passed your usual faith

how embarrassing, had to redo this because I always screw up “past” vs “passed”

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lovers and deaf dogs

excerpt and art from, love of the monster, eBook coming soon
I’ve been swapping some drawings in print version with paintings for eBook-
because glorious color costs the same as black and white in computer land😘

eee boo👻love of the monster👹ebook soon🤗so very excited!!!

hope you’re all managing okay within your personal universe and this big beautiful sometimes very bad world of ours

I’ve been offline quite a bit, severely cutting back on social media in a huge effort to create new work I can attempt to submit for publication
(most online journals and magazines will not take blog pieces as these are considered previously published works)
I’m sorry I haven’t been posting here more regularly, I do miss WP
and I apologize for not returning comments quickly

this getting rejected stuff is quite depressing and mind-numbing sometimes
but I guess one must continue to fight the good fight
or better still, work toward creating a seminal piece of work
I’m not nearly there, not by a long shot

I do thank you for stopping by from time to time
and I’m so very excited for the ebook version of, love of the monster, to be out this November!
I’ll be pulling the plug on the print version about the same time and must kick a family member out of the house to make room for cartons of books 😊
am:)

editing

fake flowers in an outdoor garden I’ve buried
tracks inside a puma’s paw leading outside the cave
my hands place glass beads beneath your naked feet
crush and drink the blood
too much?
tacky paper for trapping wingless appellations
where many thoughts stick then expire
rather like the spider spinning threads too thin for binding
I am here, always in your black places
thinking on a bridge, crossing soil to sand
’tis a fine thing to sleep construct with glass balloons
bursting when I wake
inside my lava chest, a torrent of hot ash
running the length of my breast and tangling my legs
I will return to my chilled sheets at moonrise
rebuild the span of me, you have not yet found
only the tunnel to my nightmares is wide open

emma

“ROME – Emma Morano, at 117 the world’s oldest person who is also believed to have been the last surviving person born in the 1800s, died Saturday at her home…she had stopped breathing in the afternoon while sitting in an armchair at her home in Verbania, a town on Italy’s Lake Maggiore…”

will I turn into an old woman
who chatters about birds
while fondling my thin paper hands
weathered timelines
repeating fond memories
will this make me
like other old women
who have taken to soft chairs
with hard backs, 
curving spines straight as possible
am I to gaze upon wisp sails of clouds
by a humble lake house in need of repair
a shawl
hope I don’t
cover my bony shoulders in a shawl
while bobbing on a front porch with room enough for two rockers
will I hear soothing cricket songs in the empty silences
of my own making
the voice articulating from my throat
let it not scratch like an eviscerated cat
let my speech float as unpolished clarinet notes
playing a backyard symphony
will there be foggy mirrors and tarnished hair pins
and dutiful visits
will they one day listen to my sleeping words
promise their consciences
to lay down these musings between antiqued pages
cloth-bound and closed
so we can remember her
will I stare at the dying trees
and imagine
worn paintbrushes against a diluted prussian green sky
will I exaggerate the view
for the sake of beautiful words
if tomorrow is my end
against the cerulean canvas
where I paint myself
may I be remembered as more
than just an embossed name on a closed book

swing dancer

I’m working on a new writing project – not sure what it will shape into. I’m pushing things around and returning to some older posts (nervous about what I might find). If I discover any piece worth salvaging, I’m going to do my best to attempt improving its lyrical quality and meaning. Thank you.

exposing myself

Burbage’s Globe
Aerial fly-bar
Frozen pond
Grassy slope
Low-rent stage in high-rent district
Chipped pedestal
Monkey barrel
Bar
Coffee house
Social media
Lemonade stand
Wet inked
Newsprint
Periodical slickened
Dick Blick canvas
#!*#**!!##**
Lincoln Center
Mind
Street corner
Library room with one transom
Long pier
Short pier
Mountain top with foot-warmer
Dream
Convention hall with stadium seating
Conference hall with folding chairs
Above a deli
Below him
Bareback ride across sunset primed sand
Charlie’s Angels’ intercom
Amphitheater
Anywhere “O” speaks–
or suits with sneakers gleefully dance
Red carpet
Leaning on Harry’s white Steinway as he plays
I wear dazzling white gown in above image
sometimes gown is gorgeous emerald
on rare occasions–blood crimson

Sydney Opera House
Basement studio
a few of the the many places I pretend my words and art expose themselves