Animal Parade

Walking into school was like
walking into a rainbow.
Which was refreshing,
you know,
considering.
Quinn doesn't like
the animal-rainbow kind.
I disagree.
Who wouldn't want,
to own a wolf suit?
With a golden, pointy, crown?
Who wouldn't want,
a mermaid's tail?
To swim in and out
of dead coral seas,
with metal balloons?
To be the only colour
there ever was.

Who wouldn't want,
those ears like shells?
To hear the whale's songs,
and the moaning of ships,
and drunken gulls.

Walking into school was like,
walking into an animal parade.
Which was nice,
you know,
considering.
Quinn doesn't like
the animal-rainbow kind.
But I disagree.

Voice Like Dove

That pretty little lip
and lying tongue,
charming little voices
the stars do slip
to hear. That. Voice.

All those eyes
look into yours.
All the running bodies
hit the floors to hear. That. Voice.

So pull up your cloak
and hide those eyes.
Don't let them see
the voice in your throat.
They've got arrows
pointed at you, love.
They want you
for all they've known is crows
and you are a dove.

Sea

Bare feet tint the sand,
the gulls shriek,
as waves reach a hurried hand.
What waves bring to the shore,
is but a promise,
to what is at the sea's core.
What lies below,
the moaning ships?
The setting sun holds the secret,
for into the water it dips.

Ballet Storyteller

I walked up the steps, the fragile and pure evening sun playing on my back. My steps were the only noises echoing in a place usually bursting with life. As I peered around the corner I noted that the building was more full when it was empty. I tried a door and fell surprised as my fingers slid easily. I walked through the unlocked door and into a barren room. The sun falling delicately on the ground and the shadows ominously dormant. I cut across the room, my feet making staggeringly loud blows across the floor. The room was a wonderland. Stuffed with costumes and masks as if only to impress me. Colors danced on shelves and textures littered the floor. I ran my fingers threw the racks and ran the building rigid. I leaped and laughed and ran and danced and didn't care who watched. This place was a universe- with stories being told. Masks with feathers and branches with silver. Skirts that flowed and swords that gleamed. Stories that had and hadn't been told lay open in the shelves. Catch me, call me, mock me, watch me- storyteller I may be.

Haiku

Figures
Faded figures
return to the soil before they
reach for the stars.

Ships
Waves breaking
seals the promise of the
moaning ships below.

Canyon

Hold on to the layerings, on top, don't erode the canyon, to deep. Don't unravel the threads made to stay. Don't uncover the lies meant to be restrained. Dance on the earth the top layers the truths sing to the skies so close to your hands. Don't bury yourselves in the past in the lies in the threads. Live on the top soils. The earth beating below. Your eyes close to the birds your smiles reach to the stars. Yearn for the skies. Strike the ground. As the earth. Beats. Beats. Below.

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.