Saturday, July 26, 2014

A Little Buzz For The Lovelitlone

For how long can we hold a breath –
For how long can we stand ourselves being inapt, being scarce
in the arms of fate, without faith, how could we find solace
in a motionful lifeflow drifting on the sound of heart ache?

to shut my ears and hear my voice.
To listen, to expand
into a vision – a silent chest
beating near my breasts
tracing love with a lasting breath.
I speak with my eyes –
to be intact like a skinny white cat who found food on a rainy night.
OH… the barking dogs command only the flesh in their
likeness of fear.
Let them bark.
From the first milkshake to the last honey,
from delayed waters to the avalanche that buries
the curious mind outbursts the MYSTICAL.
The downfall to cover the skin, drop to drop,
like blood and tears, washing years of curses clean.

Salvation salivation? Fine… 
Popcorn Princess!

The apocalypse comes undemanded.
Shabby little image of yourself… Burn!
Flames from the wick –
dreams from the mare of the bones!
Burn burn burn yourself!

Love comes from love.

Understanding from a hundred ghosts - a hundred years a mile…
Self-preservation –reach for the salt of the Dead Sea.
Seldom freedom of an archetype;
the love seeker-seer, the lone, the lover
casts her shadow like the ring of Saturn.
Hadiva la vida havida live a diva.

Fast running forests, trains, tunnels, sunlight, moonlight,
Love-lit night-stands, hoppity-hop , it’s the last stop.
The train and the tracks are gone.
Heart. Rhythm. Hunger. Rhythm. Rain. Rhythm.
A wind in wish-washed windows of
the eyes –
No curtains. No religion, no camouflage,
no fear, no flag.

Bow only to love.

Sunday, July 20, 2014


What can I yell into a void
that scares the bees away
and makes pollen turn into dust?
What can I write into fiery ashes with my bare fingers?
Let’s throw on another log and sit around-
I don’t want to play with fire…
Let’s throw on another log, and
wait for the summer.

Am I moving? Or my shoulders detach flowing
with a tune heard through my bones,
and just for a minute, in this clueless world
I’m not alone with my joy, with my pain.
Paint it!
I paint it in words; I paint it in colors,
but better I paint it in blood or gold
because it’s real.

Like a child,
I lay down on the porch to sleep in the sun
-          as if a silent tribute to John Lennon­ -
the skies are blue.

Maybe, a psychedelic storm is what's ahead. 
Live, as if you were to die tomorrow -
they said.
Maybe death is a silent breath. 
Maybe some of us are already dead. 
Maybe it's really all just a dream-like they said. 
It’s a quiet night and I thought I'd write about nothing,
and carve that nothing deep into the void.
Carve it! 

Another New Year arrives at lunar-lunatic times
all neatly calendar-defined.
We count the days 
and count down 
and count on new beginnings
yet life remains a constant flow of rivers,
the constant change of days and nights, 
another wrinkle, another bite
of a piece of existence.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Friday, July 11, 2014


the only way to reach balance is 
to weigh nothing


Being alone in any room
is a privilege.
To become alone
is to be alive.
One unit. A masterpiece.
The accumulation of thought and emotion,
a slow movie-like appearance
of faces beneath the mind's eye.
A recorded memory
of the look of the crimson sun on that very beach.
The reality of the exact moment
when the right ankle crosses over the left foot.
The comfort of holding a book
until it proves impossible
to recognize meaning any more.
Only the blurred ends of sentences.
Marsh-mellow mountains melt meekly
over fields of gold.
The nakedness of the many trees and
the fragile limbs of decades are gone.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Summer Song

there is dark chocolate all over the walls
and my soul is covered too.
So is your face, darling, and I wouldn’t know
if it was just a dream again, and it was.
When the morning frolicked all over the curtains,
and I slipped out from under my blanket,
I wanted to say to you how good it is to have dreams.
Instead, I stumbled down the stairs
and thought about you.
That’s all about it, and that’s all there is to it.
I could paint it then, and show them to you
if I was brave enough.
The kitchen looks dim and small.
My coffee is as strong as it needs to be.
I've played this strange game of making mistakes
and had made more and more.
Like an unfinished painting, I lay on the floor.
The colors are hidden inside of me
The monsoon is grey – seems as if the sun was gone,
but left its heat behind. Slippery roads, and a long drive.
One solstice after another, and it will be summer again.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Let Go

I don’t know how to let go …

In my best will,

In my heart, in my soul,

I don’t know how to let go

when my wish is to keep.

I don’t know how to let go.

An  ocean behind,

a landscape ahead –

to free my soul is to connect.

Stars … they don’t guarantee anything

not even their own light …