I'm finding solace in places filled with books.
The shelves filled with unread stories beckon and call to my mind.
The urge to pull one from a shelf and take a dip into a new fantasy world is almost unbearable.
But my tendency to get carried away and forget reality is my reminder that I should probably just play it safe... For now.

(Random notes at Tuscaloosa's Barnes and Noble-- July 27th 2010)

Overcast skies, clouds strolling by
Signs of an approaching cold front
Rain coming to wash and cleanse us--
Drenching the soil.
And we need it.

Flowers bloom, refreshed by the downpour--
They come to life.
And we need it.
To remind us once again
Of the beauty of simply
Being Alive.

(spring 2009)

Oh summer time...
To sip ice cold lemonade
Half naked in the grass.
Break out the beach towels,
Sunglasses and books.
Let's lounge in the sun
On these lazy days, and
Take advantage of our Youth.

Snippets of Conversation merge
Into the ambient coffee shop music
Becoming one living breathing thing,
Alive, it swells and dies out,
Only to burst forth again.
Laughter. Rushed chatter.
Biting, staccato-ed phrases.
This little shop - composing it's own symphony

Sunshine. Blooming flowers.
I plant my bare feet
in the wet soil and grow.
I reach for the sky--
a new life springing forth inside.

Eliot whispering, "weave the
sunlight in your hair..."
My arms are the branches of trees.
And my fingers are leaves.
Toes become roots digging deeper
Into the ground.

I am planted in this new land--
Life without innate sadness.
I am alive -- Though I falter,
Sway in the breeze.
In a storm, I rock, the gusts
Of terror and fear shaking me,
But still I stand.
And nothing can knock me down now,
I have made my roots deep.

On these long sleepless nights,
I'm crawling up the walls while
Waiting for day to break,
And the world to come alive.

Give me something to do,
I've got to feed my mind.
It's eating at my insides.
Go, go, go. Get out of here.

There is a whole world.
Fly free. Fly on. Go forever.
There is no stopping me.
I am going to break away.

I am going to flee.

Tentatively, notes fill the air.
Piano first, then rising to mezzo forte.
Testing the water, relearning the feel
Of keys beneath fingers and air in lungs.
Confidence builds, and in a few days time
You can hear clear, solid melodies
Dancing through the air
And filling the house.

I am married now
It has always been my dream
He is a good man

----------

My body is sore
I forgot softball does this
It is bittersweet

----------

A stressful silence
Things are not going as planned
But they are going

----------

Doing Wife-ly things.
It's harder than it seems. Wish
Someone had told me

----------

Almost time for bed
Turn the quilt down and wait for
Hubby to come with

Oil and grease and dirt
Slathered on my husband's arms
Nowhere near done yet

----------

Walking down the road
Singing a song to myself
Why, yes, I am free

----------

To be young again
And play softball with my friends
Is one of my dreams

----------

I grow weary of
Writing all these things online
That no one will read

----------

People are dying
And they are people I know
Not a good feeling

Tiny white blossoms
litter the ground
beneath my feet.
They were caught in the wind
and blown to
unsuspecting places,
where they bless
the footsteps of
some unthankful man.

I remember the sound
Of footsteps travelling
Down white antiseptic
Scented hall ways,
And the deafening
Drone in my head
Of an urgent need to flee.

I, a prisoner, of course
Sat faithfully at the shrine
Of the skeleton ghost
Of the person I was
Trying to force myself to be.
At the time I did not know
Any other way.

Put it aside and put it away.
Your youth has become a page
In a scrapbook of memories.
This is the here and now.
No longer imagine yourself
As that clever girl with
The secrets in her eyes.

Those days have passed,
As time's steady current
Pulls us along to the future.
You have to learn new ways
To weave the sunlight in your hair.
Find new hiding places for the
Secrets you kept in your eyes,
But it's not the end, my friend.
This is a new chapter of life.

He yearns for knowledge
And so he puts me aside
To focus his mind

----------

The rush and flow of
The people going to work--
Such a madness, this.

----------

The beep and buzzing
Followed by a ripping sound
Ah, the library

----------

The strange city folk
Look at me as I enter
The doors to their world

----------

It is almost time
The waiting is killing me
Break free, bumble bee

Rows and rows of books
Line the walls of this library
Dusty from neglect

---------

You would be surprised
At the depth of my passion
For the written word

----------

The long brown branches
Are suddenly covered with
Tiny white flowers

----------

Lines mark grains in wood
Showing the age of the tree
From which it was made

The sweltering heat
I admit my own defeat
Turn the AC on

----------

The unexpected
Someone who understands me
I'm not what I seem

----------

Flecks under his eyes
Of course he tries to deny--
The man has freckles

----------

Outside the window
Exists tiny white flowers
Upon which I gaze

----------

Some children screaming
While the dogs bark and birds chirp
And cars roll on by..

In twenty-four years
good memories have been made
along with the bad.

----------

My chestnut haired boy--
he sleeps now, snoring softly
in the bed we share.

----------

When basement sitting
you must learn to love the cold...
Also, the silence.

----------

Water trickles down
through the pipes in the basement
into the sewers

----------

These are my new friends.
A birthday away from home.
I'm an adult now.

Horsetail clouds whip across the sky.
I have to stop and ask myself
How I'd never noticed such
Things as these before.

As if the essence of a butterfly
Or of a half bloomed flower
Could save my soul.
Oh, please let these feelings
Of glorious beauty grow.

I want to wander barefoot
Through open fields of wildflowers,
Hold up my skirt and
Wade in a creek
To cool my tired feet.

I want to lay with Him in the
Grass and look at the stars,
And to realize that the best
Things in life are free.

And we are
We are
Free

Feverish forehead
If swallowing causes pain
Then why even eat?

----------

My stumbling steps
While walking to the bathroom
Are embarrassing

----------

I hate this malaise
Everything is far too much
Why can't I be well?

----------

Birthday tomorrow
I'm twenty-four years old now
Time really does fly

----------

Oh, what can I do
I am a kitchen slave now
Sick isn't allowed

Good Christians worship
This weekend, in honor of
The body of Christ

----------

Trails of exhaust spread
Filling the sky with white trails
Metal Avians

----------

Bickering old men
Disguising their hearts of gold
At Dunkin Donuts

----------

Shards of shattered glass
Is my hidden Easter egg
A broken windshield

----------

It's like before
But once again it is not
I cannot decide

Early creeping dawn
The tiny song birds
Chirp a springtime tune
and we wait for the
sun's yellow orb to
rise from the tops
of the neighbor's roofs

They are sustenance:
Food, water, shelter, sleep.
Words are everything.
They are all you could ever need
In this place, this world, this realm
Of writers and artists
Of thinkers and dreamers
Of believers

And we are, we are the ones who
Will move the world, shake it.
Fix it, or break it.
Our ideas and works are the power
They are all we need
To build cities
Or watch civilizations burn.
"We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams..."

(12/2/2008)

Dark mahogany
The smell of coffee and cream
This place feels like home

----------

An innate sadness
Unshakable feelings of
Hopelessness and fate

----------

The clouds are clearing
The earth is coming alive
Hope this feeling stays

----------

Sirens in the street
Cars parting to let it through
Full of urgency

----------

Tiny little bugs
Seeking out fragrant flowers
It is feeding time

The curve of her lips when she smiles.
I can still smell her scent --
The perfume she adores.
So comforting, the aroma
reminds me instantly of home.
The safety of the country
with guard dogs and cats for best friends.
Dinner on the table at 6,
and the consistency of her presence.
The way she chuckles when she's amused.
Her haphazard way of organizing her business
and her long fingernails.
I can tell her anything,
which is usually more than
she needs to hear --
"didn't need to know that, hon."
I can hear her loving words,
in her slow, southern drawl.
In my mind I see her clearly:
Auburn hair, green eyes.
The best woman I know.

A place I know not--
this distant land of asphalt.
People commute to work,
barely acknowledging each other.
So many is the population,
and so few are the friends.

----------

Never resting, this city.
Always, there is a lone civilian
wandering the streets,
even at the darkest hour
in the dampest monsoon rains,
or the on chilliest blustery winter days.
Always, someone is traversing the streets.

----------

Lunch break -- people rushing.
Time clocks to punch,
they push their way
to the front of the line,
order their turkey on rye,
and scuttle back to
the drone of their uneventful lives.

-------

Tiny specks of dinner
resting on the grout
inside the grooves made
by the cheap tile floor,
waiting for tiny
black arthropods
to come feast on the
delectable entrees.

----------

tick, tick, tick
Like cold molasses,
time stretches by.
The hour lasts an eternity --
next month is a dream.
(My desperate need to escape
the here and now)
Wander the house in search --
looking for something to distract,
to occupy this mind.
To help me forget this need,
this impatient need for speed;
to fly into the far away future.

I hide my face now
Ashamed of how I appear
To strangers I meet

----------

Age will take its toll
Long before your soul is old
At night you mourn Youth

----------

Little green buds are
Forming on the trees. I see
spring is almost here

---------

A human goddess
A contradiction of sorts
With womanly curves

----------

They have fins and scales
The live under the water
It's our fish friends

Little bumble bee
flies away from the nest and
into the blue sea.

----------

The flaming leaves of
the Japanese maple tree
tell me old stories.

----------

His blood is pure red
from his heart to his big feet
full of love for me

----------

Marriage is true love
only if love is true.
Yes, we are lucky.

----------

The tiny flower
Yellow against the darkness
A symbol of spring