Wednesday, November 19, 2008

The music box

(read to George Winston's Japanese Music Box)

The wind moves through the trees; dancing blades of grass.

The petals sing like
tears up
on .
     my .

the blossoms fall
fall .
       like .

The sun slips through her arms; holding dark shadow.

The petals sting like
tears up
on .
     my .

the blossoms fall
fall .
       like .

The moon winds up through time; kissing paler skin.

The petals lay like
tears up
on .
     my .

the blossoms fall
fall .
       like .

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Tragic Season

Vermilion kiss
utter bliss
tossed as a gift
of unwanted leaf
in disbelief
to the ground
so sound, cold
and unmet with sun
winter comes
blue the sky soaking up
the tears of spring
lost in the heart
of fall
this is
the tragedy of season
loss of color
and death of hue
until nature
decides to paint again

Monday, October 13, 2008

Bare Minimum

over mediocrity
survival of
a normal
captivating simplicity
with religious legal-
sipped on summer days
and mid-way
through the country
striped in blue
bordered in red
wishing democracy was dead
I just wonder
how it all got this way
this middle of the road
don't rock the boat
or make waves
in an ocean of people
each different
each divine
still they drink their wine
getting drunk on
the ideas of mr. in-between
gray squares
of same
and hallelujah.

So how did we get here?
Stripped naked


Off the cuff in an emotional response to posters against gay-marriage

Sunday, October 12, 2008

origami words

they glide down
these paper butterflies
cut recently from used
and left behind
sticky notes of memory
quickly catching
morning light
to rest
in unswept dust
and discarded ideas
crumpled beneath my chair

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Out of the Blue

oil dripping
off a sapphire canvas
speckled with salt
and peppered dreams
waking sleepers
and momentary
joy of existing
the winds of change
and topple doubt
in a climate of
political madness
and lobbist
when out of the blue
he whispered
as if it where possible
as if it where true....

and I find myself believing.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Memor amicus

you: passing
chariot racing
my hand: tremor
with the thought
of waves
my heart: bites
still bitter
with rage
my mind: sighs
sadness oozes out
as those around
in anger speak
of your betrayal.
me: caught
halfway between
forgive and get away
missing the half
of you residing in memory
and forgetting
even the shadow you
leave as you
walk away

Thursday, April 17, 2008

How a star behaves

it glitters
dusts and glows
watching us
move to and fro
like a diamond
upon a ring of night
taking account
of joy and fright
In sadness, in glee
reading the stories
between you and me

this is how a star behaves
a silent observer
of our lives

:Eleanor Rigby: (Beatles / Remade by Godhead)

"Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?" - Paul McCartney

Eleanor and I
sit by the window sill
peering out at the world
never peering back
We make up conversation
sweet and chipper cherry
red delicious conversation
but the world
will not converse back
We have swept the floor oft
we have ironed every curtain
we have scrubbed the floor
till our knees wouldn't bend out
and still
the world will not come knocking
So when the days chores are done
when all is filled, folded and flat
we sit and stare out the window
hoping to find the world
is staring back

Friday, April 11, 2008


Our world is always buzzzing
Streets are always filled
Walkways are always trampled
Electronics always blaring
Phones are always talking
and copiers always hum
Sleep is always dreaming
and the waker always thinking
Constant movement and being
always possessing the latest now
and it makes me wonder

about nothing

there is no space for nothing
the quiet sense of absolute
surrendering to silence
and the obliteration of being.

nothing || is not there.

Apartment 1

The day
begins with:
echos of life
racing down asphalt
warm coffee in hand
and not enough sleep.
and the pitter patter of neighbors' dogs
old couch cushions tilting
and my love handing out kisses
as we head out into the frey.
The night
ends with:
the next doors talking to loud
the across the courtyard
conversing on cellphones disregarding echo
while two floors up an argument flares.
In the alleyway
dog tags jingle
for one last
sniff before bed
inside this Apartment
is life
snuggling up for a
crime show episode
and dinner on the fly.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Ca•no•rous \kuh-NOR-us; KAN-or-uhs\

It slips,
and saunters
across the way
up the stairs
of my soul
with each memory,
moment and meticulously
kept secret.
It curves
verves, and vibrates
melodic and methodic-
all in its tenor 
and embrace.
I am speechless, 
rendered helpless
to visions and vexations
tears and frustrations.
I sway, dip
spin and twirl
My body not my own
as it moves in, 
and through me.
Up and down
mixing emotion 
and sound
I cannot
stand: Music

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Nine Times

Nine times they came
The men in suits
Hands open
Mouths twisted
In false prosperity
Nine times
Nine of swords
Making Ill fated treaties
Of the soul
Nine times
Engine number seven
Billowed its smoke
For Industrial Revolution
While I lay stunned
And watch them come
Like lighting to dry grass
Their fire
Left me thirsty for
A time before nine.

Monday, April 07, 2008

My name is... 

My name is wise woman, 
but secretly the wind whispers dreams
or orange dreaming of chocolate. 
My name is many names
many faces
and when we meet
we laugh
knowing our mothers flowed with 
the times.  I don't want to flow. 
I want to be rebel against water, 
sand driving rain backwards, 
clouds calling back moisture, 
wind pulling mountains, 
rebellious.  I want to be 
not what she hoped for - 
white wedding to a man
and 2.5; just other expectations 
to name and watch 
rebel against me.
My name is white. 
but secretly 
hammer of sky
star falling upwards
dreams waking laughter
or just simply 
an immovable

Friday, April 04, 2008


staring back 
from the mirror I have
yet to clean because of 
work, work-out, and 
other whimsical oblications
is you,
which is me.
and just in case 
I forget
with all the rush 
and the mess
thank you
for being you
for being me
the woman you've become
staring back at me.

Thursday, April 03, 2008

from page 26 in my copy of PoemCrazy

Silence over whelms me
in this not so crowded room.
A cough and a sneeze are the only
moments reminding me I am more
than an extension of this somberly
straight pencil
and my life more permanent than the word
I just erased.

Honey Bee Haiku

honey bee dust 
divine fruits of labor
nature's silk road

Thoughts on Free

momentary peace
made out of
bartering lords
for weapons
and sections of
genetic purity
with wolfish grins
to sin
more divinely
in the presence
of the holy
dollar sign
and then
there is me
searching for
in a world
too unsure
and not
of their own actions
to searches
but necessary
to be free
and a medium coke,
caught on tape
at every corner
going unnoticed
the eyes
of zealots
with pink umbrellas
and cheap cologne
standing like a 1930s
private eye film
under the lamp
in the rain
watch everything.
Is anyone listening?
can you not hear
the cries of shadow
in the night
under covers
trying to hide
their affections
for fear of
someone else’s
sending warriors
in the guise
of old women
children and
to shame
and cast into hell
their dreams.
What makes these aggressors
any different from
The megalomaniac leaders
In near and faraway places
Innocent faces
Zooming out from
Bringing death
With a price
For oil
And cash crops
Slinking upward
Into the mouths
And minds of
And nations
Too high up to
You or me.
To them
Are fodder
And filth
We are insignificant
and truth be told
we ARE the cancer
bringing change
to this disease
called presidential free-dumb.
So when the tasks
And masks and momentary peace loving
dollar sign grubbing lords of our age
Step out on to the stage.
Say no to what they are selling
Take back what they are spelling
Out as the only truth
And actually be

Wednesday, April 02, 2008


with a red gloss inside
and the words
'Eudaemonic' boldly blazing
across the middle,
a red declaration of
bleeding out
from the canvas
of clay
every day
filled up
and emptied
striving to always
what the artist
sought for me.
but I wonder
if what I was suppose
to be was this.
why not an island
or a tray of bliss-
ful lemons set
out to greet friends?
why not a tissue
or a sports shoe
or even a tea bag
left out to dry over night?
I am white
with red gloss inside
and the words
'Eudaemonic' blazing
across my middle
my declaration
to the world
I will not be moved
to stop and linger in
the loneliness of not full.


the floor felt normal
with the way motion flowed
across my back:
the pad of need,
the stomp of desire,
and the guilty slide of give.

That is

until I sat up and
said "no", "You can't",
and "I won't."

your faces a portrait of
disbelief, mistreat, unkept
weeping, and sweeping disappointment.

Friday, March 21, 2008

When the wind settles

When the wind settles,
leaves have left their place
finding crevasses anew to rest
earth is revealed
where once only hues of life tread
and bending branches ease
from submitting to the gale.
When the wind settles,
the path once so familiar
carries the weight of something new
and the waking sense
of change

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Thought for the Day

You are not my mirror
the sky is.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Window Sills 

The window sill is dusty
with the visions of a 
world it will never know:
the hand prints of ghosts
and the echo of paws
lingering are the only reminders
here that anything happened
and I wonder
does it know
does it know those things are but memory 
left for time and age to wear thin.

Friday, March 07, 2008

Cabal Wish

I have one.
a wish.
a secret

ok, maybe two
in my brain.

one. secretly clean up after death: plant the flowers in a bed of somewhere else, erase the permanent ink smeered memos, box up the trinket memory of life now extinguished and make room for something else...without anyones permission.

Friday, February 22, 2008

without you

The world feels so different
Sublime, surreal, subdued.
Grief strikes the bold
Cripples the relentless
Razes the many and the few

With what do we defend?
With what do we ward off
This invisible fiend, a thief
Who should not have come
This soon.

The world feels so different
Melancholy, grey and hue-less.
Silence mutes our tears
Rage shatters our silence
Memory emblazons our grief.

With what do we defend?
What company can we muster
To bring back joy; stolen
Who should not have gone
This soon.

- JF 2008 -

the world just feels different. Words do not mute my tears only make them fall harder. Your kindness gave me courage when I needed it most. If I never told you in life - may you know now - I am so thankful. I am so blessed. I am forever blessed. 

Empty Handed

Spring had come in the middle of my youth
bringing flowers, milk and merry
bright joyous laughter
burden 'ever carried
from morn's light through even' tarry
my heart felt full
and without fear

I questioned not its enduring light
the warmth of friendship
sweet words delight
nor cautioned my heart
to tred lightly
knowing spring is ne'r eternal

But there is summer and the fall
a thousand years before it all
ends; and winter bends
all to have the earth embrace us


(second edit)

Empty Handed

Spring came in the middle of my youth
bringing flowers, milk and merry
joyous laughter’s burden ever carried
from morn's light through even' tarried
my heart felt full and without fear.
I questioned not its enduring light:
the warmth of friendship
sweet words delight
nor cautioned my heart
to tred light - ly
knowing spring is never eternal.
But there is summer and aging fall
a thousand years before
it ends;
and winter bends
to have the earth embrace us.
A thousand years!
I protest and in anger do confess
The seasons changed their minds
For winter came swift and silent
A slumbering flower, young and bright
Felt the chill of frost’s embrace
A random act
Or fate
Either - life of love did fade

And here I am
In the midst of springs retreat
With winter snapping at my feet
I still bent down to linger
and in its fading fragrance found
my heart comes up empty handed

The earth embraced too soon
The flower

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Descibing self

I am like orange not quite made up on red
like blue with the hints of jealous green
waiting for a cloud to cover my sky 
a brilliant piece of paper
for which to write a thought

I am like wind, not quite a hurricane
though at times one might argue otherwise
like rain left mesmerized upon a pane of glass
left to ask the question of what is next
as it trails after gravity

I am like a window not yet rid of rose
like hazelnut coffee filled with raving bits of chocolate
longing for cream to drip over and slip
and meander into a world
of smiles and sighs

This is how I describe

Tuesday, February 12, 2008


I got to work late, because I voted this morning and I could not be more proud!  Not only is my voice being recorded, but my right to bitch is thoroughly sealed!  
You may think it doesn't matter - but you are wrong... it does.   


Make a difference, share your voice.  Because in the end it is not about if your choice wins or loses - its about letting the people hear your voice.  

Even a small voice can launch a the mission of a million souls... even a small voice can resonate in the minds of this great nation.  

So VOTE Virginia!! VOTE!!!  

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

On My Uncle's Birthday

My God Bless & Keep you
May your path be filled with adventure and joy
May love always grace your heart & leave joyous footprints of memory in its wake.

Caidoz, evol, em, etah, dog...

If I spell it backwards
will it make it more relevent
more solvent
more heaven sent
Like a fine wine
drunk on a Saturday night
paired with cheese pizza
or like a blue sky
painted on by grey
or will it make it less meaningfull
stomach ached
and over filled with the sense of 
slowly brewed and 
topped with lemons
sliced and never squeezed

If I spell it backwards
does it change
does it

Thursday, January 24, 2008

rat race

in no particular order
each day we gather
armed with ipods
and local papers
we do not speak
we barely glance
just automated path
charging minions
of the corporate
get ahead if you keep your head

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Tea Time

sipped through a straw
slow and sweet
succulant and 
all I need now
is a paper umbrella
and slice of lime

Monday, January 14, 2008

like thieves

Slipping in beneath fringed blankets covering the soul, dreams whisper words and betray a deeper meaning; stealing time of restful bliss in the somber steady breath of the living.

Deciphering is left to the waker, bent over in agony from another sleepless night. Driven to dive into the sea of shapeshifting imagery if for only but a glimpse of meaning. For in that, perhaps, will come breath easy footsteps to the dawn of the day.

Moon slips and Sun sips to once again repeat the whispering chorus until the dreamer dreams no more.

Friday, January 04, 2008

To the 2008 Candidates - on both sides - a few Questions

Will you fight for me?
Will you fight for me who is a woman?
Will you fight for my rights as an American woman?
Will you defend me and my rights as an American Caucasian woman?
Will you defend me and my rights as an American Caucasian woman in her 30s?
Will you defend me and my rights as an American Caucasian humanist woman in her 30s?
Will you defend me and my rights?  ALL of my rights as a citizen of the United States? 

I was born here.  I was raised here.  I pledged my allegiance.  I have sung with honor our anthems and have striven for the American Dream.   I have paid my taxes. Uncle Sam has his share. 

You will?  Are you sure?

Because not only am I an American Caucasian humanist woman in her 30s ... but I am also gay.

Will you fight for me now?

Will you?  Are you sure?

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