DiAnne's Scribbles 

I hope you like some of these poems and "little scribbles"  I've written.   I am continuously inspired by many people and fellow writing friends.  When Marlon Brando said "we only have so many faces in our pockets" he was most likely referring to acting roles but I also believe poems capture some of the "roles" we live and play out in our real  lives as well; some of the many faces we wear throughout life break through and speak out in our poetry; sometimes because that's the only place we can wear these faces and express these feelings.
That's me, March, 2014 on a new bike. 

Uncle Fred's Loft

It's funny how no matter how old we get
we'll go back in time remembering 
a special place we can still go to in our mind…
A place we can form some self-reflection, or,
just close our eyes and take deep breaths.

Along with Grandma's willow tree in the city, 
Uncle Fred's loft in the country was 
and is just such a place.
A big old hay-filled barn with a giant loft for
jumping, laying, hiding treasures, and, well, 
just taking those deep breaths. 

I used to lay up in that loft and read the
rest of my life in the moon and the stars.
We kids would yell down from the window 
teasing that nasty ole' bull Uncle Fred had and then
giggle our butts off when Uncle came running to scold us.

And much to Uncle's chagrin we'd throw down
piles and piles of hay for jumping and making chaos 
out of barn order and wicked thunder out of country silence. 

But most importantly the thing I remember then for real 
and now in this used up mind...
You could always always depend on a soft landing
in Uncle Fred's Loft,
Still can... 



Think silently

But act out loud,

The game has paused -

Feet are stuck in concrete.

There’s a story to be told,

Trying to draw blood from life,

Lives are erected like doll houses,

Each one feeling like a strange town.

The hamster is spinning in his wheel,

He too is going nowhere.

image “beautiful decay” by
Ryan Johnson


1005 Chelsea Avenue

I kept a wounded bird in a shoe box on your front porch
until it could fly free again.
It was my job to put the milk bottles in your milk box
for the milk man, Mr Jesse James…yes, that's right. 
When I was six I headed down your steps and up the hill 
for my first day of school at Belmont Elementary.
There were to be many firsts that followed 
as I descended those few steps.
My first date, first prom, first job, first marriage and then 
I was just your visitor until you were sold.
I spent an abundance of hours on your porch. 
I won't venture behind the walls as that's another story
for another day.
Staring up at what was my upstairs bedroom window
I can still see smoke billowing out the window as my 
girlfriends and I giggled our way through a pack of 
cigarettes. Amazing the fire department was never called.
When this picture of you showed up on my cell phone yesterday
it prompted a flood of memories. 
You really have not changed much at all. 
It got my heart thumping a little.
After all, you are where I grew up.
Or, maybe I didn't. 

Note: A friend was in the neighborhood (where we both lived out our 
childhoods). She sent this picture to my phone yesterday. 2/1/14.



Our history
walks on all of us,
Perhaps that’s why
we’re always amending it,
To make it lighter,
Less a burden to carry.
But we mustn’t let
too much truth escape.
Or, our history could
fade into obscurity
and take our souls with it…
Then, how would we find
Our own true ending?

image “My Own Secret World” by Geert Lemmers


Curio Shelf

It occurred to her that perhaps she should treat her mind like a curio shelf,
Envisioning it much like that of a second haven for keepsakes.
Would she keep mementos of bad memories on her prized curio shelf?
Would she set them on this shelf for everyone to see?
Parading by them daily lined along this treasured shelf?
Each a stark reminder of where she had taken a fall?
No, and yet she had a penchant for keeping these inside the shelves
of her memory, storing them to be recalled like classic movie stubs,
happy photo-booth photos; these faded and should-be-gones.
A memento for every heart-eating event for which she'd fallen and cried.
These, the keepsakes not worth keeping, the memories better off leaving behind her.
Just as she should had not found these worthy of her physical shelf she vowed
to initiate a mind-sweeping and no longer allow these to occupy space
in the curio shelf that was her mind. 



How high she soared before
the loneliness found her,
Never thinking for a moment
she'd fall from the safety of her
lofty perch so high above
what was awaiting her.
Soon unforeseen and dire
events crept into her life
like black smoke under
a door of white lace.
This would turn her
Wonderland into a dark
Underland of doom.
Thus she spiraled into a tumble
from the safe perch upon
which she had been isolated
from such a fate.
Loneliness would begin it's
feast of sucking her soul dry
of every fabric of happiness
that had thrived there before,
Breaking her spirit and desire
to face another dark and lifeless day.
This is the sad tale of loneliness,
A silent but oh so deadly killer.

© 2013 DiAnne Ebejer
image "A Loneliness Woman"
by Victor, Sao Carlos, BR

Magic Bubble
We can be surprised by some things
that pop unexpected into our life,
As if arriving in some huge magic bubble -
out of nowhere,
and grow to mean so much.
And what a lovely surprise this is,
Raining smiles and laughter all around.
And then for reasons; who knows what?
Things just change,
And the magic bubble blows away
just as quickly as it came.
And for a bit we feel as if
a couple wheels just fell off our life,
Like we've lost most everything,
But soon we'll come to realize
that sometimes things just have to
change their form.
These things don't really die,
The bubble thrives in a different dimension,
The connection is never really broken.
The magic lives on in us in some form



Addiction's Affliction

The picture book is wearing your story
about the living of your life,
It was a story in need of fixing,
For behind the smiles there was strife,
People can be strong and resilient,
For that's how we all want them to be,
But if we paint with all pastel colors,
The darkness we are failing to see.
Behind smiles lies a core of sadness,
that cannot be reached,  felt or seen,
And a heart longing to be filled,
With tomorrow's promise of a dream.
Stuck in a viscous circle 
by the oppressor...hell's addiction,
There is always one more rabbit hole
to add to the affliction.
One more tragic scenario 
spinning everything out of control,
One last reach upward, 
Then one last trip down the hole. 
If only you had been just a flower,
You could have sprouted again in new soil,
Grown back stronger, bloomed more beautiful,
Than you'd ever been before. 
But we're people, we don't get to do that
so the picture book suddenly stopped, 
Addiction's Affliction had won his game,
From this world you were suddenly dropped.


Quarreling With Normal 
Out on a faraway beach
feeling the warm moist wind
blowing against her face,
She became lost navigating
in her own meditation.
The waves were slapping
at the shoreline as if quarreling
with the outgoing tide,
They played a perfect accompaniment
to the rhythms of her thoughts,
sashaying their way into
quarreling with normal.
She was counting the many times
She had set her feet upon a path
to finding normal,
Now, staring at the moon,
She was standing in her own truth,
Where normal had never seemed
to find her.
Jolted from her temporary solace,
she contemplated if normal
might not be just a word,
bouncing around in an orb
of complacency,
Something to be abandoned
Rather than quarreled with
or achieved.


 The Old Man in the Corner...a story
by DiAnne Ebejer
"Once we thought we would always be young..."

The evening was perfect when we arrived at
the restaurant. The dock was aglow with
holiday lights of all manner glistening off
the water in a dance of colored waves up and
down the riverfront.
Families and friends had gathered in celebratory
fashion to raise their glasses to one another and
to the spirit of the season, chatting and laughing
merrily. The dining tables were set with holiday
candles and wooden Santa's.

Our family party of four had just settled in when
my attention was drawn to a lone corner table and
an elderly gentleman who caught my eyes
for just a few seconds. He was very old, finely
dressed, distinguished, alone. Worse, he appeared
to be extremely downtrodden.

I've never liked seeing old people dining alone.
It's one of those things that just pings at my heart
strings and immediately plays a sad sad tune.
This night it especially hit me as this man just
seemed so terribly out of place amongst all the
gaiety and aura of togetherness that was swallowing
up the restaurant.
I wanted to go sprinkle fairy dust on him and
make a family appear. He just stared at his
food as if it was much to painful to look at
any of the beauty and warmth that was
occurring around him. For a moment, I felt
like I was in quicksand.
I never said anything to anyone about that old man
of course. It would have dampened the spirit of the
evening and besides, my family would have said
perhaps the man wanted to be alone after all.
However, I think I know better -
I saw it in his eyes and I felt it in my heart.

The End
I Am Not Alone
 I am not alone.
The wonder and the truth of the
human spirit shows me this every day.
Many times I have almost fallen,
trapped in a tiny world of neurosis
designed to rob me of my own strength
and make me feel uncommonly alone.
Hark, the spirit of family and community
come together to celebrate the very art
of being human.
They come to hold my hand and tell me
I am not alone.

Even beyond this, in those low times of
sad eyes and weak knees, I have been
enlightened by my own reservoir of old souls.
They seem to become enormously alive
when called upon in these times of need.
So when I have a trial to face, a fear to slay,
I don’t have to wear a tight face, or crumble
into a pile of cracked shards.
I am not alone.





Allure of the Sea

The allure of the sea pulled at her
as she stood in the soft sea foam of
the incoming tide.
Mist lightly dancing in the air,
Waves doing their own dance on the
sea rocks around her.
Guided by her lantern
she moved slowly forward,
Hoping with all her might
for a reason to turn around.

Where Is The Child?

Some people might have the notion that
while you are on your journey to adulthood
you must trade your silliness for a book
on proper behavior.
I challenge why, when we grow up,
we tend to put away our laughter,
our childish warp, and
the great sense of hilariousness
of our youth.
This is a bit like being introduced
to a room full of emptiness,
Laughter and silliness blasts anxiety,
it makes you feel good, sleep better,
and love your neighbor a little more.
Ultimately, I don't think we need to
read a book on being a proper adult
or trade in our enormously young
and alive apparatus for a staunch,
stiff, and boring persona.
Where Is The Child?
It's in all of us - If let go in the past
it can be unleashed once again
We should have the same two wishes
at 22, 42 and 62.
Have Fun and Have Fun.
Now we can not always maintain a
fun course - That thing called life
steps right on our faces from time to time.
But if you can be an "adult" and still be
called "silly", well I think you should
consider that a compliment.
You know where the child is
because it's alive inside of you. 


Watching Dad Leave
I really don't remember much about
one on one time with my Dad,
That's because there really wasn't
that much of it,
But those times that there were
I can remember quite vividly.
I can remember the smell
of his Old Spice as he stooped
to pin my felt Santa on my coat
every year before he took me
Downtown Dayton to go Christmas
shopping and see the traditional display
in Rikes' Department Store window.
I can hear the crunching of his boots
in the snow as he'd walk with me
to Murphy's Bakery on Saturday's
for the weekend bread supply.
I can remember him strumming
that ukulele of his and us singing
songs together on the front porch.
His smile was wide and warm and
these times are some in my childhood
I hold dear.
He was known as the "life of the party",
was an unmerciful prankster, and always
had a war story or two, or three.
Sadly, the longest and hardest memory
was to be watching Dad leave.
In an almost unbearable chain of
events to helplessly witness, it took
nine years for early onset Alzheimer's
disease to take his life.
Each stage, more devastating, saw
him losing his keys, his way, his boat,
then his car, his ability to recognize
anyone, or anything.
I watched his days become stripped
down to their bare essentials.
Year after year, layer after layer,
he began to disappear from the planet
until he was barely visible at all.
His eyes, once vibrant, were like
looking through milk-glass.
I recall that in an almost instinctive moment
I knew he would go so far one day,
Then no more -
Watching Dad Leave...

Ralph E. Denlinger



Moss Covered Rocks

It's been years since I've seen you,
but I'm still wondering,
if you're ever going to leave...
I can still take a deep breath,
and smell you.
It's as if you're sitting next to me
on that stoop.
The one you left me sitting on,
all those years ago.
This was after you had
whispered your intoxicating charms
like river water rushing over moss
covered rocks.
When the last of my will had floated away
with a falling leaf.
After that, the sacrificial web
was firmly spun,
But all good intent did not
our needs relieve.
So yes, I'm still wondering
If you're ever going to leave...


She noted that his
smile never quite
reached his eyes,
His head seemed
always in a tilt,
He seemed to be
wearing some disguise,
With this, her
heart began to wilt...
image by Vera Atchou


Laced Umbrella
Hovering down in the hollow
I lay in a blanket of leaves,
A beautiful laced umbrella
Holds me from autums breeze,
It's spokes stretch up to the sky
Dressed in beautiful colors of fall,
I want to stay under this laced umbrella
And never leave at all...


The Empty Chair

Sometimes learning how to fly again
is meant to start at ground level.

Sometimes finding the right conversation
needs to begin in a room with an empty chair.

Sometimes to form the right words
we should start by speaking them alone.

Sometimes to move from the empty chair
We simply need to stand and start again. 


Grandma's Willow Tree

It was under Grandma's willow tree
I could always just become me,

It was many summers past and many seasons ago
I'd always run for comfort there - a safe place I could go,

It was there I would flee from all things scarry
And dream of the princes that I would marry,

Many things were wished for there and very large dreams made
I told the tree of big futures and the best of plans were laid,

Her willow winds always blew promises no matter how bleak the day
As I huddled there under her vastness I'd always find my way,

She sat at the rear of the family homestead right on the edge of of town
It never occurred to me growing up that willow would ever come down.

Yet the homestead was sold to the city plus the land upon which everything sat -
Including Grandma's willow tree - bulldozed in the drop of a hat!

Though my memories of that willow tree are nothing short of sublime
What I wouldn't give to sit under her branches just one more time. 


Songs of Life

The songs of life we choose to write

On our piano keys,

Are rife with beautiful choices

Vast possibilities,

As we traverse the keyboard

Like the butterfly,

We must keep flitting from key to key

Headed towards the sky,

For as we flit upon the keys

We will surely be, 

Composing our own songs of life, 

Our special melodies...


The Ghosts Inside
The ghosts inside are just biding their time,
Waiting to jump on the page in our rhymes,
They lie in wait in silent dark sleep,
Then into our thoughts they silently creep,
In our subconscious they play their games,
Digging up memories, igniting our flames,
They slide down our slides and swing on our swings,
And rumble and tumble through all of our things,
They are happy to share in our spurts of gladness,
But particularly productive in our fits of madness,
They sometimes can drive you to a fit of rage,
Then magically appear as words on the page,
The ghosts inside are full of might,
But without them there would be nothing to write.
Awaking Heart

 Did you see your heart get up today

Awaking with the dawn?
And did you see it dancing

Out upon the lawn?

And did it feel warm sunshine

Mingled with the wind?

Or did you leave it lay behind

With nowhere to begin?

Cracked Dreams
She looked out the window
at nothing
thinking of a sky-song
she may have forgotten to sing
in one of her far off
crazy dream-scapes.
She was a moon child then
full of hope and dreams
and plans steeped in
vast pools of her own idealism.
While she happily chirped
her way through her
dream-seeking days
there was yet a sullen greed
in her denials
of all that was
just not going to be achieved.
Things that were
lost to her forever
lay at the bottom
of the well in her mind
refusing to dissipate -
rancid puddles of lost hope
ever dwindling-stagnant.
Now asking if her dreams had
cracked in dry dark shadows
with questions unanswerable
seemed an act of unresolving -
a trope for her own disclosure,
For now, she would just
have to write this off
as just cracked dreams.

Love cannot be measured,

Lest it would have an end,
Love is a straight road to pleasure,

Love's road does not permanently bend.

Love laughs in the face of evil

For evil does not alter,

Love stands erect to spite it,

The evil ever falters.

Love weathers the storms of time,

It's sweet bud seldom bitters,

Reborn in every new flower,

Love's roots will never wither.

Love stands to fight the challenger,

All tempests are met and taken,

Love's forces will not be crumbled

It stands amongst the shaken.

Love lies in the deepest of chambers,

It's depth has never been proved,

But it will defy the remover,

Love is not love, removed.

True love knows no graveyard,

It goes only with souls to the skies,

Forever resisting burial,

Love is not love that dies...
New Moons
Thoughts hang on clouds
of uncertainty...
Emptiness rides in and out
with each new tide...
My heart is the sun
that can dissipate the clouds,
And I look to  new moons
to bring me a reason...
Hold Tight to the Light
How I ask you came to be 
bare and naked in the night?

Dark streets and bricked walls

Are fast reminders of your plight,

Eyes held low, you don't reach out

for something warm to hold,

These city streets and empty heart-beats

have left you feeling cold.

Please hold tight to the light,

It lends a brief respite,

As you dream for better days

In this cold dark night.


We Come To Life

 We come to life expecting nothing

but knowing there is something there,
 And for a while

We seem to have all the seasons

To ourselves.

Now March finds us

still side by side, but crying.

Do you think I’ll say goodbye

and leave you walking lonely

into someone else’s April?

No, if it’s someone else you need

I’ll take you to her first

and say goodbye in May…

The Vagaries of Fate

 A recreational digression
Could be a deadly date,
reconsider challenging
the vagaries of fate.
Look round' the corner

for a deadly turn,

It could get right by you

As reality burns.

Any missed signal

Could mean a road less travelled,

Keep eyes wide open
Lest you come unravelled,

A recreational digression

Could be a deadly date,

Reconsider challenging

The vagaries of fate.

Love is a Paradox
 Love is a Paradosx
of variable kinds,
Love attacked my heart,

until it wasn't mine.

Love brought me a problem,

without a solution,

I swam in a flood

of total mass confusion.

Love became a danger,

without any measure,

Which turned into a sorrow,

instead of a treasure.

Love is a toy top,

spinning round and round,

The force became a power,

that spun me around.

Love is a paradox,

of variable kinds,

It was on the road called "Love",

I came to lose my mind.


Look Through A Window
As a little girl walking to and from school each day
there was a dance studio on the corner of my best friends
(twins) street, a detour we took before i cut over to my street
and we parted ways.
They would often times tire of waiting on me looking endlessly

through the window of that dance studio and they would go on.

You see, I knew from the first time I saw Ms. Daburnet

doing a perfect arabesque at the barre

and moving about that studio in an aerial swan glide,

that this is what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Ms. Daburnet  somehow sensed a need  coming from me beyond
my desire to dance.  She kindly took me under her wing.
Over the years we became very close and she

taught me every style of dance possible, modern jazz

coming to the fore as my favorite.

You see, Ms. Daburnet had gently (and in much nicer terms)

related there was little demand for short stubby ballerinas. But

I learned many "good people" things from my days spent at

that dance studio. Ms. Daburnet even hired me to help out

evenings teaching heel toe, heel toe to screaming 5 and 6 year olds.

That teaches much patience and I learned I didn't have it yet.

The most important thing I did learn during those years is that

going after something, no matter how unimaginable it may seem,

can reap surprise rewards and friendships.

So look through a window,

Find a hidden treasure...

House of Me's
Today I'm going to the
House of Me's
There I will find
All the Me's that I please.
This house has plenty
From which to choose,
There are many me's there
I need to lose.
The many me's will be
Making a speech,
I hope to be learning
a little from each.
So when from the
House of Me's I emerge,
Some of the bad me's
I will have purged.
What Mask?

What mask today
do you choose to wear?

The one that frowns -

the one with flair?

In what world

do you enter today?

The one rife with ails -

A carousel of play?

And what persona

do you wish to carry?

An armored guard -

A free dancing fairy?

Decide you must

as your feet

hit the floor,

It's your choice as you

Walk out that door.

You are in charge

of this your day -

Don't count on tomorrow

To come out and play.


A Karmic Prayer
 Now I lay me down to sleep,
 I pray good souls be in the keep,
 And if I die before I wake,
I pray a good soul I will take,
 To look at all the things to come,
 and finish all the tasks undone.
 Please keep me free in the bright light
 from hearts I've left here in the night.
 Protect the ones still by my side
 to know I'm not afraid to die.
 It's been a trip of many falls,
 One brick to place in many walls.
 I thank all light for what I've learned,
 For those I've loved, the roads I've turned.
 And if my faith was scoured with rage,
 I'll fix it on another page.
 Please give me oh just one more trip,
 To lead me towards a golden ship.
(image by darwin leon "The Great Realization)

Friend - it is coming
They are coming
 We are coming

Or, are we going?

     Embraced in the madness,

     Engulfed in it's sadness,

     Turning in the turmoil,

     Choking on it's thick oil,

     Wearing enormous airs,

     Life's a stage-nobody cares,

     Heirs to ourselves-die and wait,

     Born then re-born-get it straight,

     Tower of Life-salt of the earth,

     Keeper of tributes-nougats of birth

Catch your head in the spin,

Friend, how can we do this again?



I Think of You and Me

I think of you and me
every now and then,

and how we seemed to

slip so easily out from under

the reality of each-others worlds.

It was as if we were trespassing

in some foreign land,

seeking out contentious taboos,

or needing a consensus

of what was acceptable.

We seemed to like turning

things of the heart

into intellectual pursuits,

Fishbone diagrams of life.

In looking back,

I suppose I resented

we never had a proper moment

to become fully formed,

or spilled enough truth on it,

to change the outcome.


Take A Heart

See a rose that never bloomed,
Or blind eyes,

That never saw a sunny day,

Or a voice that never sang a tune,

Turn your head,

But not your heart away.

Take a heavy heart and feel the pain,

Bring a little sadness out of it,

Look upon the feeling as your gain,

When no material thing

Can come of it.

Take a soul

Who never found a body right,

Or a man who never found his place.

Look for the star that never shone at night,

May it bring a sad expression

To you face.

Take a love that never had a chance to grow,

As a tree that never had a limb,

Or a love that's there but cannot show,

Let it make you feel a little dim.

See a man who's ugly in your eyes,

Doing things which you cannot condone,

Let your heart be broad

And ask the reason why,

For no man ever fell the road alone.

Take a heartache, put it on a shelf,

Time will come to conquer as it sits,

As the tides that wash it from yourself,

Take a little beauty out of it.

Look upon a heart that never felt,

As a wave,

That never went to sea,

Be it just as snow that never melts,

Fell sorrow as it sits there placidly.

Look upon these things

Compassion feel.

Take a heart

That's real.


Music Is The Message Of The World

Music is the message of the world
Music is all the world's love unfurled

Music is our truth adorned
Music is a love forlorn-ed

Music is dew dancing on grass
Music is pain waiting to pass

Music is the heart that you show
Music is a note that you know

Music is a universal truth
Music is a  fountain of youth

Music is the sunshine of the day
Music lights the path along our way

Music is a place to put our words
Music is life's stories to be heard

Music brings a child to happy feet
Music finds us dancing in the street

Music has all peoples joining hands
Music has no boundaries in the lands

Music is the message of the world
Music is all the world's love unfurled


Lost Smiles

I am so pleased you've come down those stairs
In your aura of full grace and style
You see, my heart's in need of some tending
And seems to have misplaced it's smiles

Floating downward in your white cloud dress
Dropping rose petals of red all around
Your head barely tilts in the reckoning
Of lost smiles here that need to be found

Smiles are required to help keep my fears
From erupting in anger and flight
There awaits so much more caring you'll see
When wearing my smiles in full sight

And smiles must be worn to bring back to life
The soft and warm heart that I hide
So please hold my hand and together we'll gather
Lost smiles walking here side by side....


O' Full Moon

O' Full Moon I plead to you tonight.
Come shine some love down on this madness.
Short-circuit the world's howls
into musical memoirs of agreement
Display great heaps of tidal motion
toward tortured inner lights
and tragic miens that are the
conditions that exist here.
Turn sullen darkness into light
washing madness into moving sands
on distant shores and into rolling seas.
Let moon beams rain down in
gold ribbons of bravery and all good light
blanketing these wounds with healing warmth
strength and love, crawling on and on
in one glowing golden contagion.


Unfinished Symphony...
The symphony of sincere hypocrisy
has immobilized me in a prison
of my own construction.

Curious contradictions
invade my melody
and lay my smiles down
in a field of tired dreams.

Acoustic communications
are strumming loudly
at my heartstrings
smoking up the windows
in my soul.

Quiet resurrections begin
from behind closed eyes,
Tears float away in stagnant pools

Unfinished Symphony...


A Story...

Seems that you've now seen me
in all my seasons...
Have I ever told you
Who I really am?
Just one small shell in a sea
of thousands
Who strayed too far from the safety
of my coral cave
And washed upon a dry and sandy shore
When the tides were high
and the winds of the sea were blowing promises.
Out of the safety of the sea
drowning in summer then....
Never seeing danger
Nestled under sunlit crystal seas.
Pausing only to wonder
if the tides would ever reach me
long enough or strong enough
to ease me into currents leading back
to coral caves.

Seems I stayed in summer forever,
Feeling that the hand that plucked me
from the sandy beach
Would hold me long enough to see what lay inside
curled tight within a slightly worn shell,
That which had stayed hidden away
from the fury of the sea in which it lived.
Feeling too that once nestled to an ear
so much in need of awakening sounds,
My ocean would roar
like none other they had ever heard,
And I would produce the sounds of tidal waves
Thrashing life upon an anxious shore,
And I would be worth the keeping
And I would even want to stay forever.

I found myself alone in fall.....
Maybe I had stayed in summer too long.
Now ventured far from protective shells,
Nor curled up neatly in my coral cave
I wondered alone in search of my shell,
Somewhat worn and over-exposed,
Wanting just to crawl back in
to dream of coral caves.
The searching proved endless, mile after mile
of lonely beach I searched
Making various dunes a temporary home
To nurse my fleeting faith
and lend a sense of shelter.

It was winter and many miles behind
Cool winds blew only fury in the promises
I knew would never come to life to dance
Upon the sunlit crystal seas I had memorized,
Somewhere in the distance I caught a glimpse   
Of the shell I'd left behind.....

I hurried with new hope to catch it, to end the searching.
Struggling as never before I fought to get inside
and end my journey.
Thinking I had gained nothing
for all the changing seasons
and new found scars called life.
I tried with all my strength to make it fit; to put myself
within reach of the safety I once knew there
and make my way back to coral caves....
but I only found my original shell
to be too small....for I had grown
beyond self imposed limits now lost along the way.
And so, I grab still for particles of fleeting faith,
and  look to spring winds blowing promises
upon sunlit crystal seas
And wonder how long I'll stay in spring,
and if I'll ever tell you
Who I really am.


Even Though...

I watched you sleep,
Enveloped in a peace you seldom knew,
An unconscious hideaway
Where one day rolled in to another,
Where you found such little shelter
..........and I loved you so,
..........even though I didn't want to.

I had learned to read love
in your sometimes distant ways,
I knew how I felt waking up
With you next to me,
Your arms were my home,
..........I loved how I fit there,
..........as though I was meant to.

We had tried to walk away
more than one time.
Our feet always seemed to stick in the ground,
Like poles in concrete.
Love ran underground in us like water,
Justified by the terror
of maybe not being together anymore,
..........afraid of looking at or through
..........transparent eyes.

I did not mean to clutter your life
with my own,
To allow my need for you
To encourage selfishness and make it grow.
I did not add myself to your life
so that you must divide yourself,
..........I only meant to love you
..........even though I didn't want to.

But we'd always believed in fairy tales,
And even looked for magic where there was none,
But as much as we had become deformed by dreams
Our love had become deformed by reality
.......... And so it was, we said good-bye
..........even though we didn't want to.


Your Canvas

Even as you've gathered all the necessary
"materials" for your construction
There is an ingratiating obeisance
in the neutrality of your
so called truth.

Picking life like oils
from a palette,
Those you feel truly worthwhile
and worthy of commitment.

Who could hope to penetrate
the torpid resistant fog
that is your mind?

Shallow actions make deep words
paradoxically counterfeit.

Your canvas is inviting
and has the appearance
of a true work of art.

But rather than take my chances
With randomness and chaos
I withhold.


Your love was paralyzing
I ached for more and more
I'd never had this feeling
So deep within my core
I can't say what it was
That made it so intense
A shared spirituality?
Too strong? Too immense?
Linked by the universe
In a different place and time?
How else to explain
This feeling so sublime.
A complete and certain transparency
Keeps nothing tucked inside
It's all in the open - nowhere to hide.
A face that isn't speaking
Still has a lot to say
When everything it's thinking
Can not be wiped away.
It becomes an honest monster
Sucking at your blood
And before you can stop it
You're drowning in the flood.
Your love was paralyzing
I ached for more and more
But in the end
It sent me sadly
Slipping out the door


What Face, You?

What Face, You?
Is it the face you wear
when you greet a day
of sky-scrapers and space-rockets?
Or the one gazing at a whale
flexing it's mighty tale
while a porpoise plays nearby?

What Face, You?
Could it be the face you don
Watching the ones you love
The ones who can trust your heart?
Or is it the face that turns
only to gaze
at chilly meadows and gray streams?

What Face, You?
Is it the face
That follows the eagles flight
in peace, comfort, and freedom?
Or is it the one
burning with a tempestuous desire
to stare into a raging fire
of injustice, rage and fear?

What Face, You?
Is it the one that turns
to bend and drop a tear
When backs are turned
and no one is looking?'
Or is is the one that stands
to stare down
the alleyways of peril
The fiercest enemy
The one most recognizable.



Black Hole Sun

Many of the small bits
that clog our minds
have never touched us.
Many of the places
we don't remember being,
have formed the very core
of who we are.
Many of the gaps
between what we perceive
and the outside world,
can not be bridged.
Many of those we reach out to
were not engulfed in our lifetime,
but only in a moment.
Many are the non-committal understandings,
Understanding nothing.



I Searched

I  searched for you
In so many corners
of so many rooms
And the searching
Had proven me wrong

Until you came to me
With that which is
gentle and strong

You never said too
much too me
But yet, you showed
me how
I know you can't
hold me forever,
But I'm glad
You're holding me now.


Follow the Star

Follow the star that dwells in yourself

Stay with the heart that is beating.

Dreams won't survive on a dusty shelf,

With desires that forever are fleeing.

Follow the sun that rises inside

The one that some may not see,

It leads you to where you really abide,

Where Peace waits to set you free.


Hearts Defying Time

Hearts defying time
we didn't know
We were light
Choking on hello
No conversation
Counting years
Sailing back
On forgotten tears
Misty memories
In the wind
Planes to nowhere
Where we had been
Standing silently
Me and you
Strangers now
The day is through....


I Wonder 
I wonder if the sun ever hungers
For the night it left behind,
Or is it just in cool darkness
We come to see the light again?

I wonder why my eyes can't learn
To hide the sudden fears,
Or does courage desert  me
As loneliness descends?

I wonder why I want to stay
To feel as I have felt at other times,
Am I struggling to preserve
The frail integrity of a distant day?

I wonder why the rote demands
and ritual hands
Arise to choke me,
Or are roots and destination
Crawling over yesterday?

I wonder if the sun ever hungers
For the night it left behind.





I looked in the mirror
and the mirror provided me
with a glimpse
of a place I had not been yet.

In the mirror there seemed to be
a voice asking for attention,
And it seemed that what I knew
was becoming embarrassed
by what I did not.

In the mirror
there was a condition
that seemed to be happening
without my permission.
I wanted to climb into that face
and observe the experience
without really having it.

We can trim our desires,
but they grow back.
The mirrors in our soul
will tear apart our clocks,
or turn our battlefields green.



When does the tide of unreasonable anger
start boiling up inside you with terrible minded

Is it when you try to protect yourself from
mysterious contradictions of love, hate, and fear?
Is that when love, hate and fear dispatch themselves
into a single meaning?

Survival is stark, necessary and routine.
Outrage and grief will have to come later.

The contradictions after-all, may be
the clearest path to truth.




Some days we don't  recognize
each other at all...
We search through the colors
for one to identify with
Some too bright
Some too light
And the dark ones
They don't seem to fit
A thought we catch
But things don't match
And so, we sit...


When Towering Psyches

When towering psyches have
scourged us
And left us bleeding in the
sullen darkness of our souls

When waves answering the lust
of our moons
Have spat us upon the coldness
of a lonely shore

When we are dizzy
with the mad motion
of our little worlds
and our depths begin to boil
our surfaces crumble

When we have spewed out
all our stored up rage
upon the innocent
Then, we will reach for another hand
And scream for love.



Simple Pleasures
I remember when the world
Was made just for me,
A big awesome playground
Full of simple pleasures,
Like swinging from Grandma's
willow tree,
or baking mud pies in her old stove,
Jumping out of Uncle Fred's hay loft,
Teasing that big black bull he used to have.
That's when 4th of July meant
Pies and cakes at family reunions,
When people still celebrated
their independence.
And the only problem I had
was that my Tiny Tears doll
got broken and she couldn't
cry real tears anymore.
Then I remember when the world
was made just for my love and me,
A big awesome world to walk
In love and anticipation,
Like having a talk under Grandma's
willow tree,
Or baking him a cake in her old stove,
Necking in Uncle Fred's hay loft,
Ignoring that big black bull he used to have.
That's when 4th of July meant
Taking a slow walk by the creek,
Ducking out of family reunions,
Declaring our own independence,
And the only problem I had
Was convincing Dad that I
wouldn't turn into a pumpkin
after midnight.
And now I've but to remember
When the world was made just for me.
Time in the guise of progress
Came to claim life's simple pleasures.
A new library sits on top of Grandma's
willow tree,
And God only knows what happened
to that old stove.
The hay loft came down,
Uncle Fred died,
And so did that big black bull he used to have.
There's no more family reunions
on the 4th of July,
and they don't make Tiny Tears dolls anymore.
They buried that old stream
under a super highway,
And that old love is buried there too.
And all the old things are
turning brand new...
Simple pleasure come early,
And leave too soon.


David Foster
David Foster was in my class in 3rd grade,
David had polio braces on both legs,
At recess bullies would call David peg leg,
It was then with David I would always stay,
David Foster was not afraid of bullies,
but he couldn't really do anything with ease,
David, he couldn't even sit on the swings,
but he made me a fine necklace
out of Dandelions and leaves,
Kids said David was a sight for sore eyes,
He didn't wear clothes that matched,
or slicked back hair,
The bullies would mock him when he came in the room,
but David, he'd always smile
as if he didn't care.
I really don't remember much about school
back then...
But David Foster,
I can still remember as my friend.
I Saw My World

Part I

I saw my world today - it was filled with people trying
to be people - predictable situations - predictable people.

And me, just as predictable as they - in this world.

I wondered how we were when we climbed trees, chased snakes,

and dreamed a lot.

Before the greed leaked in - before we became really smart

and got good jobs….. so we could become real people.

I wondered, are we satisfied - or are we lonely people

Weeping for our toys?

Part II

I saw my world today - it was filled with security -

A sanctuary with all the trimmings - Protected by instinct, yet,

restricted by vision - I am a part of this world as well - Yet scarcely free,

Limited by my own expectations.

I wondered if security becomes sameness - And a fear of postponing life.

I fear I can’t disappear here in this security...

After all, there is only me,

And I still dream a lot.

Part III

I saw my world today - it was filled with people - Being People.

There are winds and oceans, poetry and music, strength,

And joys within. There is a fullness -

Fullness brings people irreplaceable.

Refusing just to watch the show and ask no more.

There remains a yearning for all of life in these people.

Here, The Dream Lives.





No Parade

No parade for eyes now filled with silent suffering,

Eyes that occupy the space where a child once lived.

No parade for innocence lost never to live again,

Innocence chewed up in savage hunger, sucking childhood’s dry.

No parade for patriot warriors jeopardizing life in quarrel to it’s opposition -

Now left to quarrel with life itself - demanding meaning.

No parade for the dreams of boys ripened with anguish and pain,

Dreams that became nightmares in yet another world of mystery.

No parade for the pride that fought to live amidst the horror,

And returned to fight sullenness and scorn for approval and acceptance.

No parade for those that endured because they were - and were not afraid.

Only to be spat out on the coldness of the land they called home.

No parade for the struggles that ended in the bowels of a smoke filled jungle,

Or struggles that continue tin the bowels of indifference and anesthesia.

No parade




The Air is Seedy

The air is seedy and the sky is somewhere else

Although I see the same metallic reflections that are me.

Melancholy follows in my search for the sun,

That in a wrinkled opinion

I may never find.

Automated personnel can’t see me

Braving perils in undesignated areas.

Symbolic archetypes only pretend to be depraved,

But still evoke some old and treasured self.

Those last remnants of free-spirited nonchalance

And euphoric summers -

Lurk like disconnected merriment.



Every Now and Then
Every now and then
you still come
Tiptoeing across my psyche
Striking those same
coquettish chords
That used to leave me
Crying in my plate.
Every now and then
I still visit the jungle
Where elephants used to stampede
across my heart..
But now I mark my trail
with pebbles of reality,
And I leave before dark
So I can find my way out....

Once We Tried
Once we tried to say something
out loud.
But words were stones
lodged in our hearts.
Our eyes became transparent,
Afraid of unedited feelings.
The distance to come
between us
Carried it's own justification.

Orgasms of Gloom
Orgasms of gloom convulse the world
Follow your bell-button
to the green pasture.
Shave the feelings off your heart,
There's no where to end
and there's no where to start.
Just do the things  that
you were shown,
and don't let the things
become your own.
Feed on the fruits you
don't want to keep,
Because the world taught us
that life is cheap.
Abandon your history - meet
in the fire,
On a low road and a high wire
you'll quench your desire.
Stay out of the sunshine
and stand in the rain,
What hides within the anger
pays for the pain.
Walls burn, changes turn, leaving
you naked and bare
Appoint someone other than you
to be the one to care.
Buy another record upon
which people sing
About the ultimate resignation
that living brings.
Life could be a party
You forgot to attend
While your days hung in the
balance - and you were
on the mend.
And for an instant
it will all seem real,
Despite the fantasy
and the ill-fated deal.

The Sound of Sadness
The sound of sadness lies
over the land
Haunted by the memory of a
lost paradise
Dreams flow down swift
rolling waters
forever in search of a world
that's departed.
We use our forces and
we're so tough
Acting on empty screens
with vacant looks
We'll soon have to admit
we've had enough
The march of tears from
hollow eyes begins.
And as our towering psyches
scourge us
We bleed in private
Only from one side of our soul
The mad mad motion of one world
Has left us cold and lonely
On a distant shore.

We Come To Life
We come to life expecting nothing
but knowing there is something there,
And for a while
We seem to have all the seasons
To ourselves
Now March finds us
still side by side, but crying.
Do you think I'll say goodbye
and leave you walking lonely
into someone else's April?
No, if it's someone else you need
I'll take you to her first
and say goodbye in May.......
Tomorrows are all new days
that swallow illusions of the past,
The past then is but an illusion
that could swallow your tomorrows.





It seems in looking back I may have seen you there even as a child
Somehow knowing the need, like the road, would be long and bumpy..
I'll bet that was you hiding in the rose bud embroidered on my pinafore...
the one that always seemed to bloom alive to dance and sing just for me.
And I'll bet you were the one sitting right there on my shoulder disguised
in the souls of our likeness....and I just know that imaginary friend I used
to tell my secrets to in the attic was really you....
Had I turned my hand, I probably could have seen you there
in my own palm.

But it was many years and tears before we stood face to face looking
at ourselves as though the house of mirrors had produced us both on the spot.
And in one big puff of magic we suddenly had shot out of a time capsule,
seemingly knowing we had been together all the while.

We've dined on each other's laughter
, swallowed each others pain, given
each other laughter, given each other pain....Clouds called life try to
rain demons under the doors of our hearts....the demons sometimes trying
oh so very hard to occupy the space in the room of our friendship.

But love demands recognition...she appears in every mirror of your mind....
peaks around every corner...bumps into you at every doorway,
exorcises the demons.

And so we remain....and even though the miles may separate us on the
roads we've yet to travel, we'll still be riding piggy-back on each other's
hearts....just as it was, even as a child....



For Natalie


All my life I've dealt with boys
snakes and dirt instead of toys
They knew my first name in the local ER
Big wheels stuck on toes,  hair stuck in tar
I had two of my own that were wild as boars
Then I remarried and I got two more
But then to my happy and wondering surprise
A son and daughter in law pregnant before my eyes!
I paced in that birthing room fro and back,
Here came the baby,,,,,beautiful "Jack"!
I loved him so much I'll have to say,
Girls just didn't matter on that wonderful day.
But a couple years later they "blossomed" once more -
I said, I'm not even going through that girl door!
But of course the "frills" were in the back of my mind,
And here came "Natalie", ONE of a kind!
I honestly didn't know quite how to react
I thought I might break her as a matter of fact,
I bought dolls and pink blankets and girly things of all manner
I even bought a how to do girls Grammy planner,
I made up a room full of  girly and more,
They loved to see me coming at the baby store!
But as time passed we began to see through the joys,
The frill girl started acting just like the boys!
I needn't have stocked up on all that pink lace,
Cause we  got us a Tom-girl with a green snake face.




Boys are safer tucked in their beds,
But that's not what boys are made for -
Boys don't get colds with hats on their heads,
But that's not what boys are made for -
Boys look real neat with shoes on their feet
But that's not what boys were made for -
So forget the bed,
the hats on the head
the shoes on the feet
and all things neat
And remember what boys were made for....





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All rights reserved by DiAnne's Scribbles Poetry :  © 2014 DiAnne Ebejer
Permission is required to copy or disburse any content of DiAnne's Scribbles Poetry.
www.facebook.com/diannes.scribbles   author page on Facebook



When I think about the fact that 
I've sentenced myself to this separateness,
It seems I must turn inside out
to the place in my heart that still

wants so desperately to feel connected. 

As I look around at every tree, 
every leaf, each and every blade 
of grass trying to make it,
I'm reminded that certain things 
are needed and must be taken
for survival.

We are bruised and so is the world,
We go on because me must,
We are taller than our grief,
More forgiving than our anger,
Capable of more mercy than malice.

There will be no miracles,
No trumpets or marching bands,
Only reconnecting 
to goodness and kindness,
A thoughtful gesture,
A day when the lion
finally lies down with the lamb. 

Many words are 
left trapped in the dark
until we are brave enough
to set them free.

Find my way…

Play me a song cause' I've forgotten the chords,

Write me a tune cause' I've run out of words,

Build me a road cause I've veered off my way,

Turn on the lights, make the night go away,

I know it seems that I'm asking a lot,

But then again, you may be all that I've got.

So tell me that you can remember the chords,

Pick up the pen and write down the words,

Build me a road out of old bricks and stone,

And please hold the light til' I find my way home.

image by Hossein Zare


Chance of Rain

I think my heart
may rain today
I’m waking  heavy
with the blues -

The sun came bursting
through my window
but all I could see
were visions of you -

Perhaps it was
the dream I had
that rode the sunshine
into dawn -

Now clouds are forming
round my heart
and you’re refusing
to be gone -




It comes and stays for just a while,
Although it comes from where
we do not know,
We think we see a person inside a smile
But time is oh so fast and we are slow.

There may have been a realness there inside
In all the movement of a written play,
But it was necessarily out of script,
And didn't seem the worry of the day.

When hands are touched yet eyes
are glued apart,
And all the pieces of the game
Are put away,
Just losing then becomes the abstract art
To ponder on some other lonely day.




adjective, lone·li·est. lone-li-er
affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone; lonesome.
 Loneliness is uttering a cry from the depths of your core
and seldom if ever getting a response.
Only loneliness may hold the ruling omnipotence
as the cruelest emotion of them all.
Never warm inside looking out, loneliness thrives only
on the frigid outside longing for a way in.
Ever the demon, loneliness wears the face that
reminds you of all that is missing.
Loneliness is never having to say you're happy.
In loneliness you hear only silence above the laughter,
see only darkness on the pathway to light.
Never-ending herculean struggles ensue just
to face loneliness in each new day.
Endless replays in a world of sorrow and isolation
facilitate a wayward drift into the well of depression.
Stark as winter trees, the vision in the world of
loneliness is barren of all fullness and color.
Shadow eyes, always outstretched, always
out-cried, leave bare the soul of loneliness.
© 2013 DiAnne Ebejer
image "Girl on Seine" by Davide Mainardi



Wrote You On Paper
Wrote you on paper
Threw it away,
I'll have to write this story
On a different day.
Rings of fire burning
all around my heart,
Pen rests in my hand
with no where to start.
Wrote a love word
turned it to rage,
And all that is falling
are tears on the page. 
Wrote you on paper
But it was a no go. 
I'll have to wrtie this story
When the scars don't show.


I used to think happiness was having a Tiny Tears doll and watching her
beautiful lashed eyes slowly opening and closing, crying "real tears"' as
I held her close to comfort her.
In the city, it was Christmas storefront displays; the children turning round and
round, their happy faces aglow with the anticipation of all that was to come.
This brought a sense of happiness and warmth flowing over me; a child myself.
Back then I could always find happiness under Grandma's giant willow tree
where I would seek solace from the raw world buzzing outside it's boundaries,
and maybe get a big warm piece of blueberry pie with ice cream.
Soon happiness took the form of a quirky little caterpillar who took up residence
within me struggling ever so hard to free itself from it's cocoon in an effort to
discover the wonders of "puppy love".
Later a beautiful butterfly of first love would burst upon the scene and happiness
would blossom into full bloom and would become sneaking out of family reunions to
hold hands and steal kisses behind Uncle Fred's barn oblivious to the world around us.
And so happiness continued to take it's form in learning and self discovery, family,
friendships, lovers, children, grandchildren and the many special events intertwined
with all of these. Funny how many times perceptions of happiness change in one lifetime.
But isn't it grand that no matter the unhappiness we may experience, there exists a pathway to look back and rediscover the many recollections of happiness. Not always easy to remember; not always easy to do.

The Heads
Sometimes listening closely to the silence
She came to accept she was listening to
dual natures – The Heads.
While she craved honesty in herself
she encountered amongst the heads
a gypsy and a fool and would retreat
with rebellious and mutinous spirit.
She had found these thinking sessions
were becoming a paradoxical Mardi Gras
of jabbering heads –
All leaving her with a nagging question –
What would they be saying
If they were really saying something?
Or maybe she was just not really
listening to any thoughts
But the ones already fixed there.
The future, after all,
should not be so difficult to
bring into the spectrum of focus,
When the past, uninvited,
offers itself up so easily.
image by Greg Dale NYC
for National Geographic
    Dance With Me?
He didn't like Valentines Day,
It served as a blatant reminder
of big red beating hearts,
He had been bleeding black
since he walked away
from the only women
he had ever truly loved.
Now all these years later,
Shapes of her dancing
a perfect waltz,
assemble in his mind,
then dissolve,
getting weaker each year,
but no less piercing.
Now he sees those days
as wasteful, sad and tragic...
times that changed the whole
course of his life - and maybe hers.
She loved him then - he knew.
But while everyone else was
living, dancing, moving...
He had left her,
Without ending the dance,
or even mentioning
that he loved her.
(image by B. Lanker for Nat'l Geo)


"I once thought I could make the hurt stop by pretending it wasn't there"...


She was disgusted as she sat the girl
hard on the chair so she could finish
primping her hair

The Mother, already fat on Manhattans
started at noon,
Impatient for the intrusion,
Only wanting the babysitter 
to quickly arrive.

Oh the shadows of childhood, 
When all the small child wanted
was someone to sit her in their lap,
And softly whisper her name.


The girl had been lifting her beliefs
high against the rising tide of reality
all her life. 

She wrote hauntingly accurate 
depictions of her struggle - 
All about her search 
for simple intimacy.

It had begun with a longing, 
A longing for the tender touch 
of The Mother, 
A cheer for any accomplishment, 
large or small.

From there the stage was set 
for the ongoing struggles, 
And the story played out 
in a series of complex tales
of make believe winning, 
and yes, some real losses.

She learned we are all damaged
by what breaks us. 
That hurt leaks through our cracks,
And it is how we mend them, 
Again and again, that matters.

She learned her dress was 
never going to be as pretty, 
And she might be marred up 
a little bit more each time,
But if she didn’t get up, 
And get back on the wobbly bike,
She just wasn’t going to go


Inner Time
The passage of my inner time 
is as footprints in the snow behind me.
I try not to revisit them,
or look back as new ones
blur their memory.
Fear of the unknown
and my need for clarity
put me on a path in tall trees,
who's end would seem to be 
And yet, the bits and pieces 
gathered along the way
would weave themselves 
into a whole with no more room
for divided love.
The fabric of my soul 
would lead me through 
the tall trees,
focusing only on those 
footprints that lie ahead,
on the path of knowing 
the choosing of my inner time -
and where it may lead me.



Image by Will Bullas

available at fineartamerica.com

Finish Line
It was during a moment of self reflection
she thought about all the time she had
wasted wandering around in scenes
she might not have belonged in.

Acting in plays she had not been
properly cast - inserting herself
into places she thought she was
supposed to be,
As if it was just the natural
progression of things.

Now she had become acutely aware
of how it felt to watch these scenes
fade and disappear into the night.
In what act had the blue skies begun
to turn grey?
Perhaps before starting a new meal,
She should have finished what was
on her plate.
Perhaps she had raced across too
many finish lines without having
really left the gate?


Summer Shower

Tonight these southern skies
are grey with the promise
of an evening shower.

Looking at the slow movement
of the low stratus clouds,
they seem to be opening their arms
to the coming wind. 

I think that is won't be long now
before the migratory birds
make their way across this sky,
and yet another season
will have come and gone.

I try not to focus on the 
voids of the past, but the 
possibilities I see for the future.

I breathe in the fresh smell 
of the summer rain
And am renewed once again.


Without Faith

Staring into the face of chaos
and what we may perceive to be
irrational adversity,
It's not hard to stumble into
a crisis of faith.

Looking out into the beauty and
the vastness of the mighty blue
ocean I wonder if an exploration of inner faith
is in order.

Not to seek answers about a specific
"Almighty" in an organized faith,
But an abstract seeking of spirituality
only on the inside.

It seems everything we lay eyes on
takes dramatic life-and-death conflict,
turning it into florid imagery,
bringing only the ugly
to the screens that surround us.

Is it any wonder then, that
our fires to adapt ourselves to
anything good
eventually blow out?

These visions are water
on our candle flame,
dampening our spirits,
drowning our hopes,
putting cracks in our faiths.

Without faith there is no way
to make it through this journey.
The exploration must begin
for the candle to burn bright
inside us once again.



The Clue 

You know what I really
wanted you to do?
I wanted you to look
for the hidden clue,
I wanted you to search
until your were blue,
Until you finally saw
That the clue was in you,
I thought when you were
faced with it,
That you would be free,
To let go and feel
and be what you could be.
I saw you in there
and that’s why I stayed,
And even took part,
In the games
that were played,
But I suppose,
I really always knew
That you would
never find the
clue that was you. 


Soul Chaser

Even a soul chaser may have
cause to stray the plan,
An elusive butterfly might say
"Catch me if you can".

Sometimes broken stones on the path,
put shadows in the light,
Turning all bright auras
into colors of the night.

Gloom is not a happy visitor,
It brings sadness and a frown, 
It can put you in a well ,
Always looking down.

Do not fret, look to the sun,
Reaching up for the sky,
It's here you will chase your soul again,
And catch your butterfly...

Dancing Paper Ladies
Dancing paper ladies
and trees made of words
dance across the pages
in the night,

Soon they will fold
right into the pages,
Making stories come to life
By morning's light.



Tip of the Moon

I'm gonna take a trip
away from the city,
Fly straight above me
where it's calm and it's pretty,
Hang a little swing 
on the tip of the moon,
Won't plan to come back
anytime soon.
Up there pretty stars
live in colored bubbles,
And you can talk to birds
about all your troubles,
I'm just gonna swing
til' my heats content,
Talk to the birds
til' my words are all spent,
And when I'm done 
I'll write a brand new tune,
And come down from my swing
on the tip of the moon. 


Paper Tree Nook

I think I'd like to live in a book
Build a little house
in a paper tree nook
Hang a little light 
outside my door
Stay inside and write poems
for ever-more.



 Our Frail Existence
Unravelling the mystery of our frail existence, 

 The erasure of one self

 and the creation of another,
A spectral glimpse of something 

 not yet quite a scene,

 A yearning for the commonplace

 to bloom into the sublime,

 As the caterpillar

 to the beautiful butterfly.

 Freely flitting in a field of yellow

 in absence of all we are bound by.

 Shapes assembling - then dissolving

 into visions of roads

 we've yet to travel.

 What cannot be seen

 Will eventually define us,

 And we will be pleased

 Unravelling the mystery of our frail existence.
Fallen Angel

So comes the long, dark and lonely night

To swathe the fallen angel 
In a dark and mist draped moon light,

And there she'll hover in black cold silence

As if was meant to reign as evil's pawn,

But hopefully she awaits the coming of the light

Arriving in a new and hopeful dawn.



Porcelain Doll
I'm thinking I'd like to be
a Porcelain Doll,
Sit on a shelf
near a windowed wall.
The sun could shine in
upon my face,
Shining rays of warmth,
on my dress of lace.
I could just sit here
and watch the day,
Hear the birds chirping
and children at play.
I'd be fixed here -
a stationary part,
No one could make me real,
or rain on my heart.
You see, if I was just
a Porcelain Doll,
Then I wouldn't ever
have to cry at all.
I'd just sit here,
Near this windowed wall,
And I wouldn't have to feel
anything at all...

The Girl in the Mary-Jane Shoes?
She dreamed of her often - 
On this day she was sitting on the steps

looking at her black Mary-Jane shoes,

And as she slowly arose from

those high stone steps,

she would be on a cobbled pathway

leading to a thatch roofed cottage

hovered in high bands

of huge pink and green hydrangea

and fragrant confederate ivy.

Despite her anxiety of mind

and childish hesitation,

she would find the old wooden door

open and welcoming -

And she would enter into a world

of timeless beauty

and wondrous warmth.

The sun was filling the room

reflecting light off highly polished

antiques - the air was

bursting with the aroma

of fresh cut flowers that were

surrounding her on all sides.

There was a small round table

neatly set with blue and white Meissen plates,

sparkling glasses and the finest of cutlery.

Soon a young girl entered

from a darkened corner dressed

in a fine lace dress

and black Mary-Jane shoes.

The little girl in the black Mary-Jane shoes

Was Her!

She was jolted hard by this vision,

Realising suddenly she was still on the high stone steps,

Still looking at her Mary-Jane shoes.

Sitting on a Beach
Sitting on a beach
somehow changed,
I sift my fingers through cool sand
but see no shells,
I stare intensely at the sea
But see no life in the waves,
Sandpipers seem to have
taken their leave forever,
And where are the sand crabs
poking heads out of small holes in the sand?
Sea grapes lie limply on the beach path,
Tall grass seems still in the wind,
I look through the cumulus clouds
No gulls appear,
Looking through other eyes,
I used to see so much.
Love in Simplicity
Let us love in simplicity
only laced together by the air.
Let our treasury of expresion
bring a trust we naturally share.
Let love take us on a journey away from today
and wrap us in memories
only of our own making, in our own way.
Let us never search for diversions
passing briefly with the wind,
But know that what's worth having
is always that which deeply lies within.
Let us love in simplicity
only laced together by the air.
Tripping Over Hello's

I can't remember exactly
when it was I quit thinking
That I had loved you...
It only became real
When I ran into you
A few years later,
And realised
That I had forgotten
what you looked like.
We tripped over our hello's
and then started in with the
usual how are you's...
In your eyes
I saw a sadness,
As if something
had been plucked from them.
I wondered if you were seeing
that same thing in my eyes as well.
It had been a few years, afterall,
Maybe that's just what time does to our eyes then
Plucks out some of the happiness...
(Dedicated to Sharon who lost her twin . Image by Akaeya Lovely)


Every day I wonder why

Why you had to say good-bye

And when I see a dragonfly

See it fluttering towards my eye

I know it's you just passing by

Passing by to just say Hi...

My thoughts were heavy
in the early day,
I went walking
to pass time away,
Hands in my pockets
wind in my hair,
Everything was moving
but the thoughts that were there,
I saw the sun shining
on a window pane,
Through the blurr in my eyes
that had started to rain,
Reflecting back seeing
the way things had gone,
Some of them right
some of them wrong,
Children there playing
were wearing no shoes,
Guilt leaked in
to tromp on my blues.
Young lovers passed me
hand in hand,
I thought of that moment
when love is so grand,
An old couple helping
each other along,
We all are just looking
for a place to belong,
I turned around slowly
Started for home,
Felt somewhat lighter
A bit less alone,
The old church bell
was beginning to chime,
And I’d found my way
just one more time…



City Called Sedentary
There's a city called Sedentary
Where you cast off all your dreams,

It's all very reasonable,

And it's all what it seems.

Time rolls only in hours and days,

Solaces are few,

It's a khaki colored existense,

You can tolerate it too.

The streets are lined with caution signs,

A warning that you heed,

Quiet discontent becomes

The food on which you feed.

There's a city called Sedentary

Where you cast off all your dreams,

It's all very reasonable,

And it's all what it seems...


Easy Friend


Have I lost my easy friend?
The one I've had since childhood
in a ritual of all that is predictable?

Has my heart become too wrinkled now?

To feel any life but only through squinted

eyes that are my own?

Am I weeping only for my own toys?

And the sudden despair of fragile

hopes forever lost?

I've memorized my easy friend -

upon demand and when needed,

The strength of the chain

never yielding - always holding fast.

I do not want to walk

terrified and alone,

Haunted by my wins and sins,

Making fruitless points to no one.

I need my easy friend,

who know my words before I speak,

And puts that stamp of love

on my soul.

No, I have not lost my easy friend.

One can not lose an easy friend...

They are forever tattooed on the heart.
Another Night

Another night is melting into morning,

He's probably sleeping now,

Waiting for the dawn,

When the sun will bring another day,

Rolling into that fragile province of a mind,

that always seemed to know so little peace.

The last time I saw him -

(It has been such a long time),

He seemed so familiar to me,

It was somehow threatening,

But defined and honest.

That's because we were not here now

to contaminate one another,

with our own confusion -

To allow some need

to encourage collective myths.

Feelings are sealed

neatly beyond each others reach.

The parts we play,

Are not in each others lives.

Have we escaped the pollution?

Did we avoid a disaster?

Or was it that we didn't have

enough life to exchange,

Enough love to pay

for something we may have wanted?



Born on the wings

of a Seagull,

I've loved up and down my lifetime,

and wished away too many days,

Resisting those

who would turn my wings to steel.

I've washed myself in the sea

a thousand times...

And still emerged

with insidious all...

Blood on the Page

Poets freaking -
Not speaking...

Writers shrieking -

Blood on the Page -

My heart is bleeding -

What am I reading?-

Where is the Love?

So much Rage!

Please make it rain -

Buckets and pails!

Wash away Hate -

too many ails!

Poets freaking -

Not speaking...

Writers shrieking -

Blood on the Page

You'd Be Back

There was a separate place

I went in my head when

I thought of you,

A place dangerous and

beautiful all at the

same time.

But, I didn't dare let you

know how much -

I thought it would scare you -

like it scared me.

You see, I felt,

in your leaving

you'd find out how much

you really wanted to stay.

I knew you'd be back_____

And what would I say

if I saw you now?

Would I tell you

"Oh, the kids would have

loved you."

"We would have been cool

together all these years"

No, that adventure was

left behind.

I wouldn't tell you

one more time

how much I loved you.

So it is...

So it is and should be said

we need to come to terms
with this world and it's discontents.

So it is we need to accept the two halves of ourselves,

and that we continually suppress one

at the expense of the other.

So it is that we should accept

these myriad contradictions

as being a normal condition of life.

So it is we can't live definitively,

as we are shown that

Only death is definitive.

So it is we can't suppress our feelings.

for that would smoke up all the windows

In our living souls.

So it is we find we can't be really free

If our freedom has to come

from someone else.

So it is...




  So Many
So many steps, so many roads,
They multiply as we go down
each and every one.
So many people, so many places,
They zoom in and out of our lives
like little lost pieces of those
big picture puzzles.
So many trials, so many hurts,
So many joys, so many sorrows,
So many cars, so many houses,
So many friends,
So many strangers.
So many changes, so many years,
So many triumps, so many fears,
So many memories,
So much we forget.
So many nights we can not sleep
So many things we did not keep,
So many things that we discard,

When we are forced to be so hard.
So many tombs we fill with out rage
Too many so manys going down on this page.
Dusted Off Words

These dusted off words lie in wait for the placing

They fell through a hole in my heart long ago

I can find no path from the floor to the paper

I'm afraid their journey from here will be slow

Recycled memories are still ripe for the taking

To twist, turn and re-shape into poems and prose

But that's now a journey they've grown weary of making

Words tire on a path that everyone knows

So what to do with these dusted off words

As they lie in wait for the placing?

Just shove them back through that hole in my heart

To await the slow death they've been facing


Land of Happy Auras

I've grown weary of negative auras
Sour words leave a bad taste in the room of my heart

Arched brows speak for only down-trodden tales
Tales of misfortunes where there usually are none.

Who can not see the beauty in the day?
Or feel the soulfulness in the music?

Why do abominations spew out and beyond
a kind thought?

And what of laughter?
Forced laughter is false laughter after-all.

And I know it can't be all
sweet peas and candied apples -

But I'm moving to the Land of Happy Auras
where music isn't the sound of my soul crying.

My rolling bones need to frolic in a field of joy.
Auras disappear in silence and isolation.

There is no time to equivocate
It's late_______


Christmas Is...

Christmas is the time for cherishing happy moments and making new ones,
falling in love once more with all the people we've loved before and maybe some new ones.

Christmas is the smell of fresh cut trees, hot apple cider and  steaming cranberries,

baking Mama's sugar cookies in all those shapes, like trees, snowmen and Santa faces.

Christmas is unpacking those fragile age-old ornaments for the umpteenth time,
your very own life replaying in each and every one like little one-act plays.

Christmas is when "It's a Wonderful Life" is playing non-stop on one channel

while the kids sneak off to watch National Lampoon's "Christmas Vacation" on another.

Christmas is observing  the joy and anxious anticipation in a child's eye
at the prospect of Santa's visit and the wished for treasures he hopefully will bring.

Christmas is for many a  deep religious occurrence and will be celebrated in
all manner of  services, ceremonies,  prayers and  the like.

Christmas is a time for Love and for Peace;  for Reflection and for Renewal.
As it carries us  to  another New Year let hearts be strong and  Hope live for a better world.



Up In Smoke

Let it all go up in smoke
Don't bring me your pain to poke
From that dream I've fast awoke
From those demons I have broke
And evil minions too have spoke
But their words no longer choke
The princely frog
Has lost his croak
And Cinderella was just a joke
She slid on down a slippery slope
Untied the noose, released the rope
And let up all go up in smoke


Jenny Dots
10-26-72 10-22-11

And now you float away from us to woven clouds of cotton in a candy cane sky
To grace the heavens with your bright light and beautiful kaleidoscope eyes.

And oh how awed they'll be at first glimpse of your arrival
flowing locks of ribbon-ed tresses - bringing bright pink smiles for the giving

You've new wonders to paint....your angels await in sky blue mansions with
soft fields of green, big fluffy cats and snow white kittens.

You leave us here to wonder at this loss and how to fill this black sky place
now vacant in your leaving....you were so many colors of joy to so many.

Simply put, we'll choose to keep our paints, the ones you gave us, our own special colors that were the memories of our time with you and paint in the black sky place with all those special memories.......

And there you will stay forever in our hearts.


 I want to soar high
above woven clouds of cotton

Where angels faintly sing

lullabies of joy

And echo's cry out

from a cradle of love,

Where happiness is pulled

from the sky

like cotton candy,

The angels always spinning

more and more.


Perfect Stranger

I met a perfect stranger
I called him my friend
We just sat and talked a lot
About where our lives had been
He was a weathered wise old stranger
He didn't  ask my name
He said it didn't matter
About why or from where I came
I told this tired old stranger
With the kind and wrinkled eyes
All the things I chose to hide
In masks of my disguise
Me and this perfect old stranger
We'd just sit out on the curb
Far away from place and time
We wouldn't be disturbed
I told him some crazy stories
Never shared before
We laughed and cried; sat silently
And then we'd talk some more
I told him what I thought of life
And what I thought of me
He didn't tell me I was right
He didn't disagree
I didn't have to change a thing
about the me I am
He liked me just the way I was
He didn't give a damn
I didn't have to dress up
In appropriate roles or parts
The only thing he cared to see
Was what was in my heart
Daylight came too quickly
And my stranger slipped away
But as he slowly faded
I could hear him say
There's never a good enough reason
To be that which we are not
And though my stranger was but a dream
He taught me quite a lot


Saying Goodbye

It was a sad day Mom said, the day Dad left on the train,

She thought she might not ever see him again,

You see, Dad, he was traveling far far away,

And he would be gone for many a day,

He was going off to  fight in far  away places,

And fly in  huge airplanes in tiny crawl spaces

But just as the train started to roll out of sight,

Mom held on to Dad with all of her might,

There was something unknown on that day sad but sunny,

I was there too, right in Mom's tummy!

Note:  This is not a picture of my Mother and Father.
 My Father did serve in the US Air Force in WWII as a tail gunner
 and my Mother was pregnant with me when he left; he did not
 see me until I was around 6 months old.  The above picture was the inspiration for the poem.


image via "Hey I's a New Day" (Facebook)


Summer began with a promise
of new-found hope,
A gathering of strength and will.

Then, unexpected clouds
Turned sunny into darkness,
Lightness into tension,
And the hope quickly devolved.

Summer then, will linger
As just another hard reminder
That fresh starts lay dormant
In the field of celebration,
Far away and out of reach for now.

But I suppose it's best to focus
More on laughter than tears,
More on what is good about a day,
than what is not.

And so, another gathering of words
And shared stories, and maybe some
laugh til' you cry rememberings -
Re-tellings of past shenanigans.

Maybe it was all just a little reminder
To keep trying, reaching and hoping.



The words that I'm writing
Do they know what I say?
The ones I sit next to
do they know me today?

Have I gone too far
Have I lost my way?
Is that why they stare
In a curious way?

Was it me that got lost
On this road called life?
With it's bumps and humps
And baskets of strife?

Did my bloom turn withered
With no luster or glow?
Or did it sprout new buds
And continue to grow?

Did I put too much
Of my heart on the page?
Too much love,lust, loss
Fear and rage?

Have I said too much
Did it sting like a bee?
Did I leave hearts heaving
Without apology?

The words that I'm writing
Do they know what I say?
The ones I sit next to
Do they know me today?


Chilly Day

I was walking on a chilly day
Dreading the spring that was coming in,
Why did spring come anyway?
Bringing thoughts of things that once had been.
And so I paused to think of times to come,
Thought it might change my mind's direction,
Springs never seem to come alone,
But always bring stale thoughts to my affection.
I wondered why I never picked the dreary winter,
As the time my mind would stop to brood.
In my mind there seemed to be a splinter,
Turning spring-times into secret moods.
For all the things that come to me to ponder
As spring finds it's way into these chilly days,
Stay stored behind my brain up yonder,
And only pick the spring to come and play.
It crossed my mind that I was only guessing,
Since it was a chilly day and spring was only near,
Maybe this time spring would bring a blessing,
Spring might even come alone this year.


The Seed

There was a seed
that never responded to life,
Yet in my mind
a tree had grown a lifetime in an hour.
And life provided me
with a memory of a place
I had not been yet,
A place no one saw or believed
but me.

There was a feeling
of no particular skill,
Just a voice
asking for attention,
But the brain carries it's own
form of government,
Making logical decisions
completely void of reality.

The tree began to wear
the look of no one,
Drawing me into it's own pain.
It's branches were the hands
of a hundred crying children,
Feeding the fantasy
with private failures
and sincere hypocrisy,
Immobilizing life
in prisons of it's own making.

There was a holding on
beyond the letting go,
There was a moment of returning
on the other side of leaving.
Love wore the face of patience,
but patience was only stubbornness
turned upside down.
And there was proof
against all argument,
and the bleeding.....
became internal.


Ragged Little Girl

We are born into the world
as poor ragged little girls
Only made beautiful
by those who touch us
With love.
As we become beautiful
We discard our garments
ripped and torn,
Replace them with a dress
of silk and satin.

Each time love is snatched away from us
It steals a piece of silk and satin,
and if too many pieces
are snatched away,
We find ourselves standing
cold and naked
conformed to stone,
with nowhere to hide but in ourselves.

Then we remember
it was in garments ripped
and torn
That we first came
to touch
and be touched
With love


I Am...
I Am
the searchers in lonely cities,
whose sadness sleeps behind their laughter

my cats,and dogs who made me laugh
and feel loved without words

a tired old  man who makes me cry
for his lack of  real living

the gulls I hear
above the sound of voices

my children who brought me
only the joy of loving

the sea, which runs as deep
and has as many moods as me

my dreams, where the
ultimate secrets of life run free

and me...who can't take life the way it is,
because it wasn't always, and isn't forever
I Am


Death of Dreams

It would seem
The death of dreams would come
When dreams defy reality,
Dreams founded only on some passion
of the mind.
A shaky foundation upon which to build
a fantasy upon a fantasy.

How I would take pleasure
In the celebration of
the death of dreams.
When those final actors
in my subconscious,
Chose to take their leave of me


Though Choosing Life

Though choosing life means pain
I choose to live,
I eat, and in devouring life
I change.
I dream I read my life
through the sun,
But the muse writes through the sun
to cloud my life...
But I read through the pages torn
with broken type,
And I dream though the paragraphs
are blurred,
And as I read, I re-invent the plot,
And as I re-invent the plot I find,
That life is nothing more or less
than what we feel,
And my dreams and me
Are changed by what is real.



Nothing is ever so distant as it seems,
and everything, more or less
is what it was meant to be.
The difficulty is the tendency to procrastinate
from seeing things for what they really are
rather complicating them
into what we want them to be.

From the day that we emerge
it may be a consequence of our own making
that we spend so many wasted years
trying to transfer ourselves to others,
so they can give us back what we need.




I've solved much harder puzzles
In my mind than you...
I would have done better
Had you given me all the pieces.....


The Other Side



I walked on the other side of life
And lived on the wrong side of my dreams

I danced to a song I didn't write

When the music played

but the chords were lean,

I sat under the shady side of a tree

And strained to bring a flower into view

The sun fell, but only all around me,

And the air was cool with nothing new.

I loved on the far side of  my heart

And tried to water love to make it grow,

Even then I knew I'd have to part

Before the other side of life I'd know.


Treasure Hunt

I went on a treasure hunt
To see what I could find
I thought a little treasure hunt
Would help to ease my mind.
I was a feeling person
My cares went many ways
The case for my priorities
Spread over many days.
But the load grew heavy
On my back
And I could walk no more,
So I looked around for some empty rooms
Where I could shut some doors.
I found where I placed caring
Where it really wasn't needed
And now I do my sharing
With the things that weren't depleted.
Yes I went on a treasure hunt
To see what I could find
And as the truths came pouring in
The treasures were all mine.

 (written in hospital after birth of first son)
If I could only weave
A world for you my son,
I'd weave in all bright colors
And love for everyone.
The skies I'd weave for you to see,
Would all be skies of blue,
The darkest nights would all have moons
To gently guide you through.
The patterns that I'd weave my son,
Would all be straight and narrow,
The tapestry when it was done,
Completely free from sorrow.
I'd weave an angel soft and loving
To take you in her care,
She'd lead you out of troubled moments
When I wasn't there.
I'd weave no mountain for you my son
That proved too hard to climb,
Any every thought you came to ponder
Would always have a rhyme.
I'd trim the world in happiness
That could or would not cease,
But serve to hold the world together
In brotherhood and peace.
Yes, I'd like to weave this simple world
Just for you my son,
And wrap you safely in it
Until your days were done.
But I'm aware that if I did,
You would never know -
The ups and downs in life my son
Are the seeds that make us grow.
So I will weave with threads of love
And this I'll always give,
To pick you up when you fall down,
As through this life you live.



He took her to the circus and bought her all the blue balloons,

Because blue was her favorite color.

He pretended he didn't want to ride the ferris wheel,

Because he knew she was afraid of heights.

He won a big stuffed panda bear to take his place at night.

She closed her eyes a thousand times,

To see if she could make it all come back,

But always when she opened them, It and he was gone.








 Poor Sad Clown

Poor sad clown you wear a mask,

Really seeing you is a task,

I can't see to what's inside,

What it is you choose to hide.

Stunts and tricks, you dance and sing,

But you never say a thing.

Maybe I could look behind?

Get a peek into your mind?

Does it matter that I care?

Do you see me? Am I there?

Are you hiding what you feel?

Tell me, Tell me, Are you real?"







I could have sacrificed a life-long addiction to passion for sanity and ease,

But to me faces are like reading the lyrics to hard rock ballads on the back of album covers,

They press my resistance like grapes into wine.


It seems we've come a long way apart,

To be somehow connected.

 It's as if our appetites were formed,

Long before we knew what we needed.

Our experiences are but a prism,

Through which we see ourselves differently,

But are we truly different?





A Song of Change

A song of change came down and blew my past into the yard.

...I tried to run and catch it...but found it was too hard....

And as I heard it singing - watched it dance from lawn to lawn..

 I knew that I would not regret...The fact that it was gone.




Tear down the walls,

We should be together,

It isn't safe,

It might be fun."







If you don't hold your hand out,

You won't catch a star.

If you avoid looking in mirrors,

You'll forget who you are.

If you let in the vampires,

They'll suck all your blood.

If you lay in your tears,

You'll drown in the flood.

If you let the demons,

Stay more than a while,

They'll possess your heart,

And burn up your smile."


You Arranged my Face
You arranged my face the way you wanted to see it,

That's why you didn't ever see it cry.

You arranged my face the way you wanted to see it,

That's why you didn't notice when it said good-bye."



No Need to Speak
There is no need to speak right now

There isn't much to say

I'd rather sit here silently

Watch the waves just roll away

In the silence I can close my eyes

And see that I could fall

Into a world of make believe

Enclosed within a wall

That's why I'd rather sit here

Watch the waves go out to sea

It sort of serves to take

The plastic pieces out of me.





Poisened Rainbow
I chased the poisoned rainbow

to the end of the earth,

And found a curled up heart or two

along the way.

Someone should have told me

shortly after birth,

That curled up hearts soon die

and blow away....


Smile Now, Cry Later
You dropped by last night
But I told you
You had the wrong house.
I told you the mistress of error
had moved out
And a joy-seeker had
moved in.
I told you to go
And take your bag of
self-serving love with you,
because it was sitting in the space
of my idealism.
I closed the door
and spent the evening alone
Dining on my victory -
Drinking my tears

Going Home
I was feeling a little lost and alone
And thought maybe it was time
For a little trip back home.
Upon arrival I took a little tour of sorts,

It seemed that everywhere I looked
I saw a gigantic picture of myself,
All the eyes telling me that
I was no stranger here.
It was on every street
I found a certain little piece of my life,
As though I had purposefully left them there,
Just in case I would need reminding one day.
The air reeked with familiarity
and all the trees seemed to be
smiling at me as I passed by.
Even the house I grew up in
seemed to acknowledge my presence,
As if to ask me where I had been
all these years?
The countryside looked as if
It had dressed up in October
just for this occasion.
I wondered why I had never
found it so beautiful before now,
And I thought about how many times
perceptions of beauty
change in one lifetime.
I stopped by to see some places and people
Who had meant something to me....
Some places and people stopped the motion
of things long enough
To make me feel as if I'd never left.
Laughter fell off me like autumn leaves,
And soon I was completely covered
In a blanket of my own smiles.


Lady Of Peace Place
There's a vamp on the loose
dressed as a paragon of purity.
She'll try to wear your face
and walk it to Martyrville.
Martryville's a place where
you overdose on do's and don'ts,
and after you've blown all your fuses
they send you to the Lady of Peace Place
to make it all get better.
Here you'll find you can sleep
even while you're awake,
They'll give you three squares a day
and all the stupor soup
you care to drink.
You can visit the pool at 10 and 2,
after all the pills have swallowed you whole.
If sitting numb in the sun somehow seems trite,
You can go to arts and crafts,
or see a move on sphincter control.
When you get all better
you can return to Martyrville -
But you won't.




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