Monday, August 20, 2012


The Faerie

she tried to change them
the one who was crude with self loathing
stuffing fruit in his cheeks and swinging
by tail from rafters
she tried to console
the one who was more than half dead
a beautiful zombie
she showered with praise
morning dew sparking the spider's web
she wrote him stories
of love and worship
the one who was kinky and cold
she wept on his chest to thaw his heart
she rubbed salve on his head
to melt the horns
the one who was bitter and cruel
she wrote poems for him
for thirty days straight
to heal his wounds
she rubbed cream on his hooves to give him back feet
finally she gave up on all of them
what business did she have to change them?
her magic could be used for better purposes

so she was alone
and then finally another one came
no demon he, just a man
and she knew none of them had really been demons at all
perhaps they had become what they were because of her?
she hadn't noticed the tail or hooves or horns at first
the rotting flesh
no, she might have been responsible
but this man, she let him be
she let him lead her
she let him come and go
she let him have his silence
she knew that if the pain became too great
she would not try to make him
something he was not
she would simply use her spells upon herself
and leave


  1. #4 (from the illustration that was briefly posted, now gone)

    Why must pretty birds be
    locked in cages?
    Won't they stay of their own accord
    while the piper pipes?

    Where would they go, tail feathers like rudders
    to the distant peaks, to a perch
    near each other, perhaps
    far, maybe they don't get along
    and must be kept apart
    and it wouldn't be fair to only cage one
    and they'd one or both leave
    and who wants that?

    Meanwhile, serenely she plays
    unconcerned and certain
    of her audience.

    We don't know the sweet song
    or the symbolism of pink and petals
    only that there is no past or future
    in a cage


  3. she walks in beauty like a goddess
    stirring the clouds, and whirling the wind
    creating a rainbow concoction

    a recipe of stars, at her feet
    rippling seismic waves, with each step
    the mountains behind her

    she has the power to change
    the atmosphere


    Tend to the garden, I will
    to your beds of roses,
    petals as white as your skin
    luminous under a harvest moon,
    breathe in I will
    The fragrance of your springtime blossoms,
    And cultivate the soil
    from which hyacinth spring
    and bend in a close arc,
    so like your spine pressed against me when we rest
    your back pressed against my chest,
    then lying in the heat of summer
    when you crave a rain,
    conjure up a storm I will
    to drench your vines, douse the leaves and wet the roots
    spread through your verdant acres,
    and at the end of autumn
    I will collect leafless boughs dangling from a curly willow,
    gather them contorted in my arms,
    like your arms, wrists crossed above your head,
    when we rest myself atop you,
    and always in my winter,
    the leaves of your maples I will keep coursing
    with scarlet
    and blushing
    no dormancy,
    my love never in repose.

  5. As she stumbled through the woods
    it became harder for her not to let her eyes
    dart around searching for a fork in the road, a way out
    wanted to escape her darkness, leave behind what was hindering her
    felt the pull on each of her limbs, the cloak heavy around her shoulders
    the biting cold was a welcome retreat from
    the fire of his bed
    where she could still feel
    the marks of his hands
    she shed her shoes, opting instead for her feet against what had organically fallen
    needed to eradicate her mouth of anything metallic.

    For too long she had allowed herself to be burdened with the smog
    that hung low over her city,
    intoxicating tonic of polluted air
    she forgot how to breath without labor
    did not know her lungs
    held capacity for more than smoke
    her hands no longer ached for the chill glass
    as she made her way farther away the ribbons that had once tied her,
    that had held her prisoner
    in the satin of her stubbornness,
    the sighed off the loneliness
    took deep into her hands
    the knowledge that she was not alone
    the trees bowed to her,
    promising their company
    for once she did not shy away
    from their rough tenderness
    allowed herself to be swept up
    in their branches
    and watched her old self wander aimless
    glad to be rid of what held her down.

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    1. Whoa, may I just add that I wrote my poem early this morning and cannot believe the parallels to the pictures you posted for tomorrow's poem! Freakin' weird.

  7. your manic pixie dream girl is not your manic pixie dream girl,
    she is all her own
    yeah she can bring you to life, alter your being
    but she is not a genie
    do you know how much energy you cost? she only has so much to spend,
    you can drain her if you are not careful
    and it's not true what they say, she doesn't need you to believe in her
    she knows her power and it is not up for grabs, she is not found treasure
    she was never lost
    she is just a human girl who never lost her sight
    who never forgot her true origins
    who who has always known that we are made of: the same exploding nebulae as gold
    the same pressure as diamonds the same force that is still pushing the universe open--
    an eternal blooming of light

  8. Silent movie in the park
    music played by brute heart
    they ooh and aww like melodic wolves
    moon-walking in deep forests
    watch the phantoms on film
    with their sweet black make up
    and sepia-toned skin
    hands dancing frantic through the stage set world

    There is that otherworld on the projector screen
    flinting electric
    There is the violins and the girls singing
    there is me wrapped in a blanket
    staring from the top of the hill at the screen
    and city skyscape.
    There is my friend wearing a dress and she brought homemade chocolate
    and when I'm speaking it feels like silence
    and the silence feels like speaking in a realm where opposites and paradoxes and complexities
    share something, sit side by side.
    I am speechless.

  9. eyes once blue and sparkling
    now dull and dark
    i wrote you a poem
    so short and sweet
    all about those eyes
    and those angel hands
    i thought you were
    perfect together
    and now just a wrinkled
    page in my journal
    i occasionally give
    a passing glance
    and snivel at my childish

  10. #4


    Tear-stained, crumbled paper
    on the ground surrounded by
    torn in half pictures
    and broken frames
    china dolls
    and Barbie dolls

    Poetry flutters around the room
    papers burning as they hit the floor
    a sweet breeze blows in from the west
    all she can smell is
    fresh-baked cake
    from her mother's kitchen

    blowing out the candle
    tossing broken things into trash bags
    she runs downstairs,
    to grab a slice of childhood.

  11. I always wondered about the girl with the large brown eyes
    a red ribbon in her fawn colored hair
    She walked on the tips of her toes slowly as if each step was
    was a wager on her life, and when she ran she darted quickly
    almost animal like always as if escaping

    I always wondered about the way the boys followed her
    like hunters their compliments raised weapons
    waiting for her to falter and say yes

    I always wondered about her boyfriend with silver black hair
    eyes always hungry, hands always seductive holding her neck
    his kissed seemed to hurt leaving faint bruises on her lips

    In the dawn early morning I found a dead deer
    a red ribbon tied to its neck its chest ripped open
    exposing a missing heart

    In the news I heard that some hunters had killed a silver black wolf
    a heart in its mouth...

    the browned eyed girl and her boyfriend were never seen again

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  13. it is more likely that i will find
    meaning in
    an episode of Seinfeld
    than in a poem
    in my
    chronic feelings of
    pinching at my waistline
    blowing my nose while
    sipping my (third) glass of wine
    an ikea tumbler
    there is beauty to be found
    in the sound of your text tone
    that photo i sent you
    of trepanning
    and in
    our constant chatter of synthpop
    and there is love there
    and that is poetry
    my petty inferiority complex
    and our love

    (apologies for the delete!!!!)

  14. Today
    I can't
    give you roses
    or rainbows.

    This silence
    is not fatal, but
    life threatening

    However, they make
    pills for that

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  16. 04.
    there, through the blues & yellows
    a thin, transparent apparition
    lurks electrically
    among a field overgrown
    with wildflowers.
    perfumed wind whips wantonly
    seducing me with every whisper.
    i will fall into arms
    too thin to catch me.
    i will lie on the ground
    too content to get up.