Waves

waves run like electricity

and pound against me

like pure 

magic

these shades of gray -

bittersweet

will not go back, will

not go back

to the original sparks created

and cannot go back

again

i fall

and fade

and crack like glass 

and melt in the sand

beneath the waves 

that run like electricity

through me

Today's Ramblings

today a poem woke me and this time, this time I was ready.

even if you were not.

Sonnets or Symphonies

I spoke with Shakespeare last night.

He told me stories in iambic pentameter.

But I didn't listen.

You see-

Beethoven was down the hall playing Fur Elise.

And all I wanted to do,

Was dance.

A Metaphor

My grandmother has a jewelry box where she keeps a special ring for each of her granddaughters.

She tells me the story of mine, which is hope.

It breathtaking.  Captivating.

The ring.

The story of the ring.

But I know it means death, before I wear its past.

So her jewelry box, is really Pandora's.

Error

                              you                   ask
  how I can                      justify
                                           such margins but
                                                             as
                                                     you
                                                  will
                                                             see

sometimes the pen controls me.

Spilled Milk and Other Tragedies

It began-
A simple kiss.

Your lips bless
Curse me now
That you're away.

I was so close, we
We were so close
But milk spills
Into flesh and
Spreads across the
Space between us
In tiny ripples
Of silky, smooth softness
That is not
Me.

No use crying.

A Cluttered Commentary on Chasing Circles

I was just wondering, if I sail around the world in eighty days and you do it in seventy nine, does that mean that you love the world more or that you are the faster sailor?  

Or does it simply mean that you are better than I am in chasing circles...

Conversation w/ a Stranger

*I'm a poet.* Un-confident. More of a question really.
*Are you?* Nonchalant. All knowing.
*Do you doubt me?* Even I doubt me.
*Never.* Serious.
*I'll write for you.* A challenge. A motive. A meaning.
*You always have.* Unbroken composure.
*I don't understand.* A thousand questions burning me outside in.
*Don't you?* Fixed. Constant.
*Perhaps...* Wheels are turning, fires burning.
*Perhaps what?* His eyes on mine. 
*I am an old soul.* Understanding.
*So you do understand.* A star falls.
*Goodbye, then, old friend.* Sometimes there are more than two halves.
*We'll meet soon.* When the planets align for us.
*I know.* I know. Finally, I know.

A Cluttered Commentary on Starting Again

When I was a little girl, and would complain about being hungry, my father would smile and whisper to me, "hunger is the best spice." And he was right. But not just about food, about life, about the world, about love. Especially love. Sometimes he still looks at me the same way he did when I was eight and in love with the universe, and I'm reminded that being an adult doesn't disallow me the option of being in love with the universe. Does it?

But how do you fall back in love after so much has happened? How do you leave behind the car wrecks and unpaid bills, the flashes of light-lost imprinted permanently on your heart? Start the car. It's all that simple, isn't it? Just remember... everything worth happening, happens when you least expect it. And breathe. Breathing is a necessity. And while your breathing, something might just happen, because life can change with every breath we take. And when your heart hurts, just breathe. And when you can't stop the pain, just breathe. Sooner or later all the pieces will fall into place... they always do.

A Rambling on Whispers

Tonight 

I want you near

To invent me a game

Where sparks fly like shooting stars

Where each new morning 

Brings new love.

Whisper my love,

Say that you will.

A Reflection of Dreams

What color are your dreams?

Do they break or blossom?