

I am the wind
I will move you and you will find me everywhere.
I am the scent of life;
I am between the strands of your hair.
I am the sun.
I will feed you; you can feel my warmth from years away.
I am in your eyes;
I am blinding your new day.
I am the ocean.
I will wash your soul; you swim in my body with all of your being.
I define your horizon;
I am the distance you are seeing.
I am the day and night.
I am your light, your hope, the path you dare to tread.
I am your stillness;
I am the words you left unsaid.
~~© 2007

More on Love:

I love what Shakespeare said: To thine own self be true and, as night follows day, thou shalt not be untrue to any other man.

After all, we have NO control over what anyone says or does. We can disagree, call them names, ask them to do this or do that, but the battle is truly within ourselves that we fight. Acceptance is part of love. We can also detach with love.

Common understanding is paramount. Knowing oneself is the best place to start. Courage to be compassionately truthful and clear is helpful as well. There are virtues that make a more perfect world, but the blessings of these virtues are not equitable. As Gandhi said, "I am what I am because of who we all are."

Ask yourself not only what is your intent in saying I love you, but what is your intent in accepting the sentiment. Is it about the future, is it to heal the past, or is indulging in the moment of bliss? We have to understand something important: Just because we think it, doesn't make it true. Moving through life knowing that if we do not go within, we will certainly go without...

Yes, and the answer is, there are many answers...

Isn't it strange
how the mind knows
and the heart goes anyway?
Isn't it profound
how easily erased one can be.
I am chalk and
the chalkboard.
She is the eraser.
I am dust and
she is the chalk on
the chalkboard.

~~© 2007
On Process:

We have absolutely no control over others.  It should be remembered that we are all "in process".  It is not a linear journey, not do we process simultaneously.  Perhaps dizziness is someone's best teacher.  Rumi, an ancient Persian Poet, found spinning and whirling to be spiritually awakening.  He started the Whirling Dervishes which continue to this day in Konya, Turkey.
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