She holds her legs curled up in a ball.  The dripping of water and ringing in the air like in a tomb she lets out a sob and licks her tears.  Now she wonders if she will ever wake from the nightmare?  She fears sleep.  The cage is small and the bars are rusted and damp.  The floor is cold.  A small stream of light flickers in the distance, reminiscent of a distant place she can’t imagine anymore.  In the small stream of light she stares at her bare toes, toe nails overgrown.  This small corner has become her home.  She forgets to open her eyes – because the dark has swallowed her whole.  She only rests in the quiet of her mind, comforted at the thought of no one screaming.   Some nights she ‘goes limp’ with hoping not to feel anymore.  Today there was a battle and she thought she had strength.  She wielded her sword, but found it used against her. Then she fought with the only weapon left – her bones. She flailed and ranted, she mocked and entertained, she shook and danced and the monster in fear and bewilderment disengaged. Sometimes this is the only way to make him retreat.  Only today he took a turn and pretended to be as resolute as her – to use logic and calm to blame her, to show she deserved to be in the cage, and he tightened her restraints before walking away.  She wonders why she wakes each day?  The room grows dim.. as her eyes blur and for the moment she feels held, suspended.. in the stillness where there is no ‘think’ and no ‘feel’, no her.

Posted: January 11th, 2011 under Short Story, Soliloque on Gabriel (poetic journey).
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Walking across the broken chards, puzzle pieces of mirrors under my blistered defeat.  Yet, I am still breathing.

Familiar juncture, still walking from bus to train.  Finally landing in a soft silence my ear reaching out to the ringing buzz of the air as I see another ring fall down the ravine.  Even as it tumbles clinking on the bars unseen, the edges and sediment, erosion and sentiment.. like a heavy rock slipping uphill, defying gravity to slide on the occasionally slick desert floor – so this ring travels into your hands alone.  

Hands that held the world.  Hands that create, design and comfort. Melt the gold and see… what you find… the layers of us which remain in this valley over time.

Meandering in forest, mushrooms spread out on the ground to nurture recovery… myself on the ground recovering.  Love making and us upright like the thin tree as our covering, echoing like nearby dogs barking.. a rediscovery.  This azure lighting the path anew… out into the world…

it is     just      blue.

Posted: March 22nd, 2010 under my poetry, Soliloque on Gabriel (poetic journey).
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So I visit you again, my old friend.

The one that brought me to life, stirred my passionate self

and planted a paradise on my heart’s shelf.

I see you sitting here in my bed,  as you did once long ago,

offering me a promise with a smile, a twinkle in your eye and a ring in your hand.

My heart quivered never before to have felt such

an inside melting and explosion all at once,

to which later became a reminder of  things repeatedly broken.

Slam.. the glass and shattering.

Fast on the skull – a fist to send my head reeling.

Over and above – you tossed me round and pinned me down,

hands scrambling to confuse and grab my face as I bat the arms that try to restrain me. Over and over I do love you.. over and over you come at me with a twist and a bite,

a kick and a pillow to smother me. 

My heart beats fast and I just try to survive the moment til the storm subsides.

“Oh why?” I asked inside.  What could I do when the tornado hit?

I clicked my red heels to go home, but I don’t visit Kansas anymore. 

I left the shock and awe for some other Dorothy to someday take on.

But inside the flashbacks come on occasion. 

And somehow despite it all I find myself reaching out for a stolen dream,

like the child that didn’t see it coming and still needs to feel he, or she, was loved.

I too wait at the gate of wounds that reawaken – a bittersweet collection of moments,

a kneeling looking up through the beam of light through which I first saw you.

Posted: September 9th, 2008 under my poetry, Soliloque on Gabriel (poetic journey).
Comments: 1

Is it time to take out the trash?

This is the time of night when I’m at capacity

And in order to sleep I have to write.

Almost 3 a.m.  Sometimes I’m up til 4, 5 or 6.

Which can be annoying.. because then the birds start chirping.

And what’s with that?! 

Is it time to feed the walls that surround me or knock them down

before they start tumbling?

This is the time of night when I peel back the paint

And peer into the words I choose, the thoughts that make my heart beat.

Almost tired.  Sometimes I’m unable to crack the codes.

Which can be altogether disappointing.. because then I don’t advance to the next level.

And what’s with that?!!

That is where I’m at.

Tossing and turning, sleep is the most difficult part of my day.

Getting this brain and heart to unwind, to close my eyes and rest.

Trying to ignore the empty space taking up most of the bed!

Designating a pillow to be something of what I had.

I find myself avoiding sleep, avoiding the bed.

“As You Like It” in the park tonight was splendid.

Such words rushed into my head. 

Too many to conjure, but here are the lasting impressions..

Love is the playground, the battlefield, the balancing act.

Love is the ground beneath, the yearning just above arm’s reach.

Love is the reason, the answer, the cause and effect.

Its in the dance, the song inside, each breathe.

Love is right behind you and where you stand,

Its in striving, the relentless attempts, and where you land.

Love is never one thing, nor all things at once.

Its autonomic as the beat of your heart and chosen with action

From the devotion of one’s thoughts.

Posted: July 19th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts, NY Chronicles, Soliloque on Gabriel (poetic journey).
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My eyes like frozen navigation, transfixed in space.

Each day, a series of hurdles and animate ‘out takes’.

Someone taps my shoulder.

And something in my chest grows colder.

Please don’t erase.

Lifted off the ground to speak –

All words a dedication to the Widow’s peak.

Spin me round to Wuthering heights,

To land and fall and perfect the fight.

Nobody can reach me way up there.

The love below stands to reason – logic doesn’t care.

A hope is held by those invisible hands,

That articulate and tie together the strings of circumstance.

The drone of late night sounds, a constant hum of a sleeping house.

The muse and me we exchange and excavate in large amounts.

Something to gain from all this pain.

Fluttering to free my wings from things most precious and unseen.

As silky threads extend to capture carefully lingering dreams.

Must sleep, must eat, must create – the life I lead.

In rapture I breathe.  And wait to see.. what words might fly into me?

Posted: July 18th, 2008 under my poetry, Soliloque on Gabriel (poetic journey).
Comments: 1