Salt Bearer

a shadow from the past
cast upon a new life
a dream in the shape of you
ashes and dust be gone

exorcise this demon
feasting on the soul
crammed within Pandora’s box
left to be forgotten

haunting the mind
brushing up against the landscape
leaving your scent behind
a lingering trail of memory

like a slug
leaving mucous in its wake
tainting the path
with residue – a sticky slime

tracking your every move
we come with salt and lime
shriveling and poisoning
at once existence to nothingness

 

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Cosmic Spider

She weaves a universal web
connecting stars, sun, and moon.
Silky ties to a world beyond ourselves.

We’re connected just as the galaxies
hold together with invisible strands.
If we trace our web through
time and space –
we find our past, present, and future
along its course.

This is how our lives become
so entangled as to depend
upon each other.

Casting out lines,
in hopes of snagging
tiny bits of intimacy
another soul’s connection
hanging by a thread.

We dangle there
frozen in time until
the ripples of contact subside.

That which we catch
can destroy all we’ve built,
or nourish our souls –
weaving the tapestry of life.

We are mere fractals
of our cosmic spider
as she devours us
one by one.

The Gate

 

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The gate is open; won’t you come in?
It beckons as you pass, enticing in its mystery.
Whispering your name, you wonder how it knows.

Curiosity tugs at the hem of your skirt
a small child, wanting for attention
leading you by the hand to show you.

Crossing the threshold bears a sense of significance
though you know not why; like stepping beyond the walls of a city
you once thought you knew so well into a new hidden recess.
Your heart skips a beat, excited by adventure, it knows no fear.

A chill rushing down your spine
tiny fragments of movement
skirt the periphery of your vision.

With rapt focus and attention
tiny webs made visible by grace
of moonlight shining
sing sweetly to your memory,
a forgotten lullaby perhaps?

These webs, no ordinary orb weavers’ dream;
made of crystalline shimmers
mesmerizing and ghostly
as they dance with the breeze.

As the gate creaks closed behind,
much as you knew it would,
you wonder if you’ll ever leave.
Somewhere in the darkness, a voice
answers the thought with an echo, “if you so wish.”

Stepping forward, gazing steadily
ahead, the newly cleared path
lined with trees branches out
in the leaf-strewn distance.

Knowing only that you are meant
to follow this trail,
you reach behind you
to lock the gate.

 

 

 

Up Before Anyone Else

mornings  meant for quiet
contemplation
and                 coffee

dream storms have passed
in waking hours
our interpretation
lacking

while felines
bask in the  morning light
spilling
through windows
chasing shadows and tails

dear self,
seek inspiration
in
wild dreams
and
reflective morning silence

 

Coordinates of Friendship

words {sifted} from among the rubble
and darkness brought forth
into the light

searching for meaning

in distance / time
(= speed)

refraction of light
allows us to see each other
clearly, but not

*the future*

this space between our two points,
the geography of your mind,
this vessel navigates by heart

determine the equation
for happiness,
graph it on the Cartesian plane;
finding longitude and latitude,
set our course.

The shortest distance between two points will always be a straight line,

but

I’d                                                                                                     rather

circumnavigate                                                                             the world

with you.

 

A Thank You to George S. Schmidt

Upon being asked recently when I began writing and who my favorite writers are, I recalled a specific book of poetry that I’ve kept in my collection for a considerable length of time and have periodically returned to throughout my life. I believe the book came to me around the age of 8 or 9, but how it became mine, I’m not entirely certain. Most likely I picked it up at a yard sale or library sale as I do know that it was not a new book when it came to me. Its pages had already begun to yellow at that point.

From the first time I read the book, there were some poems that I enjoyed. Not every verse was of interest to me (as is still the case), but one poem, “Sunlit Yesterdays,” stands out in this collection as a poem I’ve repeatedly read to the point of near memorization. I have no idea what exactly drew me to this particular poem as a child since it is the poet reflecting on his life in old age. But this poem has always drawn me in. There are a few others I’ve always enjoyed within the collection as well. The book is entitled Random Rhymes, which seems rather nondescript and ordinary.

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However, my most recent re-exploration of this book focused not so much on the poetry itself, but I was curious about the background of the book and its author. I made some interesting coincidental discoveries (exciting to me anyway), and I wanted to share them.

So the book was written by George S. Schmidt and it just so happens that he was from York, PA, which is only about 30-40 minutes away from where I live. This information intrigued me, and I have been digging for more details. The forward of his book indicated publication in 1928. I was able to find a copy of the book for sale on Amazon. Even more amazing, I learned that this was Schmidt’s second book of poetry, the first was entitled Vagrant Verses.  Mr. Schmidt was a business person and lawyer in York; he was born in 1861 and died in 1935.

George S. Schmidt appears to have had a sense of humor that I quite appreciate. In the forward he says, “I am transmitting this booklet to the individual members of the Order, and to a few other of my friends, at a time when their hearts are so throbbing with goodwill towards men, and their eyes too dazzled by the lights of Christmastide, that their vision is impaired, and the manifold defects in these random and disconnected rhymes may ‘to some extent’ escape them.” I find this amusing. It appears that he gave this book only to a small circle of friends (it was privately published) and told them that even though they received the book out of his love and affection for them, they were in no way obligated to read all of it or any of it for that matter. A man after my own heart, he was.

I am sure none of this is of interest to anyone besides myself. However, I can’t get over the idea that I’ve kept this book for over 20 years because it marked the beginning of my love for poetry and, in part, inspired me to write poetry myself. So for the past 15 years, I’ve been living within miles of the author’s hometown. The book traveled over a hundred miles to get to me as a child, only to land close to home once again.

So, in conclusion, I thank you my dear departed friend, George S. Schmidt for your many years of companionship. I have indeed read each poem in your collection, and though I do not like every poem, I do appreciate your work.

Writing on an Empty Stomach

Writing on an Empty Stomach

Coming here on an empty stomach is good for the soul;
I’m hungry, but for more than just a good meal. Forget the
Filet mignon! I’m hungry for the words that come so fast and thick that you can’t
catch them all,
and then just as they arrive,
they dry up
and slow
to a
mere
trickle
as the night moves onward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And…I’m officially a published poet!

Check it out!!!! Thanks to a group of absolutely amazing friends of mine, I am now officially a published poet in a poetry ebook along with a bunch of talented poets and artists and I am beyond-words excited. I’m so honored to be included in this ebook with these individuals who are so incredibly amazing.

Our book is entitled Because of a Word and can be purchased through the link below on Amazon.cover_promo

Click the link to check it out, or purchase a copy : http://tiny.cc/Because-of-a-Word

‪#‎becauseofaword‬

My fellow poets and artists:
Kait Moon, Jorge Silva Rodighiero, Katy Lewellen, Elizabeth Hope, Amy Chap, Casey Bee, Estelle Olivia, Anna Ssez, Ian Colin Roditi, Angel Rosen, Ashley Plumridge, Anita Clipston

Please join me in celebrating! I’m over-the-moon!

Forget to Remember

Sitting here lost on memory lane, in a daydream world, thinking about that time…

in a daydream world, thinking about that time…

I smile to myself, and for a moment –

I forget to remember,

you’re no longer here.

Walking from room to room in my mind

retracing my steps within this house;

I find myself watching you at the kitchen table, playing solitaire.

Deftly picking and choosing and moving cards,

I hear you cluck your tongue softly, deep in thought,

as is your habit. I see you sitting there.

And for just that moment

you’re as real as real can be;

I forget to remember,

you’re no longer here.

I think back to spending the night

curled up on your couch,

snuggled safe, in a blanket

that smelled just like you.

You check on me and

say goodnight, as I drift off to sleep…

and for a moment,

I forget to remember…

you’re gone.

 

[Author’s note: Written in remembrance of Carol Doty.]

280 ml

How long does it take a heart to explode?

I ‘googled’ it; result:  no such thing.

Why then does it seem a possibility?

Perhaps when our hearts feel so full and heavy,

the weight becomes more than we can bear,

perhaps it is then because we wish it were so.

How long does it take a dream to die?

I ‘googled’ it; result: you can survive dying in your dreams

That somehow seems profound, but not very much like a satisfying answer.

How much can a human heart hold?

I don’t have to ‘google’ it to know:

It can hold all the joy and the sorrow

of human beings, of life and dreams and expectations,

and it can hold the universe and the stars in the sky.

I ‘googled’ it anyway; result:

approximately 280 ml.

Reconciling what I know and what is real,

I can only assume that all the joy, sorrow, dreams and expectations of a lifetime,

the universe and all the stars in the sky are equal to approximately 280 ml,

on repeat.