At The Outdoor Cafe

right now, i am grateful for the sweater-coat
and the rust colored tights I am wearing

i am grateful for the apple cider at its
drinkable temperature

i am grateful that the trees above me
still have leaves left to fall

i am grateful for the late rays of
a sun going down

i am grateful for the cool breeze
that tousles my hair
(and makes me more grateful for the sun and the sweatercoat)

i am grateful for sight, tactile sense, and
my husband's beard
to keep his chin warm

i am grateful for the gold and red leaves
floating on the surface of the water

i am grateful for the cheery chuckles
of people sitting nearby

i am grateful for crumbs, strewn over mossy bricks
for tiny sparrows watching with bright eyes

i am grateful
and lucky
and blessed
and remembered

Pleased To Meet You, I...

am afraid of the dark.
am prone to headaches and nausea, and melancholy.
am superstitious at inopportune times.
am socially awkward.
am a mousy voice.
constantly forget what I look like.
compulsively shop to forget.
am never completely certain.
try too hard.
am lazy a lot.
am calmed by the sea.
often live above my means.
imagine romances with strangers.
count things.
have a weakness for Earl Grey, orange marmalade on toast, and chivalry.
feel watched.
try too hard to make friends, but not hard enough to keep them.
hate having my photo taken.
have frequent flights of fancy.

Fast and Forever Flows the River Called Change

all of these swirling around me
a tiny storm, a personal hurricane
of change. and changes. changing.
thoughts, images, memories
come before me.
they crowd around me.
some move forward to solo,
while others recede, shimmering
in the background. waiting.
dance finished, the memory bows to me.
smiles. fades
into the background with the others.
another takes its place.
it is dusk
the in-between time.
the veil of the temple was torn in two.
the dead walked.
memories walked.

she doesn't want me to go, but i must.
she is begging me now to stay, but
i have promised myself to someone...

myself.

Haiku Bones3

the morning dawns grey
fog obscures the familiar
a world of my own

Haiku Bones2

lost in Reverie
thoughts peel back like onion skin
and i'm left sobbing

Haiku Bones1

dusk settles softly
shrouding the earth in blue mist
stars come out to play

Shiny

somewhere there is
the promise of
a thousand splendid
tomorrows,
and they shine
like the new sun.

they are golden
and green
and you
could never hope
to hold them -
to grasp them
in your fist.

they are sweet
like new grass
and bitter
like old tears
and they are not
only for you.

Like the Falling of Autumn Leaves

To stay or to go?
To dance, or watch only?
To defend, or look away?


To crave freely or to stifle?
To gain or to lose?
To run or to write?
To eat or to starve?

Diligence or laissez-faire?
Truth or comfort?
Plain words or poetry?
Wine or water?
Stretch or force?
Restore or demolish?

In what order shall I put mine house?
What comes first...and who can tell me?
This is where I dwell.

At The Masquerade, No One Is What They Seem

i see you there
so careful
lest the fragile
paper mache
mask you've made
be jostled out of place

i would like to see
it shattered
in pieces on the floor

the deus ex machina
within
released

a true self revealed
would your face shine too brightly
or would we hide our faces
from the stare
of blank soulless
eyes

Madame Laveaux

Marie, O Marie,
come and wrap around me
how do you want me to tell it

give me the words, muse
i will light the candles
the better to see through your eyes

i just want to get it down right
day and night, through my sleep and waking
my gestures are yours
sunup to sundown
i will sing your songs
if you whisper the words into my ear

Being The Writer Who Stays In The Room

and so it begins
the books scattered on the table:
inspiration and blanks
black words scrawled on a creme
page -
the napkins and crumbs
the cup of tea, golden and wise
the silver spoon, full of sugar cubes
groan of wooden door
steam from cup
whispers
footsteps

ten thousand distractions

jesters, all
craving audience with the queen