From Lips to Beak (Dec. 2010)

Their words like clouds
disembodied, distant.
They sing like a gull,
unending, trilling.
Others sing like a lark,
beautiful, attached.
The gulls sing,
not knowing night, from day.
Captivity from freedom.
Others sing from the feelings.
Knowing night, from day.
Captivity, from freedom.
The words unattached,
scatter to the sky the moment they leave,
lips, beak.
The words attached,
rush to the ears,
that are willing to hear them.

Fathom

I unlocked the golden key, and what lie beyond the door made me speechless. The snow covered everything in a soft blanket, I couldn't step out for fear of breaking it. The snow had stopped pounding to the ground, all in such a hurry for this moment. A few flakes left behind, made their silent march to the ground below. The only light was from a streetlamp, and the human home I had just left to peek into this world of which I could not fathom. Once I realized I had been holding my breath, I let it out in a warm gust. As my breath mixed with the cold air, I knew this moment was too pristine for human touch or involvement. I shut the door gently, and locked the golden key, and didn't count on opening it again.

Wicked Rain (part 1 post 1)

Joanna woke to the clock tick, ticking. She almost always did. Like most clocks go tick tock, no. Tick, tick, tick. She hated that clock.
She stared hard at the fan, spin spinning. Did she turn it on? She draped a blanket over her shoulders and stumbled outside, then walked back inside. And turned off her fan.
It was pitch black, jet black, inky black, almost. Like watercolor black. She couldn't see her shadow, but Joanna swore she saw some passing by.
She walked down the hall, never failing to trip on her dog, who was lying in the middle of the hallway, of course. The watercolor black cast an eerie light on her dog, Calipso. She opened the blinds to stop the watercolor black.
Rain, always always. Wicked rain. It was gray outside, faded grey, not like a sidewalk but more like a fog. So the watercolor black turned into a fog black. She started hot water boiling and waited. Did she turn the stove on? She shook it off, and sat down on the floor. The only sound being the wheeeeee of the water, and the tick, tick, tick down the hall.
And of course, that wicked rain.

Inspiration on the Windowsill

Inspiration on the windowsill,
strength on my desk.
Grace on my dressing drawers,
if you know me best.
Heartache on my closet doors,
tears on my bed.
Imagination on my floors,
enough being said.
Courage on my bedside table,
Knowledge on my shelves.
If you wish to learn more about me,
first learn about yourselves.

Twine Horse

Twine horse,
speak what you will.
Tell me what you wish to do still.
A penny for your thoughts?
A nickle?
A dime?
Share your thoughts, and ill share mine.

Vaseline Legs

I was told my legs are made of Vaseline.
My hands are run like a cold machine.
Wade in some rain,
Wade in some tears,
Doesn't matter.
No one hears.
Say something clever,
Endure the weather.
Drift away,
I'm no where in sight.
Don't worry, dust doesn't bite.
There is no sickness,
There are no plagues.
Can't do anything,
in these Vaseline legs.

Once, There Was a Little Girl (part 1...possibly)

Once, there was a girl.
She was lonely.
She talked to her little wooden frog all day.
She colored her burned white horse in sharpie.
She wore obscure clothes.
She would wear a top hat every day.
She would stare at her cherry trees, close her eyes, and sigh.
She named her trees.
She was lonely.
She felt she wanted something, needed, something.
When she especially felt this way,
She felt ridiculously swollen and broken.
She had no way to releive herself of this,
So she would read.
Read away.
Read untill she was no were in sight.

Racoon Mask

She is an energy eater.
A racoon masked theif who steals what is useless.
Creates fights that can't be won.
Racoon, you stay away from me and everyone I love.

Seperation

Its amazing how powerful both sides can be. Light and dark. When something is light, once the light is gone, by force or by coincidence, the dark is always there. It swarms through the light, but it never attacks. It is always just there. Maybe that is why it is so frightening. Because it is always just there. Its intentions unknown.

Forbidden Sight

Forbidden Sight

I watched as dandelion seeds were pulled one by one by the wind.
I watched as no flowers grew.
I watched as the wind lost to the sun.
I watched as the stairs collapsed.
I watched as no one could run away.
I watched as no one could move forward.
I watched as thoughts flew through peoples eyes.
I watched as the thoughts turned into words. Unspoken. Broken.
I watched as the unbreakable broke, the unsinkable sunk.
I watched as people cried, but I never cried.
They wanted to know what was wrong.
But how can you explain something,
You were forbidden to see?

Last Story

I Remember

I remember when snakes had legs.
Whatever happened?
I remember when a cloud had a soul.
Whatever happened?
I remember when a voice had a mind of its own.
Whatever happened?
I remember when you could fall up, as well as down.
Whatever happened?
I remember when nothing was owned.
Whatever happened?
I remember when buttons were used to capture tounges.
Whatever happened?
I remember when the owl didn't wear a mask.
Whatever happened?
I remember when trees had veins.
Whatever happened?
I remember when minds wore colors.
Whatever happened?
I remember when an apple was turned inside out.
Whatever happened?
Sometimes.
Nothing.
Happens.