Monthly Archives: August 2013

Poem in a Bowl

Have you,

can you


moonbeams on silken,


gossamer webs

of cat-spiders

against a midnight-blue

ghost of a sky

chasing the white queen,

the moon?


Can you soar

upon the back

of warm,


metallic dragons,

shimmering gold

and silver lighting

the line tree-tops

reaching up

from acres of

wood below

as to tickle

your feet?


Have you ever

had your heart broken,

rent apart

onto the rough floor

of reality

by a father,

by your mother?


Have you seen your

old friends’ dreams

playing like old


films onto the

white lace of your lover’s

wedding dress?


Can you feel the burden

of a gray,

rainy sky

pushing darkness

onto your back

in an attempt to force

the air from your lungs?


Can you see your life

echoed in nature

in a spider

or a wave upon the beach

or the rock it attacks?


Can you think,

tell yourself words

to stir you to tears,

to fill your heart with passion


as fiercely as the sun?


Can you tell me

these things,

make me understand,

place your thoughts

into the fertile ground

of a vivid imagination?


Can you honestly tell me

and tell me you have lived,

that you understand?

For my brother

September 7, 1995

Water (recast)

Oh what an overcast morn! And oh how

it causes my heart to bleed out as I

watch a black bird float alone in the sky

ever so slowly on currents of air.

Yearning to cry out in warning of mind,

“swiftly take flight, o spirit befeathered

fly ‘pon the wind ‘cross the dome of the sky,

take leave of this place, of this most ruinous life.”


I utter no sound, and not even a

thought do I spare from my mind, but instead

hold guarded my tongue, e’en as this black beast

holds my eye with its own, catching my mind

and locking my soul in a battle most

desperate, trapped in a struggle between

the gaze of beast and loss of the real.

And as he flies off, I sink to the ground. Broken.

3. A word from god

these are very strong words,
coming from a space tiger,
though perhaps,
as you are poet as well,
they have their place.
but exegesis and proffered,
wed and nimble and decreed -
they stir my brain,
a tiresome task for a friday.

I think that I shall beware space tigers in the future.

You Are Shining

That night you were shining
as the flowing light of a million stars aligning,
or so my tortured mind perceived,
as I hoped myself worthy to hold
 the rainbowed flowers painted golden at sunset.
 Only those midnight shadows dared to touch your face,
 perfectly chilled to an icy clarity,
 rejecting the touch of all others,
 denying them the ‘honor’
 to grace your frozen flesh.
 The wind swept your raven locks
 o’er your eyes ripe with tormented sights,
 I wish that I had shut mine own
 and turned away ere the pain
 or permanent separation from who we were,
 unbearable extinction of all that was within in,
 closed off from all that is within you,
 denied my every hearts’ desire.
 I wallow in the misery here,
 in this place without you,
 without the shining light of your being,
 cursing the bones
 of the soul upon whom
 you shine that cold,
 fierce light.
I own nothing of this poem, as the words are a twisted perversion of what I read, consumed, and spat out from my pain.

Caitlin Breanne

Since my poetry collection is available again, I’ve decided to post one more poem out of this collection for you. I hope you’ll enjoy it.

You Are Shining

Tonight you are shining.

As you gaze at me, I feel the rivers rushing and the stars aligning.

I feel as worthy of you as I am to see rainbows, and flowers, and sunsets.

I see the midnight shadows touch your face and it fills me with envy. 

Who do they think they are to dare to touch such perfection?

As if anything or anyone is worthy to have such an honor.

The windswept vision of your dark hair falling across your face torments me.

To be pulled away from you, to close my eyes even for a moment shall be too much to bear.

I love all that is within you with all that is within me.

To behold you is…

View original post 53 more words

Things I hate about myself

this is a terrible contemplation
that serves only to belittle
the wonder that is you,
like hating an angel
for wings that glow an off-color,
a butterfly whose antennae
tickle the flower too much.

Emotions: Happiness

happiness is the reverse of the coin,
the ‘heads’ to the ‘tails’ of sadness,
neither are real.
Only peace is true,
and it is blissful joy.

Peace is,
and we can only rarely
exist in that place.

The Faded Pages

More than an emotion,
A way of existence
It moves through us
Only if we welcome it
It is but a shy creature
Waiting to be coaxed out
Breathe in happiness
Absorb what there is to see
Live within reach
Of what is to come
For it may only last moments
It’s more than an emotion.
— The Faded Pages

View original post

Facing It ≠ Putting Your Heart In It

what terrible sadness
to understand,
to grasp,
the infinite line of humanity
with hands outstretched,
waiting in sadness for that glass.
I break,
questioning if truly,
this pain is in my perception,
and not the blunt hammer of reality.

Rampant & Golden

I don’t know why
but in the place of poetry
only sleep
the weight of covers
the dull ache of the body
asking mutely for escape
a cheat for freedom
deep dark soldier
the fight all gone
……….just before battle
just before truth
just before the tolling
…..of the bells where
destiny will separate
the loved
…..the merely
……………vain lovers
and I will not stay awake
to count the hours
and weep on my knees
because I’ve seen
what brokenness looks like
and have marched
to the bugle call
held in my fist
burning on my tongue
and I’ve had my share,

so I pass
and let the glass of wine be
handed right down the line

View original post

Who Are We

we are the imperfect children,
made in the image only,
toiling with our incomplete,
broken perception
of the yearning of creation.

Gray Poet


Who are we to think that we
Can look at a sunset and pause
Yet we see flooding torrents
And look to God as the cause.

Who are we to think that we
Can do as we wish with the land
Then we see ills striking friends
And ask if it came from God’s hand.

Who are we to think that we
Can get away with whatever we say
Not a thought given through the week
And maybe worship God on just one day.

Who are we to think that we
Can make the world a better place
Bending even the natural laws
And fearing now to even bow our face.

Who are we to think that we
Can stop lifting our eyes above
Giving little of our self in return
And take advantage of God’s love.

View original post


in winter, the trees look decrepit, forgotten.
in spring, the trees reawaken to who they are,
and become outwardly beautiful,

…”it never came,” said the oak sleepily in december.
“wait,” said the fir.
“it never came” said the ash drowsily in January.
“wait,” said the pine.
“it never came,” said the poplar through a yawn.
“wait,” said the spruce.
in spring, their laughter tickled the crocuses.
in summer their shade cradled the toadstools.
in fall, they all prepared for a sleep,
to dream through the ling winter,
of the gentle rains of the spring.
in winter they wept as the saplings mourned the cold.


To holler without sound, I’ve been listening
For a while now my love and there is
A story in my head. I cannot tell you
How it goes but it runs the distance
Of all my known fears and beyond.
The waking hours that creep
And strangle my feet. I am not
Going anywhere. I am not falling
Asleep. I am a watchtower
Forgotten, decrepit but I hold
On to the last vestiges of a former
Light. I can still cast some shadows
They make up for the absence
of what it is, I cannot tell you.
I am a watchtower and I will hold
On to the last.

View original post


I cried,
opening the gates,
the elements tarnishing the gilded streets,
whitewashing my proud gray masonry.
I laughed at the wit,
sincerely captivated in the cleverness,
and quipped, ever so quickly,
a dance of words,
no meat, but something to fill the time.
And then I reveal the Truth of who I am,
and she cast it aside,
repulsed in all that was me.

Baking Blowup

Our Baking Will Blow Your Mind

The Dinner

A Space for Fellowship

Mick On Everything

Just a regular guy who is interested in everything

Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.


Turning Tears and Laughter into Words

A Word From The Raven's Beak

Or whatever I came up with whilst eating cereal this morning

Syl65's Blog

Poetry, music, creative writing and a desire to inspire....Isaiah 45:2-7 I will go before you and will level the mountains[a]; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron. 3 I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord

Words are mighty

poems, and poems again

Itty Bitty Journeys

Epic Tales of Tiny Adventures


literary fictions, flashes, fiascos


The heart has to be able to act against itself. (m.m.)

A Holistic Journey

Finding my way back out of motherhood -- while mothering

Experimental Fiction

"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Just breathe.

Life is beautiful. And there is so much to be grateful for.


A work in progress

Nathan Blixt

Art, Text, Code, Design