Monday, April 15, 2013


Lost in riddles and smooth lies,

that rhyme

and quick smiles, bright teeth, and eyes,

that hypnotize

Truth set out for me,

I hung high instead.

Tiptoed across hot coals holding my breath-

imagining a love of ours

on chorus

song by many

felt by plenty.

I sing for you.

Hoping you'd see me-

And we could sink, feel cool

honing our togetherness

and creating it as beauty.

Sweet lies read like sweet smiles

on broken canvases and keyboards askin' for play-

trust became a rhythm of

lies, apologies: repeat.

My heart could never sway.

I stay parched like the longing do.

fool-I see sweet nectar in you,

A Queen.

I curtsey at your feet

timidly, waiting to be tapped

sweetly, on each shoulder.

Sweet, won't you keep me?

I've been stung,

now I'm dying from your bite.

My one desire?

Your honey-

You saw past me

I couldn't be your flower.

I'd bloom for you-though

be true

wholesome too.

Them eyes spin a haunting image

read by you lips-

they show a scene lost in it's own film

strip, soundtrack of the blues

with a sequel intended

to break



Like you, sweet?

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Sweet Southern Morning

Southern mornin' sweetness
hugged with the gentle kisses of the mornings birds
hummin' eagerly over railroad tracks
singin' past broken buildings and old tire swings-

Hard interruptions
of yella finding his voice,
muffled by the sounds of
choirs singin' and church bells ringin',
there's a calm here.

Almost find myself to ready to not believe it-
searchin' for sounds to halt and winds to disrupt
my sweet southern morning'-

My body collapses with the rising of Mamma Sun
kissin' wildly on her earth, the extensions of her body
finding my skin, kissin' firmly, wakin' up my insides
She eases me with a gentle touch and wraps me up in her mornin'-
sharing her wholesomeness with me
(never felt more delicious)

My breathing is slowed now
breath stilled by the chilled rhythm
of hearts aligning with the certainty of existence
no need to rush, it's here.

Southern mornings sing a cool tune-
heavy, tinged with blood red dirt
loose now, and sorry
singin' for new understanding
asking for rediscovery.

Southern mornings sing a compelling tune
with a melody of the blues
coatin' over a somber history-
accompanied by sunday church bells
and the happy sounds of children's play.

I thank sweet
for pouring herself onto the south
and giving me new morning
through my quiet mourning.