green-eyed fetish

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some things just need to be said

this beautiful photo from my parent’s wedding album, don’t have photographer’s name to give credit
for Vito & Carmella, August, 29, 1959

II. sweet, sweet Camille

the original layout was really buggin’ me, this is a redo and edit, apologies – couldn’t leave Millie that way –
A glorious Mother’s Day to all you fabulous mothers!

soured opera

hey, can I talk with you
I’m running out of things to say
you must hear and listen closely
the flesh of my fingers and that of my heart have joined forces
I can no longer reach without stretching my courage so thin it snaps
my chest is sinking roots into the foundation
scripted musings taunt the white half-moons of my freshly polished nails
delirious encounters, once teeming champagne froth into the night wild
have turned out unvarnished piles of road bound snow
I need to suffocate these regrets
slow the ooze from my brain as it drowns my fading voice
please look into my eyes and see
this isn’t about us anymore
where moist lips once blindly crawled to eat delirious and chew desire
only wordless truths haunt moments of silence upon empty prop beds
I am losing conviction
I am losing dulcet wings to flying devils
the peripheral midnight blue curtains, gold sashes sweating to unbuckle
will be the last to darken the stage of my life
see there, my sweet notes slipping from your oiled parchment pages
the midnight fairy has vexed our maestro’s musical flirtations
bowing to the final call
my heavy heart pulls me below the dirty pool of my tears
suffocate these lucid impulses
tear shadow from skin so I can no longer find the moon
I deserve no last libretto
nothing but an end to this soured opera

swirl skating

swirl skating

haven’t tackled a “romantic” piece in awhile-wanted to give it a try-thank you

 

specter

When a snake is born with two heads, the heads try eating each other. This makes perfect sense. And it doesn’t for the obvious reasons. She wonders long and hard about her snakes. She muses over the tangled loiterers in her gut. Those reptilian personas, wanderers all, who tear at her. Maybe given the chance they’ll swallow each other and pass without issue. The battles in her mind she grows weary of. Good and well as she appears on the outside, she is not.

She wants to go back. Return to the way it was, to the way it had been before things got mucked up. There is no vacuum to suck up thoughts thick as peanut butter. She wishes Einstein manifested on the other side of her lunch plate. He might solve her dilemma, ease her burdens. The frolicky photo, poster-sized on her wall–Al’s brilliance with flicking tongue and shock-white upending hair allows her to entertain the possibility of solutions. All but love. Einstein labored there too, not so much peanut butter as grape jelly–he craved sweet outside of his mad naked brain. What was Einstein like in bed?

Melancholy sticks in her throat. Why does it always have to reach a point that forces change? Hedges a path against one’s spinning wheels. She wants the dreaming. And yes, the other carefully cultivated fantasy sequences. He is a specter now like all the others she once loved but couldn’t get back. Return them to her gut, let them gnaw a hole for her thirsting heart to collapse out of.

Was Sir Francis Bacon behind Shakespeare? Maybe. Maybe Shakespeare had more than one head, many opposing forces sword thrusting in his belly. There is no easy way around staring in a mirror with many eyes and seeing one face. She knows all too well the things sliding around her heart. If she had never known him, her snakes might have remained settled for a time. Mice take a long time to digest. But the two-headed snake is roaming. It cannot survive this way.

“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” –Oscar Wilde

Snake/Mouse

Snake/Mouse

snake/mouse art created last year for an illustrated project-thank you

bad for grizzlies

what have you done to me
I pride myself on strength
both physical and mental
I could fend off an agitated bear
(with a few supplies)
you flummox me at every turn
I sense when you are near but it doesn’t matter
I’d rather face ten angry grizzlies than attempt a lame-ass escape
from you

I’ve survived endless seasons to earn these instincts
a quiver of arrows hangs peacefully at my side
why do I manipulate their shafts into dream catchers now
you can hear green skin pressed against chlorophyll
my forest camouflage is a useless cloaking device

I seek refuge in the trees
observe snakes coiling around branches

you crawl up my tree then my spine
until you’re in my head

a bad meeting place for us all–even the grizzlies
I scare them the most
when I’m at my weakest
grizzly headgrizzly-mixed media created in 2007 – thank you

pooling around with Millie

There is a pool I go to early Thursday mornings with my mom. The pool is crystal. He is a beautiful blue like my mother in moonlight. We swim, jogging across the earth only wetter. Millie wears funny goggles not as large as Snoopy’s but funny just the same. The blue lenses match the water and when she goes beneath the surface half her face disappears. We had to make a no laughing rule, because I swallow too much water. She thinks I’ll sink like a stone if I suck up the entire pool out of happiness. And Rita swims to the right on mornings Millie and I don’t get a proper lane to share, because the dude who can do twenty butterflies across the pool and the flip thing at the end of each lap (I think he’s showing off for us old gals) grabs a lane early as does the gorgeous, petite Asian woman with the flawless skin. Rita, I adore. She wears a white bathing cap with flowers like Esther Williams and when she smiles, I swear the flowers change color and grow a little. Water is kind to Rita. To all the ladies. He’s a charming fellow gently embracing their bodies. He grants them a weightlessness that time steals once they ascend those metal steps. He is the lover. We love him. How kind, the pain floats away for awhile. Every brash sound in the world seems to disappear when he whispers bubble mumble into our ears. So we all will keep at loving him. And he will always remember when they wore deep red lipstick and used their mouths well. Now, his formal rectangle with proper scrubbed edges tends and respects our lady-ness like back in that day, when gents tipped their fedoras and newsboy caps to beautiful Millie and flower-capped Rita.

Mermaid Girl

Mermaid Girl

These words were inspired today while early swimming with my beautiful mother in a crystal blue pool. I was reflecting on my new age of 53 (technically not 53 until May 20th;)) and thinking how I don’t care much (can’t say completely because that would be a lie) mostly because I’m blessed to have Millie and Billy for as long as I can keep them. I hope to enjoy every precious perfect and imperfect moment with my parents. Thank you.

The art was created last year – hey, it was either the mermaid or a fish:)