Unknown

Half monsters awake with the dawn, painted lips and drawn faces Scooting by on a fraction of a second. The time of need sees false land and conquers. It breeds till the years are filled and the last of the water taken. children drown from the lack of air. It is hope for all who look up, or those who look down, both depths hold mysteries.

Remind

He told me I would always remind him of autumn. The way the leaves turned, the line between decaying leaves and cool breezes, the way the fog rolls over the roof tops. “You are not so independent when the air turns cold”, He said. You seek the comfort of warmth to see what might unfold. Gustav Klimt

Photographic Mind

He said lose the photographic mind, Let those images swirl into imagination and break free. Those who take their photos have the memory on disk and paper. But will they remember it when the fires no longer keep them warm? Does it matter when we cherish all that comes during our time? The old papers turn yellow and crumble at the touch. I don’t mind when the sun sets or when the sun rises. It bleeds into one.

Breaking the Shell

Not so long ago when lollipops where her favorite treat, A little girl sang of trip wires and horse manure. She sulked in the corner when her dolls didn’t hum back, till she pushed them into the darkest corner for tea and punishment. Ages it would seem as she marched to her bedroom; 100 degrees in a great plains house with no air conditioner. Until Mr. Ghost wasp came to chase her bringing winter. A sudden fall and a tumble down her side of the icy hill, She soon discovered she was the queen of broken ornaments. Spring brought laughter and storms approached. The girl hid from lightening cowering under covers. Until the last gust of wind carried her away and turned her into caramel colored dust.

Cradle

Who does this cradle hold? Swaying back and forth The pendulum between right and wrong, It hides from tight embraces and rolls in blood This time of nonsense that comes from hidden shores.

Locked Inside the Witches Ball

She no longer has the fire, She harbored her anger outside, among the pines She followed many roads to clear her mind, but always stumbled. She went back and forth and fought with all devils that met her. They coiled and kissed her, blinding her by the warmth of their arms and tongues that licked her. Once in an embrace, she realized that all that was hidden was in a child’s closet of self destructive behavior, So she put the knife away in a pot.

Stagnation

There is much beauty around but yet my eyes remain shut. Much confusion in the mind, muddled with the day to day This is what brings the artist down, the blinds of a horse that steers the cart each day Follow the carrot and continue to eat your oats. You are such a good girl with a smack on the flank by a stinging whip each day.