For J.E.M.
I’m not just a name carved in stone.
You may hear when I’m clumsy in the night.
Then and now, more than sepulchral bones,
but I’ll back away at your slightest fright.
I’ll hang like the mist in your yard,
or like sugar in water, sweet but unseen,
and you, you won’t disregard
my story, my life: you know where I’ve been.
I’m not among the dead weeds.
I’m upstairs—can’t you smell my pipe?
I’m not where the flowers went to seed—
I’m here, an orb full of light.
So reach out, take hold! Here, you are safe.
Lonely, but not alone, in a house full of grace.
Original music! Stream or download and name your price, from free to infinity.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Lip Service
I want decadence
and debauchery,
or a better night’s sleep.
Beauty weapons:
smoldering eyes
bold lashes
liquid lipstick
tousled waves
I want a shared vocabulary—
Look me in the lips!
Radiance without the regret.
Hot tickets:
femme fatale
rocker chick
good girl
I want an homage: the ultimate
work of art, and someone
who broke my heart—
Frayed, faded and cut off.
A little self-absorbed?
Changes beyond control.
The feminine mystery,
now history.
(Composed using words from Allure magazine, July 2009)
and debauchery,
or a better night’s sleep.
Beauty weapons:
smoldering eyes
bold lashes
liquid lipstick
tousled waves
I want a shared vocabulary—
Look me in the lips!
Radiance without the regret.
Hot tickets:
femme fatale
rocker chick
good girl
I want an homage: the ultimate
work of art, and someone
who broke my heart—
Frayed, faded and cut off.
A little self-absorbed?
Changes beyond control.
The feminine mystery,
now history.
(Composed using words from Allure magazine, July 2009)
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Burnt Orange
Nina's tail measures the beat.
Three clicks, and a
sun-sharp snare
cracks, bounces off
the bricks.
Leaves in the wind are
tiny shuffling feet.
The tangerine sunset
calls the foxes of dusk
as the summer starts
to rust.
Pumpkin drums make heartbeats
as an ocher guitar smolders
then bursts with
a fire's heat.
Three clicks, and a
sun-sharp snare
cracks, bounces off
the bricks.
Leaves in the wind are
tiny shuffling feet.
The tangerine sunset
calls the foxes of dusk
as the summer starts
to rust.
Pumpkin drums make heartbeats
as an ocher guitar smolders
then bursts with
a fire's heat.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Late Roses
Pink blossoms in July,
soft petals aside wrinkled
blooms on the same stem.
Your orange dog steps carefully
through my garden, paws
light, one raised, nose twitching.
Inside, cats keep a wary distance.
Our animals mingle—
no one eats.
High sun and cotton clouds,
a gentle breeze, as if
May came after the fireworks.
More bemusement as a
soft breath of air
causes us to stir,
to rise from our sleep.
soft petals aside wrinkled
blooms on the same stem.
Your orange dog steps carefully
through my garden, paws
light, one raised, nose twitching.
Inside, cats keep a wary distance.
Our animals mingle—
no one eats.
High sun and cotton clouds,
a gentle breeze, as if
May came after the fireworks.
More bemusement as a
soft breath of air
causes us to stir,
to rise from our sleep.
First line of a story
Courtesy of my pal Sylvia:
"Every piano player, no matter how small the hands, has a tremendous reach."
Somebody get on that!
"Every piano player, no matter how small the hands, has a tremendous reach."
Somebody get on that!
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