So Long Gray


The chickadees in the garden are

singing their Spring-song –

the notes are unmistakable,

and are music to my ears.

Constant winter gray was replaced;

blue skies, puffy white clouds,

actual warmth sent bees buzzing.

Clear night skies drop temperatures

bringing a chill to the peeper frogs  chorus.

One of those memorial days that’s

spectacular without anything special.

Roll on longer days and warmer weather,

everyone I know is ready to put the dreary away…



Night Dance


Dancing her madness,

jagged laughter echoes

against sleepless dreams.

Spinning disjointed,

arms flail drawing

azure ether vibrations.

Internal rhythm writhes;

hysterical dervish howls.

Madness ruptured;

torn from maligned soul,

death collapses star interiors,

darkens the moon,

devours night pigment.





Quiet Exhibition


Curse that goody-two-shoes aptitude.

For once she wanted to rebel,

to wear bright colors, flaunt herself…

even a low cut neckline was contemplated.

Her version of wildness stared back

from the store’s dressing room mirror.

Failing the challenge of trying to fit in

by wearing other classmate’s style clothing,

wallfloweritis wasn’t what she wanted either.

Far from ever being an infamous obnoxious teen,

she preferred a quiet exhibition of higher chakras.

simplicity sang through her soul …




Always do what is right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.
– Mark Twain



Check the Mirror


Am I the only idiot that 90% of the time

has trouble opening a banana?

Yep, it’s already that kind of day.

I don’t want any more advice from trees

soaked in rain and snapped by wind.

Today feels like a Monday but

I shall say things with rampant color.

What an ingenious idea to ignore the gray.

Friends, remind me to check the mirror later

to see if both ears are still there…




Spring Songs


Looks are deceiving…

perceived warmth lies outside

until stepping into chill wind.

Fir trees do the twist and shout,

elongated moans, dreadful creaks,

and snapping tips parasail onto paths.

Another spring teases laced with winter chill.

Lilac leaf buds unfurl, maple’s branches

glow red, and evergreens show lime fingertips.

Evidence of longer days proceed according

to nature’s seasonal schedule…

spring song rise at dawn –

birds sing from the heart;

spring song closes the day –

frogs warble into the darkness.




Ghost shadows


Ice fingers stroke wired white hair…

transparent skin stretches over gnarled knuckles

so little time before departure.

Two souls bound to decaying physicality

still hold hands and lean shoulder to shoulder.

Verbal promises declared undying love;

words engraved on wedding bands worn

thin might bind them in the great beyond.

Ghost shadows drift in and out of focus…

an alternate universe between awake, deja vu,

and death before permanently letting go.






Meeting myself going backwards

déjà vu knows what  I need to do

but the scene leaves me nary a clue.

Left to my own devices, I retract

forward into the present trying

not to trip into pseudo future.

Pseudo being what I think should happen…

Relapsing, I’m going to continue the haphazard

let’s-see-what-happens-next mode of operation.

My features exhibit thick acrylic mask in vivid colors;

thick hues are palpable under drying skin.

Trapped beneath congealing soft layers,

this heart beats quieter with love detached;

emanating an artistic nonchalance,

sensitive longing torments ambiguousness.