2 new pieces published in Foxglove Journal

Veery excited to announce 2 new poems published in Foxglove Journal!my poem, dogeared inspiration, in FOXGLOVE JOURNAL

I dogeared a page in your book

of inspirational quotes, Volume Two.

The one you keep in the nightstand

on your side of the bed.

 

The bed we never should have bought

with that money. Rather than a bamboo

pillowtop, we should have invested

in help from voices other than our own.

 

When you wake and find I’m not here

fitting into the lump our sleep pattern created

on a mattress supposedly resistant to lumps–

 

If you shuffle to the dog-eared page

of inspirational quotes, Volume Two,

perhaps you’ll figure out why

 

I was inspired to leave.

my poem, dark magic, in FOXGLOVE JOURNAL

s it dark magic that occurs

behind a wet curtain

a blanket of steam       spray cascades down your flesh

is it darker magic still

when your eyes close

 

slight-of-hand for the senses

touch vibrates the clean sudsy silk

no floral bouquet or inattentive perfumes

no phony scent of any kind

unadulterated mist

like morning dreams

pouring over you

awash in clear mercy

 

when the frothing in your head

caresses the patterned tiles

and floats away in shimmering bubbles

 

the spray cuts off

the curtain draws back

the steam dissipates

 

in one breathless moment

the spell ceases

like a heartbeat

evaporates out the window

 

along with your fantasies

 

5 am peaceful, poem published in the Avocet

5 am peaceful

wishing it were contented spirits
dusting the cement grass with glitter
not winter’s freeze

my dachshund’s paw prints
sweet as a postcard
one might send a faraway lover

I linger in the numbing quiet
let the moment warm this blanketed silence
hushed low like swimming beneath water
where despair drowns then floats away
in bubbles and dancing reflections

don’t want to twist the frozen doorknob
and go back inside
I’d love to remain out here
5 am
with the sparkling dust
and all that glitters
in the beauty of this silence
when the world is so peaceful

Rudolph Hug

Rudolph Hug

drawn a few years back with watercolor marker, acrylic, and a dab of prisma pencil

imagining rain

the sky showers down in shimmering rivulets
cleansing the earth of leftovers
something we planet guardians don’t do well
cloud masses end load the cycle
pouring so hard sometimes
dearest pets have been given over to frame the scene
the water is exquisite in its clean smell
vertical rivers stream to feed the parched
those below drink the life giving stuff and absorb the mist
beyond illusion or imagery of form to paint this memory
it is light itself
breath from heaven

yet
here I am, older
fancied up in a lace-lined number for celebrating
heels, so I stand fake slim at six feet tall
makeup applied hoping I might fool some years away
and all I can say about this gorgeous rain is
CRAP
my makeup is gonna run
MarilynMM is a 2′ tall print from a litho plate I painstakingly etched in college
I used this particular art thinking how we can sometimes be
a bit outside-centric rather than inside-evolved

(I’m ashamed to admit I’m guilty of this from time to time)

MM’s photo reference from the talented photographer Philippe Halsman (1906-1973)

our story must not end here

riding the heat of dawn
we insinuated our bodies within one another
I presented myself to you
a wordless story
whispered in raging lines
fertile were my curves

from which our children sprang forth
multitudes

spilling over with god given wealth
a rain of ages

carving the cradle of these infant sons and daughters
my breast milk abundant
nourishing young
influencing adult
satisfying aged

long and beautiful
as I was
as I am
beginning
to end
our story must not end here

Golden Gyptian

if you suspected the Nile River, you’d be correct 🙂

 

For My Friend, Who Thinks She’s Lost Her Words

I am writing this for my friend
who thinks she’s lost her words
who thinks her words

are trapped beneath rocks
who believes she doesn’t possess the thirst
to move those dry mountains
my dear friend
needs to know
her words, those languid thoughts
the beautiful ones under the rocks
will seep into the rich black soil
decompose
reform
then be carried onward by industrious insect and
cyclical underground element
until they flow into jostling aquifers
cascading into wild rivers
roaming up as sparkling wells
into crystal waters that feed bubbling fountains
in thirst she will sip
and those wet words
her words, will quench her imagination
saturate her parched muse
and her pen will flow once again
with the beauty
she thought she’d lost
somewhere along the way

Turquoise Eyes

Turquoise Eyes

Dedicated to my dear friend, Deb who has done nothing but encourage me to keep writing even when I  believe (as I do often), I am anything but a writer…