code breaker

grape stomper

brick layer

In the time a letter is read
A motive revealed
The light shed
My flight stalls and falls

Wind shear
Shear terror
Shared fear
I share with you

In the time it takes to
Tie me to the tracks of
An impending train
You cut the ties, with soft eyes

What tragedy could come of me
Your gaze spoken with no words
Calms me, stills my hands, settles me
And I become free, to fly away

Everything is on the surface, or just below, I can't go too deep, too far down the stairs. The room is small, with tables of all shapes and sizes, with framed pictures, of my Beloved, on tops of painted, or stained, or tiled wood. I smooth the cloth under faces, handsome, beautiful, loving. The patterns of fabric, woven like the stories I tell. I illustrate my room, my one and only room, with blankets stretched upon the floor.


I stretch upon the floor and look up at the lamp, of frosted glass the color of blush, my blush. The yellow casts a fire-like warmth across walls filled with paintings, drawings, of my Beloved.


I reach for a notebook, kept under my pillow, a large, chenille pillow with fringe and tassels, bleeding in oranges, gold and greens. I open my notebook and read poems, stories, notes, and sketches of my Beloved. I close my eyes and I view a slide show of images, lips, eyes, and manners, captured by my single reflex heart, preserved forever, under eye glass, my spy glass.


There are doors for every wall, and a story for every moment when I make a crossing, a dangerous crossing. They are heavy, oak doors with hard ware of my hard ware, that cannot be breached without my secret passwords, one different for every door. The leaded windows, locked and secure, no escape without my consent, no entry of cat burglars, or lovers, without my consent.


I cross to a table with many drawers, it is black with edges like waterfalls, and I trace the curve, as if it is My Beloved's cheek. I take the bronze handle and pull toward my center, and reach inside for buried treasure. My Beloved's treasure, that increases by the day, the hour, the empty minutes without him. I take a hinged box, of his treasure, his pictures and words. This box will never be full, it will grow in contents but not in size. This box of treasures, keeps precious thoughts, wishes and love inside.


I sit, legs folded, box resting in my lap. I stroke it's top, I know it's every grain of truth, patterned on wooden sides. I light a candle and speak words softly under breath. I speak of poems, past conversations, and I work my spell. I spell with words written by bare finger on the glass of framed picture of my Beloved. My reflection of me, next to his image, together at last, me and my Beloved.

Thank you much, Leigh :-)

Me, giving up
That's just not gonna happen
Not because I don't want to,
Sometimes

Me, giving up
Has nothing to do with pride, or
Strength, or ambition
What it is, I cannot identify

I think I have what it takes
To take from others, just enough
To get me by, the kindness of strangers
Strangers, who have no idea what they have done

If I had a scrap book, it would be filled
With momentous, and pictures, loose, falling out
With hand written notes, so forgetting is impossible
Forgetting the kindness of strangers, impossible

Me, giving up
With a deep breath, as if to prepare for a great dive
I won't do it, I can't
You won't allow it

I didn't think I would ever do it again
To wait by the phone
And if I didn't usually watch TV to pass the time
I might think I was watching TV to pass the time

I play some music from my archives, from
Back it the day when there was such thing as a "Date"
I am reminded of the butterflies that I thought had been
Suffocated in a glass jar, wings like tissue paper

I even dare laugh at myself, that I have not
Changed much at all, there must be some sugar left in me
What had not been dumped out, after being dumped
More than once, spilled more than once

I didn't think I had it in me, this giddy feeling
Or maybe it is more of a panic, as if my power steering
Has gone out, with a big tree ahead, or rocky cliff
My headlights reveal the last thing I see
I wonder if I will see you...



"

http://youtu.be/4oQlmP6Md0s

this is close to me

Thanks Leigh! Howd you do that?

I really do appreciate your comments.

I did a youtube link if you want to hear it.

http://youtu.be/Az1BufR7Ivk

My jaws clench, my eyes sting
A pain crosses my face and drops
To my feet, as if my heart has fallen
And it rocks side to side before resting still

I stand still because moving will change nothing
I cannot change the direction of the wind
I stand still, I do not lean into the wind,
I am not pushed by its force
My actions will change nothing at all

I give into the fear and the sadness
Just long enough to feel it's edge
The edge that, like a razor, shaves off
What is not necessary off of me
Cuts who is not good for me, off of me

My surrender is my only choice
This choice that fills empty hopes
A river of surrender carves out
My soul inside, grows a great canyon inside me
A new universe with it's own moon and sun
I will do nothing while what is done
Gets done

There is not any amount of sunlight

To keep the vampire away

To keep the creep, creep, creeping of heavy

Footsteps

Heard in my attic, in my walls, in my cellar


It is not that Love is not enough

I have plenty to give and plenty received

Truck loads delivered, every day, on demand

And, unplanned

With clever, Love, helps Vampires pass


They are not at odds, one needs the other, as the

Sun casts dark shadows that mirror myself on canvas walls

On paper, on screen, my shadow is cast, cast in the metal

The metal of me, sometimes hard, sometimes soft

Sometimes easily molded


I feel the vampire looking over my shoulder, his cool breath on

The back of my neck, my neck, a chain, not a rope, wraps round

I know he is there, with hands, my shoulders, in parenthesis

Love's hugs repel Cold's touch, trying, trying to control my mind

I won't go with him, not this time

Good Morning, spoken like a True Sleepy-Head
The coffee is on, yesterday's make-up washed off
A new day, a new face put on
I take my medicine

Good Morning, like the Good Mornings I will say
From now on, with closed eyes, not ready to wake up
To say Good Bye to dreams of you, Hello to the work day
with hours without you, I will be thinking of you

Two cups, now, but not the last cup
I do not want to wake up, and say Good Bye to you
Put empty hours in, not making enough money to see you
I will see you soon, not near enough to touch you, but for your heart

Back Soon

He said he would be back soon
With that her heart beat slowed
She felt the awake drain from herself
And with a long sigh, she was a peace

She slipped out of the street
Clothing, removing, turning to a night
Creature, waiting, with a long sigh
She pulled on Peace, over her head first

His return, shortly, though feeling very long
She wrote words of love and loss, of what she
Wished, as one wishes for, and invents spells,
Detailed rituals, to capture his love

In the empty time that compliments her body
She, a part of him, remained apart from him
Her thoughts conjuring, her fingers touching
Places on skin not touched by hands, in months

In the space of now and her future with him
She wrote a spell, in words and thoughts, visual
Joining together, two separated before chance of meeting
She licked her lips, as if the magic would deliver his mouth to hers

Return soon, Christopher John Mazey

Thank you Hippie, I have found a Love

Dark eyes, with some rain inside
Melancholy, calling me, speaking to me
Clouds move slowly, over rich colors watching
Me

I am tired but I am with you tirelessly
With every last hope and energy
On darkest days and lightest nights
Love me

On my eyes, dry, not filled and salty,
Nothing shed for many years
With you I feel tears welling, willingly
Taste me

Dearest Dark Eyes, with rain drops collected
Inside, share your tears with me
When a drink I do not dare, your eyes still me
Still as stone

With my eyes, melancholy, I watch the sunrise
I rest under your dark clouds, rich colors watching me
Warm kisses, I imagine they would be
Love me

I hold this cup, and sip from it, and sigh

My eyes water, as I read your words

My heart confused why water comes

When I am not sad


My heart is disoriented, as if being spun around

Dizzy, from your words, and voice like sweet syrup

I would lick from your lips and take you in

And the water comes, and washes through me


If I could, and one day I will

I will wash over you, you are my world

You will feel my rain, my ocean, and you will swim

In my lake, my lonely, lonely lake


I will become, like a road sign, your travelers will see

And when they see me here, I will become a passing marker

A part of your journey, parallel to mine, moving

Moving forward, your travelers will accept me as part of your

Landscape


I love you Christopher John Mazey

I traded a bad habit for a good one
Still have more to trade, but
There are many good ones to choose from
There are his eyes, that look in not through me
There is his voice that talks to me, not at me
There is the way about him, that moves me
Making the first trade, not missed
Makes the next trades from traded hearts
A warm, wanted, exchange

Thank you Christopher John Mazey

Being broke, with nothing to steal
I am comforted,
That who is with me is
Really, with, Me
Not anything else

Being broken, with nothing left to break
I am comforted,
That who is with me is
Really, with, Me
Not my enemy

With nothing left to lose, and so much to lose
I am comforted,
That who stays with me is
Really, with, Me
Though far away