Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Beautiful World

When the sun came up this morning,
it was shining just for me.
I stood staring out the window
at the golden people on my golden street.

It's so pretty.
It's so fine.
It's so lovely.
I try not to mind.

Outside my door
everybody's waiting
just to tell me to have a nice day.
I keep smiling until it's painful
wishing I could wish them away.

It's so pretty.
It's so fine.
It's so lovely.
I try not to mind.

Everybody loves me.
I'm just a golden girl.
Everybody loves me.
I'm the only darkness in my beautiful world.
In my world,
every shadow's mine.

Every day is milk and honey,
and every step is a parade.
At night before sleep comes like a phantom,
I lie awake and count the friend's I've made.

It's so pretty.
It's so fine.
It's so lovely.
I try not to mind.

Everybody loves me.
I'm just a golden girl.
Everybody loves me.
I'm the only darkness in my beautiful world.
In my world,
every shadow's mine.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

That Story

I'm that story that you heard.

The one about the girl
who went too far . . .
and got herself hurt.
If you drop in the local Kwik-Mart,
I'm sure you'll get the details from the clerk.
Yes, every juicy word
about that story that you heard.

I'm that story that he tells

to the guys on the second shift.  He grins
and says he gave me hell.
"It's too bad you boys weren't there;
man, you could have had a turn as well."
That's the story that he tells.

I'm that story that you know.

Every one night stand you didn't want,
but were too drunk to say no.
Every "if you hadn't led him on"
that just won't let you go.
I'm that story that you know.

That story that you know.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

Monday, November 28, 2011

The Cloth

Having spent a good portion
of the previous night dreaming
of riding the dark wave of your hips,
our breath mingling,
our voices joining in a rising crescendo -
"oh God, oh GOD, OH GOD"
until we splintered 
like the couch beneath us,

I could not help but blush
when you placed the wafer
on my tongue.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Chain Gang / Woman In Black

I used to run the girls on Harpers.
Owned the stroll for a mile both ways.
Nobody lit a match 'less I said "smoke."
Every mother's child knew my name.
Wild as a deacon's daughter.
Ill-tempered as a stepped on snake.
Mama prayed for me on Sundays,
prayed that I'd get saved.

Well, there ain't no temptation on this chain gang.
Right now, I'm livin' right.
And, I ain't gonna sin no more
till I'm on the other side.

I shot a man in Reno*
he didn't have the grace to die.
Take my advice, you gotta shoot 'em twice
so they can't testify.

And, there ain't no temptation on this chain gang.
Right now, I'm living right.
No, I ain't gonna sin no more
till I get outside.

*Johnny Cash, of course.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Take Me Home

A glimpse of my thigh
above my stocking
meant for your eyes
and yours alone.

Grab your coat.
Say your goodbyes.
Take me home.

A brush of my hand
that I let linger
soft as a sigh,
but aching to go.

Grab your coat.
Say your goodbyes.
Take me home.

Friday, November 25, 2011


I don't have to be a saint
to be worth saving.
I don't have to pray for rain;
it comes all on its own.
I have your words tucked away.
I pull them out,
smooth the page,
they soothe me.
When day gives way to night,
I have enough to know
I'll be all right.

A gratitude poem in 55 for G-Man, dVerse, AND Real Toads.  Aren't I productive?

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

The Woman I've Become

My flesh has a softer give,
and my ribs are shadowed lush.
These bones are deeper buried;
the carried years' telltale touch.

These hips have cradled children,
breasts fed them, arms held them tight.
My hands have tucked the covers,
pleased lovers through countless nights.

Skin that never felt right when I was young
fits better on the woman I've become.

For the "I Have No Idea What To Call This" challenge at Real Toads

Monday, November 21, 2011


By refinery fire light,
we burn our witches.
At halftime,
we crown the homecoming queen.
Hollowed by the poison of this place,
every smile shows flesh caught between the teeth.

Roots reach for your return like rotten fingers
should you choose to chance the edge of town.
By refinery fire light,
we burn our witches.
It's the last light you'll see
as we drag you down.

For Open Link Night at Real Toads
and dVerse, too (cause I'm lazy).

Friday, November 18, 2011


Mama made me suck soap till I spit suds,
till I sputtered and choked and swore that I'd
never!  never!  say such a word
as the word she heard me say that
day when I was chasing little Eddie
away from my collection of earthworms.

But, it seems I was born with a dirty
mouth.  Just as I've sworn to quit swearing, a
"Bullshit!  Fuck You!" slips out, and it
feels so fine to cross the line of
proper ladylike behavior that I
(sorry, Mama) savor every word.

For the "staccato" prompt at dVerse

Thursday, November 17, 2011


We don't have to end badly
just because that's all that I know.
You ain't gonna come at me
with whiskey roughened hands.
I ain't gonna screw your friends for show.

No sheriff knocking on our front door
looking for one of us.
Or, both of us.

We don't have to end badly
just because that's all that I've seen.
You ain't gonna leave me
with my cupboards bare.
I ain't gonna throw things and scream.

No jealous lovers banging on our door
looking for one of us.
The two of us

can just let go.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011


I take love
like white man's medicine:
If it works,
I'll credit a favorable moon.
If it hurts,
I'll have no one to blame but you.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011


I wrote a poem and had lines leftover.
Now, they're rattling around like a box full of bones.
Stretch me out.
Smooth me like parchment.
Banging my brain for a verse to call home.

But, the rhyme has been written,
and the tale's filled the page.
Ink me with henna.
Ink me with want.
So, leftover lines you'll just have to wait.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

My Piles

Brendan over at Oran's Well put out the challenge to share our books and poet caves.  I'm a little late to the party, but here's where all of my nonsense ferments.

Can't you just feel the Zen?  That's a chameleon cage on the left.  The computer in this shot is pretty much a dedicated gaming computer.
Four gecko tanks and a turtle tank.  Baby Puppy's computer is just to the right of the tanks.  If you ever post something deliciously naughty and I fail to comment, it's probably because my daughter is sitting next to me playing Skyrim.

My work area.  I use two monitors; I'm so used to working that way that using only one completely throws me.  I think you can see my Buddy Jesus and my peace frog (peace frog adorns my truck also).  This is where I do my typing, email, and blog reading.  But, if I'm actually writing something, I write longhand and pace.

Meditation Spidey.

 My book shots didn't all come out, but here's one to prove that I have, indeed, been to hell and back . . .

learned to cook, read my mandatory Tolkien and Adams, and studied Gonzo faithfully.

And, I do occasionally read something besides smut.  But, not too often.

So, are you gonna show me yours?

Monday, November 14, 2011


Winter, come.
Still my restless heart.
Slow my blood.

Let me sleep
wrapped in your solstice
of long night.

Let me rest
in lingering dreams.
Winter, come.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Sunday, November 13, 2011

The Princess And The . . .

picture from

I took their stupid test.
On a pea, I could not rest
despite the many mattresses they piled.

But, there's no happily ever after
for the real crux of the matter
is a prince who pees the bed just like a child!

An "Un-Fairytale" for Real Toads

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Cooks In The Kitchen

Got too many cooks
up in this here kitchen.
And, you got your fingers
in too many pies.
Got too many mouths to feed,
but you're out pinchin' Penny.
Rubbin' your nickels.
Lord, you ain't worth a dime.

I'm tired of lickin your spoon.
Tired of creamin' your coffee.
Tired of stretchin' your dollar
and swallowin' your pride.
There's too many cooks
up in this here kitchen.
And, I ain't the kind of dish, honey,
that gets served on the side.

For the "Idioms" prompt at dVerse.

Friday, November 11, 2011


I can soak my tongue in sweet, sweet words
and find the tenderest parts of you.
Or, roll my tongue in salty truth
and learn to love the sting.

For you, anything.
For you, anything.

I can lie, genteel, like a lady,
or be the woman unafraid to scream.
I can burn through you hot as daylight,
or be the cool comfort darkness brings.

For you, anything.
For you, anything.

Anything at all.

Thursday, November 10, 2011


Sawdust dahlias in a paper bag.
Tied with a ribbon from your hair.
Held tight against your chest and carried.
I wonder where we're going.

This old bridge has seen its better days.
The river peeks between the rails.
At the mercy of a strong south wind,
a girl could fall

and mistake herself for flying.

55 words for my G-Man!

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

A Boy / A Girl / A Car

You were a boy
with a car,
and you loved me.
I was a girl
with places to go.

You had the keys
that you thought
would change me.
I didn't care for boys
who drove too slow.

You prayed for strength
to resist temptation.
I prayed for temptation
to come my way.

You were a boy
with a car,
and you loved me.
I was the girl
that let you drive away.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011


The lonely flesh I hide in,
cast it aside and my spirit flies.
Tiny thoughts and blind fears
so far away the world is mine.
As I resurrect the wonders
of ancient days that were never lost.
Drifting through the thunder
storms I create,
and I'm not

Because magic flows between my hands.
My return to the promised land
is just as it was meant to be.
I am everything I see.
Magic flows between my hands.
My return to the promised land
is just as it was meant to be
such is my serenity.

I made a wish on the death of winter.
I burned the book, couldn't turn the page.
Down on my knees; will the gods deliver?
You can't tell me nothing about this cage.
I've lived inside here,
laughed and cried here,
and walked it wall to wall.
With my face against the bars,
I blessed the moon and cursed the stars
until I realized after all
that the world is mine.

The world is mine.

A piece that I've reworked a bit for Open Link Night at dVerse.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Losing Hand

Death she knocking at the door,
and she ain't gonna wait no more.
So, fold that losing hand, boy,
and drink that whiskey down.

Wind she howling at the panes.
They rattling like a convict's chains.
So, fold your hands and pray, boy,
and drink that whiskey down.

Cause that's what you get
when your money runs too low.
And, that's what you get
when the horse you bet's too slow.
That's what you get
when her man takes the early train.
That's what you get, boy,
a bullet in your brain. 

Sunday, November 6, 2011


do a windy striptease,
and leaves
flutter gold to the ground
like glitter
from a showgirl's shoulders.

For the "Color" prompt at dVerse.

Saturday, November 5, 2011


I am
scrawled notes
on scraps of paper
shoved into binders
and stacked into piles
that tower,
threaten to topple and spill
my words
all over another
unsuspecting page.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Running Away

is way too harsh and cold.
Home is sweet and distant
when you're lost and all alone.
Had a tiger by the tail.
You know a tiger turns to bite.
Left with music without melody
to get you through the night.

Am I in you?
Do you see you in me?
To hell with today.
For a while,
I'm going to be free.

The things I do
are the actions of a fool.
Divorced from normality,
to me they ring so true.
Listen to my story.
Can you foresee a happy end?
Falling apart is a matter of time,
a question of where and when.

Where and when?

Thursday, November 3, 2011


It's a wonder wings
didn't sprout from your shoulders
and honey drip from your tongue
from all the things you said
while you were walking me home.
But then the last of the liquor was on our lips,
and daylight couldn't slip between our hips.
Turns out my angel was foxing my hen house all along.

55 Words for my G-Man!

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Sweet By And By

Ain't you sweet as a sugar dumplin'
with your boots beneath the pew,
sittin' pretty as a picture with your wife?
When the choir sings "hallelujah!"
all the ladies look at you -
come hither looks deep in their Baptist eyes.

The first button that you got undone
you said I was the only one.
The second had us running off together.
By the time my garters hit the floor,
you swore you wouldn't be cattin' no more
and you and me was gonna last forever.

Now, ain't you sweet as a sugar dumplin'
kneelin' at the pew and
beggin' for forgiveness from your wife?
She's gonna make a fetchin' widow
when all us ladies get to you
and send you to that sweet by and by.

For Open Link Night at dVerse