To live in agony

beneath the coolness of the sheets,

your presence remains alive

with your scent pressed firmly upon my skin

and a mind projecting reoccurring movies of
hands tracing one woman’s curves,
and lips which follow closely behind
in a play of delicate unison;



one memory etched forever within a mind
how long to remain in agony?
awaiting your return

lost significance

all you have to do is say my name.
a soft touch of my hand
and I am lost
within your words
never wanting to be found again.

My promise

A soul was ignited with promise and hope
Of our time measured in weeks;

Upon our first meeting,
I was found lost and down trodden;

But alive I became with your words of beauty
Spoken with trust, honesty and heart;

To forget, not I
For inside my heart
you will remain forever.

Not afraid

I'm not afraid anymore,
to let you take my hand
as we walk side by side;

I'm not afraid anymore,
to kiss you in public;

I want the world to
see what you mean to me;

I'm not afraid anymore
to say those three little words

I love you,

But out loud, is another matter.

Alive

There are no crystal balls, nor time machines
Which let me see our outcome;
Nor a voice to speak to me
But something definite has awaken inside of me
Feelings which were long ago locked away
Now sit on the forefront of my mind
Joy, passion and desire has returned
And tugs at my being
To let me know I am alive.

to miss

When you're away;

I miss your sweet touch
upon my breasts;

I miss your scent upon my skin;

I miss your smile within my mind;

I miss your words upon your tongue;

I miss my fingers within your hair;

I miss my lips upon your chest;

I miss your heartbeat next to mine;

I miss your hand within mine;

I miss your arms wrapped around my body;

I miss you,

The journey to life

For us
There is no bed of roses anymore;
Nor the struggles of living on a prayer

And it is all long since remembering
you kissing me gently
in the rain
when neither you nor i cared;

The minutes, the moments, the years we shared
wich began with the picture of my house
outlined with the factory in the back;

fades into a distant memory
of I loving you and you loving me

regret? I have none for
it was all
rocky stepping stones
to reach a new path
of enlightenment
to be able to find
peace, pleasure
and the discovery of
of happiness.

a spell

A spell has been cast
Was it the magic in your spine?
Or the magic in your mind?
Both cloud my mind
But a spell indeed
I find myself under
The waiting
The doubts
All disappear
Within the warmth of your chest
The sight of your smile
The touch of your lips
you rescue me
and leave me wanting more

january 22 morning thoughts

It’s a brave front
That I portray
When you turn to leave;
I know I’ll see you again
But with a last hug
Last kiss;
My stomach is sick
What does this mean?

how to be a pretty girl

Suck your stomach in,
Hold your shoulders straight
No one will ever want you,

You're not the pretty girl.
with the pageant feet and wave

Can you acquire it?
Is it from practicing?
Standing hours in front of the mirror
Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse
Starve,dance, situps

You have to look good in our family
Just look at your brother
He is so beautiful,
everyone wants him
quit crying
You're just jealous of him

Suck in your stomach!
Drop and do 50!
Why can't you quit eating?
You're such an embarrassment
Once on the lips forever on the hips is my motto!
Adkins diet.
Grapefruit diet
Zimmerman’s diet pills
Liquid soy drinks
Cabbage soup
sweet and low

Saccharin dreams
turn to stone
and leave you sad and alone;

should have run a few laps
around the house
then you would have something
to be proud of.

look at me
the boys always wanted me
look at you
they will never want you
eat a rice cake
we will have chocolate;

you're sour,
we have love.
live in a dream world.
We’ll take reality;


It never really mattered
none of it.
it was all a wicked lie
whispered in my ear.

new torment

I’m not so used to this
It was quite unexpected
I don’t know what to do with them
Feelings,
Without warning they have taken over my body and
linger within my mind,
every waking moment


I so want to call you
Just to hear your voice
But I won’t;

I so want to see you
Just to watch you smile
But I won’t;

I so want to write you a letter
Just to read your name
But I won’t;

How do I cope? this torment?
not of hurt and pain,
but of hope and joy.

Round and round

Around and round
Legs dangle
Blond hair caught on a breeze
Merry go round

Life turns a complete circle
People come and go
Take my hand
Dangling free
Without a care
Merry go round

unknown doubts

I was scared of the unknown
That first uncertain kiss
When would it occur and how
What if I didn’t like it?
Or worse- what if you didn’t.
Slipping your arm around my shoulders
My lips I did part to receive
One velvet tongue and moist soft lips
Which sounds so cliché
Were definitely made for kissing;

So come along with me and
And remain within the cliché
And just
Kiss, kiss, kiss

Put all doubts to rest
Until my entire being trembles.

possible

you make it possible

just to laugh
just to smile,

just to feel,

isn't that how life

is supposed to be?

january 17 thoughts

She sits beneath the mimosa tree, her eyes focused on little pink flowers floating carelessly away on a drift of the wind

serene silence is broken by a mocking bird's caw;

The bright sun screams out at her, she feels the heat upon her cheek,

In a blink of an eye everything she thought her life would be

now has changed for the better

new beginnings, relationships


there's no time to ask why

a clock ticks to time speeding forward

january 16 thoughts

one stolen moment alone
she pulled him close to her,
a gentle stroke to her hair.
a simple kiss upon his neck

she gazed into his eyes so green

from his six foot stature he leaned down
and whispered her name
say it again,
what he asked?
my name, just my name

I love the way you make it sound
it fills my soul
the cold wind blew gently around them
tightly she held onto his chest
never wanting to let go
he squeezed her so tight
she almost lost her breath
stay with me

to see

one silhouette
who graced one life
upon my fingertips

I felt his warmth
one heart who longed
to share
truth, knowledge and
perhaps love

could it be for real?
she now breathes
instead of pain,

happiness?
maybe only fake?

but it feels and it lives
and at the moment
it is worth more to her
than life itself
his silhouette.

Moving Day

with joy I took each
football card
out of its protective vinyl sleeve
and watched one by one
fall into the trash bin,

computer cords, monitors and heavy metal magazines
gladly I disposed of,
wrestling videos and pictures;

love notes, cards and passages
written once in earnest by you
a spilling of your heart, you were so good at words;

long since lost their magic
as they lay among the cockroaches, dead rats and mold;

pictures of you came next
holding our first born, holding me
our smiles shinning bright, fingers crossed for good luck,
no need for sentimental issues now,
time to heal and forget.

in the damp dark dungeon of a home you brought us too
we made our final escape
and I have left you at the bottom of the trash heap
among the ruins of our lives.

stay with me

stay with me
beneath the sheets
away from the cold and the rain
keep your skin so close to mine
and let me listen to your heart beat
stay with me
and tell me what you see
as you look into my eyes
stay with me

little things

it was nice to see your face today
without words eyes speak to me
it was nice to feel your lips against mine
soft and warm
it was nice to watch you work
and to know why you were
little things you do and say
tell me one thing
you care,
and for that I am thankful

Haunting Waves

(c)2004

The ghosts from my childhood home haunt me. They scream out at me in the middle of the night, waking me from a dead sleep.

I turn into the driveway. The big silver mailbox with a dent in the side seems to welcome me with its faded red flag. Looking out to the right I see the mallard ducks swimming and feeding in the pond. A fish jumps up and splashes back down, startling a duck to move ahead with a flap of his wings. A lazy snake sunning on a fallen tree branch slowly slithers his body into the water.

The sun beads sweat upon my skin as I make my way up the winding road to the red brick house on the hill. The daffodils planted in a row, wave gently at me in the wind. Squirrels leap from limb to limb on the oak and pine trees surrounding the home. Ghosts are everywhere.

To the right of the home, stands the garden with the rickety fence, and my grandfather. He is busy with his troy built tiller working his vegetables. He holds up a hand and waves to me smiling. He is showing me how he can till with only one hand. He turns it off a minute to take a white handkerchief out to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. Carefully he folds the handkerchief up and puts into his back pocket. He is ready to go again. I wave. He smiles.

Opening the door to the patio that leads to my grandmother’s beauty shop. I stop to watch her through the big rectangle window. She is busy teasing the bright yellow hair of a lady into an up-do. Slowly but sure she puts each curl in its perfect place. Tapping on the window I wave. She waves back with her blue teasing comb in her hand as I open the back door to the house.

Inside it always looks the same, everything is always in its place. The pendulum on the clock above the fireplace swings back and forth in time. Smells of fresh soup from the garden cooking on the stove and cornbread in the double black oven take over my senses. Chocolate and apple pies line the bar. Tom Brokaw is presenting the news, which blares from the television. I sink down into the cushions of the green overstuffed couch, closing my eyes.

The ringing of black rotary dial phone on the desk startles me. I open my eyes to see family members and friends that have started to gather in the living room and den. Some sobbing, others laughing, telling stories that I have heard a million times, always interesting, each time something new is added for a different spin to the story. I listen to them and laugh along.

The phone doesn’t stop ringing; the clock begins to chime. I remember why they are here. Looking down at my black dress, I wipe a tear from my eye, my grandfather’s wake. In the corner my grandmother is sitting in his chair crying, twisting a white handkerchief in her hands. My mother and uncle are bent down trying to comfort her. My grandfather’s cowboy hat and belt buckles hang on a rack above their heads. The roar of the crowd begins to deafen my ears. I scream and run out of the house to the swing that is hanging under the big oak tree.

It is fall now and the leaves crunch under my feet. I can feel the chill of the cold wind on my face, as the tears begin to flow. A silence surrounds me. I feel wrapped in grief as arms wrap around my body. It is my mother, with her long dark curly hair blowing in the wind. She is beautiful as always, but coldness lingers in her eyes, a dull blank stare. She watches the house pointing toward the decorative carved double front doors. The doors I have seen my grandfather polish daily for years. He would put polish in each grove of the wood, rubbing the doors until they would shine. I see his ghost smiling at me dipping his rag into the pan of polish.

Standing at the doors now is my mother's lover, with his gold tooth and shoulder-length gray hair. He waves to my mother and me. She smiles and waves back, giving my hand a squeeze. Reaching behind a tree he holds up a red can and throws its contents toward the doors, liquid falling down into the grooves of the wood. I run toward him and he pushes me down, as he takes a match out of his pocket striking it, throwing it at the doors.

My mother jumps up dances around and around, laughing, as if in a gypsy carnival. Leaves fall from the tree down into her curly hair, as flames take over the house. It doesn’t take long for a lifetime of memories to disappear.

It’ll be another scorcher today; we will reach the three-digit mark again. How about something from John Phillip Sousa to start your morning drive?

As the trumpets begin I reach over knocking a book off the nightstand to hit the snooze button. Mom’s birthday today, I must remember to send some flowers to the hospital, daffodils.

Carrie's Hollywood Myth

(set in the 30's)


Carrie got out of bed. She grabbed her head in pain. Her legs and back ached. It was so hard to move, but somehow she managed to. With the sound of the loud familiar voice approaching her room down the hall, she knew it was time again. This would be the second one tonight she thought to herself. Carrie walked to the mirror and picked up a brush trying to straighten her hair. Her short blond locks fell around her neck. They weren't very blond anymore. So thin, with deep, dark circles under her eyes, she hardly recognized the girl who was staring back at her in the mirror.

Leaning her face down by the basin she splashed some cold water onto her face. A soiled towel lying on the floor she picked up and dried herself off. She looked on the cluttered vanity for some red lipstick. Lipstick always seemed to make her feel a little better. But she really knew it wouldn't do anything to help her pale gaunt face. Finding it she applied a little to her lips and puckered them at the mirror.

The door with the chipping brown paint flew open; Bertha with her heavy taupe stockings pulled up over her thick legs walked hurriedly into the room.

It had been Bertha who had found Carrie months ago slumped over a park bench late one night. Bertha looked like such a trusting woman that night, big red hair piled into a bun, deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, conservative dress, like someone's well kept grandma. Her voice that night warmed her heart. Now for Carrie to hear it only made her skin crawl.

"Carrie, shape up." Bertha's voiced roared. Bertha walked over to the armoire that was missing its handles. She pushed the wire hangers around until she pulled out a white gown and a matching white robe with feathers. She threw them at Carrie.

"Now put this on. This next gent wants a Jean Harlow. You do your best acting. I'm getting paid a bundle!" Bertha reached to the radio and switched it on. Benny Goodman's orchestra filled the room. "There that's better. This place needs a little atmosphere."

Carrie slipped on the gown and reached for the bottle of gin that was on the table beside the bed. She turned the bottle up and took a big drink of it. She loved how it seemed to warm her body.

"You ready girl? Don't drink too much of that you need a clear head to perform."

"Yes, Bertha I'm ready. Tears begin to well up into her eyes, but she took another drink from the bottle and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

"Beautiful girl, beautiful. Now you make my gent happy and I will get you that audition. Remember I know them all in this town. Ok sweetie?" Bertha laughed a big thunderous laugh as she left the room.

(c)2004

Lauren's Body Image

auren stood in front of her full-length mirror, bra, and shorts on. No matter what she did it wouldn't go away. The fat stayed there like a lingering nightmare. She asked herself, "What time is it?" How long had she been there in front of the mirror? Was it one, two, three hours? She couldn't leave the mirror. Nothing would make her leave.

The radio blasted the current dance hits and Lauren continued to dance and dance. She had to. Thoughts raced through her head. The fat had to leave. She needed to go to class. She was ruining her only chance at a life. So many people would be disappointed in her. She had to do well. She had to graduate. This was the fifth class that she had missed. Why? She couldn't leave the mirror. Tears welled up in her eyes. She continued to dance. She wiped the sweat away. Her legs ached, her stomach ached. Thoughts of eating entered her mind; she stopped dancing and looked into the mirror. Convincing herself that she needed to eat for more energy she made her way into the kitchen.


The kitchen floor was cold beneath her feet. She flipped on the light and opened the bare cupboard, nothing but a couple of cans of 3-ounce tuna and a box of Melba toast. She took the toast and one can of tuna. She opened up a kitchen drawer and took out her diet diary.

The pages were worn with doodles of pigs all over the pages. She read, "Monday, breakfast one cup of black coffee, boiled egg. Lunch nothing, you did great! Exercised two hours, Great work Lauren!" Taking the pen out of the drawer she wrote down, dinner, one half can of 3 -ounce tuna and half Melba toast. She then wrote, "I am so proud of myself today." A smile came across her face. She closed the diary and carefully put it back into the drawer.

Standing at the counter she took the tuna and carefully spread part of it on half of the Melba toast. She took a bite of it swallowing it fast without really tasting. If it were in her mouth too long she would want more. Tears welled up in her eyes again. She thought of her grandfather, who had died three years earlier. He was smiling at her and so proud that she was going to college. Oh how she didn't want to disappoint him, but she couldn't leave the house weighing 121 pounds. It was entirely too much for her 5'5 height. She couldn't take being laughed at anymore. Wiping the tears away and she poured a glass of water. Putting the cold glass to her lips, she drank it all. She grabbed the edge of the counter as she sat the glass down. Her legs felt weak, but she had to finish exercising.

Walking back to her bedroom she sucked in her stomach and straightened her shoulders. The radio now was playing one of her favorite dance songs. She positioned herself in front of the mirror and started dancing as fast as she could. She shut her eyes as scenes raced through her head. Perfect body, great boyfriend, Lauren was rich. Her mother was nice. No one called her names. Her grandfather was alive. As the music grew louder she saw a group of people, beautiful people holding signs up, like in a protest march. On them the signs said, "Pig, fat pig, go away!"

Within seconds Lauren felt very dizzy. The room went black.


(c) 2005

Lost in the Thirties

(c) 2005

Beth awoke. A smile came across her face as she thought about all that she had planned to do today. She stretched her arms above her head. They feel a little stiff, she thought. No matter, her body will feel just fine when she gets to dance class later with Emily.

She lay in bed and thought of her night before with Robert. The night had been perfect, dinner at Billy Wilkerson's Trocadero, and later dancing at Toddy's. She could still feel Robert's body next to hers as he moved her around the dance floor. She smiled to herself. Oh and who could forget that moonlight swim in the ocean, Robert's body so close to hers and the scent of his skin. She smiled again. It was their stolen moment together, before they each had to face reality this morning. Robert was going to finally break it off with that blonde in the Hollywood Hills. He finally has some sense, Beth thought to herself. What had taken him this long dumbfounded her. After all she thought, Beth Michaels is a star. That dumb blond was simply a flash in the pan. Oh how she wished he was in her arms right at this moment. But work comes first.

Beth got up and opened the French doors a little wider to let in the fresh ocean air. She could hear the waves hitting the beach and she smiled as she thought of her Robert. She walked over to her nightstand and picked up the picture of Robert and kissed it. She said to herself, "Now let me see I have a meeting at Paramount today to discuss me doing that film, 'Sands of Time' with Robert. How I hope MGM trades me so I will be able to do it. I need to get dressed now. I don't want to be late."

Beth walked into her closet and looked inside. She said to herself, "These clothes, they simply won't do. They look too matronly." She kept digging into the back of the closet and finally found a lovely pink dress. "This is lovely. I always look so lovely in pastels." She searched the side of the closet and picked up some pink pumps.

Beth walked over to the phono and put on Duke Ellington's, "I'm So In Love With You." She smiled, how she loved that tune. For that was how she felt about Robert. He was all she could think about, Robert with his dark curly hair and haunting eyes. They were beautiful on and off the screen, she said as she slipped into her dress. "MGM simply has to let me do this picture. They just have too."

Beth slipped her pumps on and walked over to her jewelry box and took out a diamond necklace and put it around her neck. "I wonder what is keeping Anthony? He should've rung me by now." Anthony was her long time butler. He had been with her from her first days. Finally there was a knock at the door.

"Anthony?" Beth asked.

"No, Miss Beth it is Michael. Are you ready to go to the memorial service?"

Beth appeared stunned. She walked to the door and opened it.

"Who are you? Where is Anthony? He is supposed to take me to an early meeting at Paramount this morning at 10:00 sharp." Beth asked.

"Miss Beth, you must be confused. Anthony passed over twenty years ago. I have been with you for fifteen. You were supposed to attend the memorial service today for your friend, Robert London. Do you remember Miss Beth?"

"What are you saying? Are you a thief? Get out of my house! Anthony! Anthony! Help, I need help! Someone has broken in!" Beth ran through the doorway to the stairs. On the wall beside the staircase was a huge wall mirror. Beth glanced at it as she grabbed the railing of the staircase. She stopped. In the mirror she saw the reflection of an old woman, much like that of her grandmother. She turned and looked behind her and said, "Mema, what are you doing here?"

But there was no one there except for that burglar. She turned around and looked down at her arm and then into the mirror, at the reflection staring back at her. Beth dropped to the floor and screamed, "Robert!".

A Relationship

He called me. I was excited by his boyish voice full of uncertainty.
I agreed to his simple request, a picnic at the park. It would be our second date.

By the time I zipped up my pink sun dress he was on my front step ringing
the bell. I smoothed my blond hair down and peeked at him through the
front window. He stood with daisies. I cleared my throat and opened
the door. His blue eyes welcomed me.

Hand in hand we strolled through the park. I laughed at his lame
jokes. He poked fun at my cowlick.

I spread out the blanket on the green wavy grass. We sat down and he
opened the picnic basket. The wine and finger sandwiches impressed me.

We fed the ducks our bread crumbs. He laughed as a goose came after
me. I teased him when he sang Morrissey. Our conversation felt
comfortable. He talked of politics, I the theatre. He quoted Carl
Jung, I quoted Dorothy Parker.

When he leaned over and touched his lips to mine, I felt as if my feet
were on air.

It was spring, flowers bloomed, and birds sang.


***************************

Venomous words filled the gray sky.

"Jesus, he's your English professor!" He kicked at the pile of books
and men's clothes that lay upon the crisp brown leaves.

"At least I can have a conversation with him, unlike the whore at the
coffee house! What is she 12?"

"I don't want conversation! Just her tits!" He picked up an armful of
clothes off the ground.

He stared at me with hate in his eyes. I stared back. He walked in a
hurried pace packing his SUV. I threw his bowling trophy that landed
with a thud near his feet. He cursed under his breath. I smiled.

I laughed at his clothes, hair, and face. He remarked that I was
putting on weight. He picked up the last of his clothes, threw them in
the back, got in and slammed his car door. As I watched it pull away,
Mozart played in my mind. I wrapped my arms around my body and cried.

The wind had a cold chill to it. Orange and yellow leaves fell from
the trees. It would soon be winter.

Just to talk

l love talking to you
the sound of your voice
calms my nerves
gives me a smile
speaks of hope
happiness returns

talk to me
about life,
art, literature
talk to me
about the weather,
morning dew upon a leaf
trees, flowers in bloom
music notes
global warming and peace

talk to me
about old teachers,
schoolmates,
childhood heartache

talk to me
past and present
failures and dreams
talk to me
as we stare up at the stars
hand in hand
a soft brush of a cheek;
talk to me about everything
just talk

Passing Mirrors

Demons of youth have resurfaced;
forgotten, locked away long before when happiness overtook a soul
with each passing mirror they laughed their way back with depression and grew.
For just moments an addiction to piercing needles on a brain,
heat rushing to the cheeks- a gentle ache to the gut- emptiness is filled
it isn't happy, but its something;
compliments received replace some hurt
and make voices stop
drugs would be easier
but what would be gained?

New Year's Eve

Inspired by a old Saturday Evening Post


At the stroke of midnight

A matire d', New Year's Eve

Solemnly stares out over the crowd as

the first chords of Auld Lang Syne

reveals confetti, revelers, party hats, wet kisses.

with each toot of a horn

the noise level increases

he grows tired

his silver tray now empty

Champagne flutes have spilt

He seeks a quiet corner

And stands steadfast

quietly to await in limbo

For the last guest to make an exit

Awaken

Sorry to have awaken
you this morning
from your
warm, cozy slumber
within your voice my fears were calmed
and oh how I wanted to feel your arms
around me tight safe and warm
right at that momemt
with the first morning light
shining upon your skin
can I wake you tomorrow?

Makeup

blush
lipstick
ivory concealer
used to hide outside scars
but what hides those deep within?

A renewal of life

she put away the past today,
the photos, letters and memories.
heartache, pain and misery
although not in her nature
she allowed herself to take a chance
one small step of faith
she saw before her eyes

there was one with a soul and purpose
who set a different pace
with only a kiss, a touch
strong hands upon the flesh
warm lips upon her breasts
he painted words within her ear
lust, passion, desire

ignited within her soul
and a future became clear