Invocation for the Restless

featured in the poetry forum June 29, 2009  :: 0 comments

The thing with growing is, it takes time.
Is there anything more painful
and exciting?

Faces to the sky looking up
asking, begging, on their knees praying
for the next satisfaction
a paycheck, a spanking, an event
a birth, a life, a phone call

Waiting to perceive, receive, believe
seems like we’re all in need
before the message is corrupted
channel soul speak
complete the incomplete
connect and re-member
Chant with the higher
mind soul
strip away the preconceived disbeliefs
Touch the god inside yourself
Wishing cheeks
Evolve from dust
Become the burning
Evolve from ashes
Blow away
Have a sky rebirth
Movement, rhythm,
Molecular rotation
Inner planet shrine
Energies enter acting
changing, merging
opening accepting
giving or receiving
There are many faces in the sky
looking back at us
their expressions
are clouds
they keep waiting
for that same answer
we’ve been hiding
with in our selves
restless searching
for meaning and reason
logical explanations
in concise packaging
with definitions and guidelines
nothing more than the
compulsive need
to label identity
and disregard energy
consciousness comes
from action
from the belief in action
cast your light laden nets
into the universe
shine and nurture growth
reach forward in generations
and create wonder
while all along you were dying
and beginning at the same time
existence believes in you
acceptance is what you deserve
reflection and introspection
powerful observation
spectrum of interpretation
Joy, Truth, Love
undeniable laws
deities that deserve
Language is the
reverberation of god
purified patient
waiting minds
third eye blessings
embrace the infinity messenger
show your self in the ten directions

Goodbye Blue Sky

featured in the poetry forum May 31, 2009  :: 0 comments

Blue Eyes still think about Blue Sky
A meltdown lifetime ago
Stranger dancing
Sundress stroll
Sauntering seduction
Water wells invent music
Starving notes
Kissing chords
Carved curved back
Smooth cool lover sculpture
Staring 3 by 3
Terrific terrible tease
Strict rules and nothing plays
Silence daylight
night is speaking
drumbeats and drunkenness
Freedom has nothing
but will
costs nothing
but courage
is nothing
but solitude
misty-eyed memories
molding protein
long gone lady luck
lucid lover
listening water forgives
is forgiveness
ask the dry tongue
Goodbye yellow yesterday
Goodbye Blue Sky

May 15, 2009

Human Ocean

featured in the poetry forum July 29, 2008  :: 0 comments

The sea is in my ear
it calls me
waves of telepathy surge
and ebb wildly
seeking me
to run
run from the baking concrete
that I’m pressed against
I know when I hear the briny whispering
I’m free, I’m free, I’m free
wild symphonies of the seas
come into my ear
drowning out the city traffic
sickly birds
and the clicking of heals and hearts
on the street
the allegro pulls me under
my eyes close
to steady myself
wet in my ear
on a dry hot raspy day
I’m always looking up
from the bottom of
a water-less ocean
deep in trenches of buildings that
I wish I could swim to the top of
on the crusty baked human ocean floor
it calls me to run on the body of it’s beaches
and feel the salty wind on my sun streaked cheeks
the edges of the world
send sunsets
to beckon me
and let my feet pound the wet sand
while an earth heart beat fills my soul
I can feel it calling me
whole and beautiful
filling the emptiness
with healing vibrations
carried from my heart with my blood
I see the air around me small and desperate
shaking me awake from a hot afternoon lucid dream
even if this is cliché
when no more waves crash
and I’m watching the smoggy traffic
just trying to stay hydrated
I know one day
for one year
morning sunrises
I will run across the breaking tide
I will cast my mirrors
call the circle
and welcome my ancestors
giving and receiving
loved, pure, and whole

What I Gave Away

July 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

If I wanted to be nothing
I would have stayed in Alabama
probably married some no good johnny
baked myself a tasteless pie dream
I would have chosen selfishness
and raised my daughter alone
God, I would die
just to see her face
that would have been easier
than giving her away
and continuing the cycle
I was determined to break
teen mother with emotionally
unavailable father
Sometimes the hardest thing to give away
is control

If you are happy
you know
nothing can touch you
but wind
Libra’s daughter and her deviant lover
worshipers of melody
seeking a paradise
Singing two-fisted whiskey love songs
about fire eating eyes
to eighteen-wheeler emotions
Consuming each other
one gives to feel whole
the other takes to fill a hole
Each thinking
they lack something
necessary to live
They define their happiness
by the validity of touch
Void, devoid, and, afraid
both guilty in someway
not ever really knowing
what feels good
All they have known
is their conditioning
the constant paranoia
of lack
of never amounting to
more than an addiction
They construct a universe
of guilt, of right and wrong
and this is no place to live
Tangible intangibles
paradoxes of reality
pretending its paradise
Instead of making love
and making light
they mutilate their own hearts
and exist in a continuous state
of darkness and emotional disfigurement

When I was 18
my boyfriend and I
bought a trailer
and moved in together
This was after my daughter was adopted
during that time
I obsessed with an everyday life
couldn’t save myself from thinking
that my sacrifice was for nothing
I couldn’t let go
my thoughts of grandeur
that my purpose was something greater
than working in a day care
living in a trailer and
never having an education
Over and over
it burrowed into my consciousness
conquered my reasoning
After weeks of self loathing
I made a promise to myself
Then I burned that trailer
to the ground
and headed west

Cowboy Skeleton

July 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

video by James "Bear" Rodehaver
audio by P.A.O. Productions

He stood like the sunset
long-legged rays of approaching darkness
stretching across the horizon.
He was the yellow-blossomed Texas Cacti
nice to look at,
get too close,
become pierced
by the addiction of needles.
His hands were mapmakers discovering my body
and no matter how much ocean I put between us,
his desert was in my heart.
Eyes like forbidden water
broken glass reflections of
his shadow, his silhouette, his darkness
an unknown destructive loneliness.
My Prickly Paw sweet soft flesh
impaled by stinging needles
changed by his wasteland tongue
both sides of his mouth talking
the convoluted truth
more dangerous than a bonfire in August
He stood like the shadows of the golden hour
a man’s torso and chestnut horse
calling Apollo across the sky.
The arrogance of Cancer
his arms’ goose down fur–the burnt cinders of a million hearts.
Stirring my scorched desire
Cross-eyed godless lovers,
mapmakers discovering mountains
of ice and ash.


July 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

The Deep Ellum of my day
was something else-
an indispensable lesson
of self-discovery and history.
But, even more so in the day
of great ones who were
inspired and moved
in the streets and alleys
of Commerce, and Canton.
The clever deviants,
writing guerilla poetry
before I was less than a whisper
in my grandmother’s
If asked to censor themselves,
they would have spit
in your face;
the fluid of an artist
offended by censorship.
Indigent bohemians
punk rock angels
banding together, poet gypsies,
working behind the counter
of Inwood Theatre
so they could eat
and see free films.
Minds Clouded by the legacy
of insanity
24-hour candy flippers
day before and after trippers
in Deep Ellum Live, woman
with a shaved head and
four braids coming from
her neckline.
Inauspicious female
my fifteen-year-old self
tossed about
in the middle of a mosh pit
at a bad religion concert.
My first time out all night
first girl scout cookie shot
Texas inkblot…
Yeah man, those guys
would have read this poem
naked at the top of their lungs
covered in vomit
tripping their balls off
or better…
As much as I would like that,
it is not their time anymore,
and I’m too old for this shit.
All I want to do is write a poem.
Rules in a
no rules game?
Double standard
double Entendre
echoing voices of lost generations.
Because our roles models,
are dead, dying
or worse…
Sold out,
that can’t be what happens
when you break
What’s this game about?
Are you telling me I have to
change my story to fit your family?
Oh, happy little life we lead
successful expendable incomes
then they breed.
Expecting art to become childproof?
Collective expense experience
collateral damage in the minefield nightmares
of Picasso dreams.
How ignorant
sheltered bigots
can’t stand to stain
those pretty white
in $500,000 coffins.
Are you telling me that
as long as I stay behind
the register, take your money, and
not open my mouth,
or interrupt your cell phone
during our transaction;
you will look through
that plate glass and smile as you take your
ticket to the show?


July 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

I have been to your garden,
listening as the water falls
over rippled Terracotta walls
I have felt the flow of water through granite
hearing only movement whispering to birds,
and the chatter of children.
I have felt the sculpture of clay
moving over my body
defining my toes and feet
modeling my breasts
carving my eyes into eternity’s heart.
I stand watching you,
watching me,
and when you turn your back and leave
I sing prayers for you
so that you may be blessed
by skillful hands that guide through the universe
I am no less than geometric algorithms
no more than the fissures of gilded
bronze, silver, and gold.
I am the imagined
where dreams and death are made, separated,
and given to creation.