The Fiddler's Midnight Sonata

Tell me you miss me,
Make me believe it,
that's the only way --
It will ever be true.

Silence is broken.

Into the moonlight,
cuts the bow,
poised and pulled
across the strings.

He plays her
a fiddle, master
technique, weaving
her blindness,
into his own vision.

But she catches glints,
glimpses, in the glow
of the night, even
the darkness
cannot hold out.

But she twirls
breathlessly baited,
anticipated, into his
every move, plotted,
planned, perfected.

The difference is
she already knows,
his dance, his song
what waits in the dark
but she chooses it
and chooses not
to reveal herself.

Dream Drifters

Close your eyes...

Meet me in that place, our place,
where no one else can go,
by the blue blue ocean,
that stretches out for days,
upon the white of the sand
we will lay, sun soaking.

We drift like clouds between
worlds of words, places
in our minds, we share
with a glance, moving
deeper in with every
touch, our place.

I whisper against your lips,
meet me when the sun sets,
upon the seas of dark,
let's write a life together,
one that only we could dream.

Down the Road

Now I'm down the road again
Another hundred fifty miles
And every single star in the night
Is catching fire
And tracing ways back to you
Maybe I can follow them some time soon
Maybe I can find your arms again
Where the sea and fire cross paths
And challenge the heavens
With their deafening cries into the sky


Until then....


I hope I can catch you sleeping
Where maybe we can meet in dreams

I'll be there

Waiting for the chance to see you, Love

Call to Arms

I look across the mirror at you -
a reflection’s reflection, framed.
I offer you the world, upon a word,
wrapped in brown paper, our world –
The one place we make sense,
where we understand each other
Completely.

Step from the mirror, take my hand,
know your place, vastly penned empire
of words beyond measure like brushes
Upon canvas, stars upon night,
sand upon shore.

This is our nature; blow off your dust,
as the muse’s lips brush delicately
Over the lobe of your ear, commanding
Your creativity into action
like a mare in heat, waiting
to be taken, explosively.

Helen of Troy

It was the golden age,
A time when all eyes
looked upon you
looked upon me.

The masses were filled with envy -
but we saw only each other,
our faces framed in pictures,
our stances cast in stone.

How they all longed to be us,
to be epic like we were.

A romance to span time,
and yet -
you let me go once,
let me slip away,
despite all your words,
despite all the love,
You didn't cross that gap.

You went silent,
dead in the night,
and I was whirled
into another's arms.

Epic love lies in ruins,
ancient ruins,
buried in time,
but now you reach for me,
reaching into the heavens
trying to pluck me like a star
from the sky.

But the eyes of the masses,
how they linger,
how they caress,
all searching for their chance,
their own way to be written in,
a way to touch that love
that shines from the depth of my eyes.

Shores of Self-Analogies

I feel like the shore
With the tide having gone out
Leaving all of my bits
Exposed, glared upon.
It is only I
That realizes too late
No matter how I fought
The tide
It is meant to be
Pulled away.

Thus I discover myself
How all that I am
Adds up to be me.

I can only be myself
But that self can change
Altered by the currents,
Rearranged beneath the tides,
Fractures and fragments
Picked up and carried away
Or deposited unseen
Til the tides reveal me again.

Elemental

I need not the conventions of man,
For I find myself, my truest self,
In the feel of soil beneath my feet,
Between my fingers, balled tight
Inside my fist.

I find comfort in the resonance
Of wave after wave, beating
Upon the break on shore and tide,
Surfing towards the land upon
Itself doubled over and collapsing.

I gain renewal and strength
In the loving caresses of the wind,
Rapturing me with its love,
Building my confidence
With its whispers,
Shaking me awake and alive
With its violence.

I am a daughter of the elements
Earth and Sea and Sky.

Oh How I Yearn for Spring

Frost came hard this year,
painting the landscape in browns,
every dead thing a testimony
to Frost.

Even the sun can not bring life
to the wasteland of plant corpses,
nature has been reproached
for beginning too soon.

Somber is the view out my window,
a cinnamon and nutmeg blend of color,
wilted and moping, droopy leaves
broken only by the flash of early robins.

Impulsions

Vibrations musing each stemmed nerve-
ending with that itch to move,
inclinations to dig hands inside
and turn it out, freeing the clay
of creation, molding it into awe.

Words resuscitate my hands,
pushing pulses into veins,
shaking my spirit awake -
my heart beats with overflowing inspiration,
the feelings bounding like cabaret dancers,
seductive and sexy.

Like looking into the fiery eyes
of a gypsy - see the lightning flash,
the electrical impulses that are her
essence, bound to the body;
but free inside her mind, see
her freedom when she dances,
in her lust, in her love -
this my muse has blown into me.

Musical Expressions

Gavotte to the hornpipes,
turning to the tambourine
shaking her restless spirit
moving down her body
and back up again.

Her eyes flashing prisms of blue,
hair flashing like flickers of fire,
I can see how she moves,
third person familiar,
I can almost feel her through the mirror.

My freely reflected self,
held down by nothing,
I close my eyes and
she dances with me,
we are perfectly matched.

Her voice rings in my ears
as I turn and turn,
singing through my lips,
I am transposed
into a musical muse.

Every movement a note,
every chord a song,
echoing with rhythm
beating life, escalating
until the music comes to a stop.

Unfastening Romanticism

Can you take the reality of us from me
with just mere words, un-sow the seeds
of love painstakingly planted in the spring,
and blow the silver lining gray?

Destruct-design the dreams off my pillow,
sculpture-smooth tears yet to come,
with the tick-tock of unwinding hands,
making untrue the moments we shared.

Will you belie those steadfast beats,
pressed chest to chest, with a quicksand
foundation swallowing all that was, shifting
tides and winds alike till no true north exists?

The time has come to look into my eyes
and speak, will you unweave the fate
like an unraveling thread leaving me
bare, exposed like carrion to sadness?

Scoptophilia

I lie in my bed, Sunday best dressed,
staring at the ceiling, plaster spattered,
two colorless eyes stare back,
pushed from the texture, blinking,
lamentations of fragments,
mosiaced refraction jointed
in tears, ran like hot flux,
as I watch me, looking down
from the ceiling, looking up
at my own eyes, transfixed -
locked in a staring contest
against myself, losing tides
of time, until I am interrupted --
by a single knock upon the bedroom door.

Megathermal Relations

A desert of broken dreams,
dried and cracked, crunched
under foot as I walk, baked
under the heat of your gaze,
glazed like glass, sheened-shined
winking flirtation like refracted reflections
of what was once tears.

We lie in the night -
hard packed ground beneath,
soft painted clouds of sky above,
palms pressed as we hold hands
in a death grip, we two -
two eyes looking out at the world,
all seeing, blinded only to ourselves.

Lost at Sea

The sea, the he,
resides within me,
and I within the sea.

This storm inside,
passion of wind and wave,
blowing beneath the surface,
murky depths concealed.

I have loved the sun
and the earth, each
in its way, but the sea
claims me.

I breathe his salted water,
it fills my burning lungs,
I am consumed within
the rhythm of his rolling
gusto, that leaves me bruised,
aching, awash in the
familiarity of him.

His love devastates me -
raw, savage, and un-reined,
and as I lose consciousness,
his love echoes through out.

Sunrise

I feel the sun, warm
upon my flesh,
heating me to life.

Defrosting the layers
I have been buried for years.

I dance in emotions,
brilliant to behold,
jubilation, contentment, joy;
such things darkness knows not,
such things cannot be held -
cannot be touched.

I lay in summer fields of phlox,
eagerly colored blossoms
drinking of my light.

I am a dancer of the heavens,
my own muse, I need not
inspiration.

Creation resides within me,
penned to life upon the page,
the living of my mind takes form,
and I become the sun shining
on all the life I have shaped.

Myriad of Morning Mentalities

Another day dawns without you,
I lie in my bed thinking of you,
long past the moments of waking.

I think about your smile often,
its gentle and sincere curve,
and that it appears modestly -
not too often and not too seldom,
but enough to be appreciated.

I think about your arms,
the how they naturally find
a way to hold me,
non invasive, not demanding,
just reassuring.

I think about the future,
if a future is possible,
what will it bring,
will I have mornings with you,
or just these fantasies?

I think about your day
and wonder how it will be,
if my feelings will be enough,
if you will be truly happy with me?

I think and think and then
I try to just stop, and enjoy the
moments we have had
and to look forward to more.

Slipping

I packed away an old love,
with tears and memories,
It was hard to do,
to put you away from me,
but I have another -
so you remind me.

I thought I stowed away
the last traces of you,
but you lingered,
tiny parts of you -
like dust I didn't see
and I could feel you
in the air.

You refuse to completely go,
and I have slipped,
I remember what it is like
to want you, to love you,
to never be without you -
and I am lost in thoughts of you.

As I lie looking out without you

I, in my bed darling, look out at the sky,
the rain coming down, the clouds
clustering darkly, and I feel your arms
come around me from behind
drawing me close, as we lie together
looking out the window beside the bed.

I feel your heart beating -
through your skin, through mine,
pressed together and I imagine
your smile, I feel it is there.

I hear your voice in my ear,
whispered, hushed.
Words only meant for me,
and I feel my own smile,
content in the moment.

The world ceases to be
aside from our view,
what matters most
exists between us -
the way our bodies touch,
the sight we share,
this moment we claim
for our own.

The Music

I hear the music,
the songs that we should share,
the words we would have written.

I see the envy of faces,
those who wished to be me,
those who wished to be you.

I feel this love,
intoxicating in full bloom,
but wasted.

I write my name in the stars
alone where two names
should cross.

When I hear that music
the longing stirs in my heart
and I see the empty in the distance.

To the Moonless Sky

Sometimes the living of life gets too hard,
and I want to skim the pages,
look ahead to when its easier,
or close my eyes and pretend
like I don't exist.

We stood in the rain together
when we were kids,
and you took your shirt off,
held it over my head,
to try to keep me dry.

You held me when I cried alone,
when there was only darkness,
when no one else could see or hear me,
I was invisible like you.

You're the voice on the wind,
that tells me to wait,
to hide who I am -
until you come to get me,
for only with you will I be
truly safe and happy.

I am the moon,
and you are my sky,
I cannot be without you,
I hear you call to me
and my eyes look upwards -
searching and waiting.