my passion

so many of us wrestling our muses
getting off on the lonely thrill of possibility
safely tucked faraway behind a warm screen
not on the other side of winter’s sheets
the one who will save you from yourself and the spirit who toys with your intent
allowing us to believe and pretend there is something fresh to say
words, nuances in forms uttered as never before
more learned
more experienced
mock my inability
lovers mouth these moments in blind voice
ecstasy where speeches and diatribes are meaningless and sensations are God sent
complex notions suffocate deep in the wrinkles
in the darkness of bright minds lit by isolated hope
books of famous speeches forever bound together gathering dust
like my feet beneath my desk
there is nothing new to speak of
we unintentionally aim to create thoughtless things
passion and peace are not real
they are the pair of cement lions who guard my front porch
where Christmas lights still hang
other than these hardened beasts
peace is man’s inability to calm the ocean
and my passion is in your mind only





is it here

is it here
the lifetime
the hours
the minutes
the moments
you work so hard for
kill yourself
push your mind to its unsustainable limits
your heart to its non-containable boundaries
those out-of-sync metal drums
steel tubers slithering between your ears
a maelstrom of indecent wavelengths
not silent since
Silent Night split open the cheer seams
of your calloused fingers
will they ever notice
will he
the lifetime
the hours
the minutes
the moments
a shining star at the top
these endless soul-lurching efforts
is what you daily imagine
when your brain has space left
and the tree is vertical
upright and fresh
in the daylight
things hide beneath other weights
wet spoons and sockets could fry away this opus
remember to wait for the dark
I promise
delicate lights will remind you
rest a minute
a moment
allow the silent night
to quiet your nerves
in this tiny magical space
reserved for you alone
the lifetime
the hours
the minutes
the moments
the ruckus in your body
the battles in your mind
the promise to yourself
never lose sight of the star
the one you placed perfectly on the tree
in the finest snippets of clarity
your mantra
and mine
the inner-voice of relentless hope
it is in these tiniest moments
timelines do not matter
even in its frailest state
is our shining gift

with hope we are at our best
in hope we are at our most human

Baby Elf

Baby Elf


Odysseus would have been in serious trouble

Sometimes you just have to digress from yourself when getting too serious about “shit.” Today, I had a flash piece nearly written and planned on “tapping” the pub button later. This morning, a friend’s “quickie” email changed my direction. Over the last few months, I’ve been focusing on a hopeful self-publishing project, worrying about people in my life (many Italian, some elderly, but you won’t get me to say that) and getting a first born off to college.

In this catalyst email, my friend, a few years older and oh, so much wiser asked if I’d intended a “double-entendre” in my blog’s revised subhead: anntogether mashing art, writing and head. In my own “head,” it presented a humorous image. My skull smashing the wall when I–as so many of us do–am at a loss for an idea, completion of a thought or self-approval of a sketch. However, in my friend’s insightful message she mused the word “head” can mean so much more.

And you know, I’d forgotten. A plethora of lovely terms (thank God for the Urban Dictionary…) have additional meanings when painted with fodder color. “Head” is one of these words that had slipped off my risqué “radar.” I’m not sure when this happened as I often attempt to be so damn clever. Experimentally, I bounced my use of the word “head” off my fifteen-year-old son. Upon hearing the subhead, he excitedly exclaimed in his big-bicep teen voice, “Mom, are you  kidding? Change that right now!” Here I thought I was becoming a sophisticated writer in my use of spicy language and suggestive scenarios.

In closing: Odysseus would have been in serious trouble if I had been his mom. You are only as clever as you think your are. There should be listening devices planted in high schools. Employ at least one smart friend on your payroll. Laughing “hard” at yourself is “good medicine.” I am a “fucking” idiot sometimes. I laughed very “hard” this morning and “it felt really good.”

“The End”

“I think women and seamen don’t mix.”–Marge Simpson as she was about to board a ship to Skull Island

baby mask

I was thinking a baby mask hanging over fire might work here:)-created last year using pencil, marker and “head”;)-thank you for indulging me

ghost horse

It has been said of the song, Wildfire, it arose from the artist’s subconscious
–a Native American tale about a ghost horse

mythical and sweet
oh, imagine
a golden Palomino mare carrying sunlight upon her hide
how she would warm your aching body
settle your bones

ferry you to another place
distant from worry
away from strife

all you hear
rhythmic patter of spiriting hooves
winged forelocks
lemon-white mane wrapping your bare skin
keeping you secure
she gallops across the planet
without grazing earth

your stomach lifts
your heart steadies
peace she finds
for you
never the same place

if you should call her twice
if you should summon Wildfire
to guide you away
she may just bring you
back home again

sketched on the way to New Hampshire last week, after listening to Michael Martin Murphy sing his Wildfire

I want to again thank those of you who sometimes read my verse. I’ve been amping up the language or at least trying to. I’m not always comfortable pushing the pub button with some of these posts–last night’s is a good example. I challenge myself to step out of my comfort zone. I hope by doing this, I’ll discover other directions to pursue. I do admit it is fun dreaming up saucy voices–though these ‘characters’ make me the saddest after they’ve been fleshed out.  With each piece I try to get away from who I am and write as if I’m someone else. Sometimes these ‘personalities’ beg the question-okay, AnnMarie–what’s the next move. I’m not always sure. It is this uncertainty that pushes me onward.
Thank you, again.
I’ve called on Wildfire more than once:)

Have a lovely weekend.

names not numbers

warm queen
so many words shoved into meaningless bits and bytes
thoughts tamped under layers before (God) has the chance to critique
duty convened by push button judgement
‘digit’less (bots) too crown
here in push button world
eager barefoot followers just one click away
might be (bot) love not the hand of (God) at work
light candles as ridiculous offerings to the muse
diaphanous paws stretch out to disinterested deities

rising Indus will breach her banks
before anything comes to your dry fingers
or the smoking mitt catches a paperball

impotent offerings will not ignite belly fire 
passionless minds shovel crap
your muse isn’t coming back

click away my friend
bottom up excitement over those (cold) hot digits
finger following only after proper servicing
does (he) like (her) back does (she) like (her) back if (he) hasn’t seen (their) front
it is all a front for backdoor courage
stay true to the brown polyester child
popcorn and balloons
names not numbers
names not numbers
names not numbers

do you ever wonder
how many followers God has
not that it matters
I was just wondering

not de pluming

how many identities should a person have
is more than one
too many
007 would have you believe
a limitless supply of non de plumes
in covert affairs is quite necessary, maybe so
I am one name
it’s risky
just the one
I’m not de pluming
this is sometimes difficult
especially when I adore creating names

I could be: Silika dePa of das Paper Couture or Nerfto the Penwart Ambler
Jeena J Mix; Poetess passe Prime or Bentles Triesse I, II & III performance artist
I am one name
it’s risky
just the one

you see, I want to be where you can find me
if it’s assistance you require
perhaps just a listener

for those who I would call friends
they need only remember a singular birth label
one name
to either


gosh, you know writing this shit can sometimes get damn depressing;)
her name is social media
treat her as you would a dim-sighted wolverine
adore her, love her, pet her silky fur, get close when you’re feeling brave
but always be ready for that bite in the ass;)



she is also a monster

who is the smiling face there
not hers
she sees the lights
skimming an ever-changing landscape
mutations to earthbound patterns
the mind on the mountain
the brain in the badlands
the soul on the summit
the heart in the hollow

no one knows
of the endless slow burn beneath the ground
she does
those monsters have whispered things to her
the crazy lady with the lopsided eyes
and those hair-brained beasts
are bound together
ocean to sand
mountain to cloud
jungle to vine
for when she loves
on this earth

she loves fiercely
and in this category
she is also a monster

homage to Moreau

 I’d like to thank each and every one of you for reading, commenting, viewing or just stopping by. I appreciate the kindness more then I can lamely express here. I’m sorry if I sometimes seem to read a bit darkly, making you somber is never my intent. The truth is I never know what is going to transmit until I begin writing. I’m sometimes surprised what translates between head and fingers. I’ve been called crazy from time to time and I don’t mind, because I believe this evaluation to be partially true;)

so sorry, forgot it’s International Happy Day

My friends,
Please accept my humble apologies (typing this while broadly smiling ;)). This morning, I did not realize it is the International Day of Happiness. I’m sorry if this morning’s post made you blue. So presented here for your viewing pleasure, a goofy smiling fella.


I keep asking myself
who i is
why is my i so important
just a letter
a blip of time
every letter has a small space
to accumulate crap
then let it go
I want to leave something
for my kids
I want to make something
for my soul
while there is a head attached
you bet
i hope I’m in good company

Erté homage

Erté homage

Though I’m quite Italian, I wish all who celebrate a Happy Saint Pat’s!

Remember to Think Responsibly

Just droppin’ in to wish
HAPPY ST PAT’S to those who partake
Now go and have fun
but please remember to


Art Muscle

Art Muscle

Just making sure I still remember how to post;) Twittering has been confusing the feathers outta me…