Tortured Peace

Silence shrieks within my mind,

sorrow snickers with glee.

I navigate by a starless night,

the signs I see aren’t right.

To change yesterday I must learn from tomorrow.


I Look Toward the Wondrous Night Sky

I look toward the wondrous night sky

and imagine what lies beyond.

Perhaps I’m not as far away as they say

maybe there’s no “there” there, after all.

Something outside hides the way,

prevents me from hearing the call…

I look toward the wondrous night sky

and imagine what lies beyond.

Hope is a baby crying for candy

while suckling on mother’s breast –

nothing more.

Fear and love war in my soul,

there is no victor,

but the battle takes a dreadful toll…

I look toward the wondrous night sky

and imagine what lies beyond.

Like an ant in a skyscraper’s basement

my perception is dim,

nothing more than a whim.

Faces pass in the crowd,

I smile, move on.

Onward, never resting, till journey’s end;

and friendless on that last day,

I die alone.

La nuit dernière

Cold, dead eyes stare back at me

through the cheap, smoky mirror.

Predator or victim?

A little more mascara,

another dose of Candy Apple.

Squint, blink, pucker, pout…

Good to go.

Oh, but, no;

the incessant base thump-thump-thumping

outside the bathroom door,

the goofy stares at my boobs –

like they’re some kind of hypnotic Sudoku puzzle;

I’m sure my butt’s bruised purple

from all the usual pinching and slapping.

A couple of hours ago Neicey and I thought this was a good idea.

Now, my toes are clenched in these pumps

and my head is lost in a cloud,

half high, half ache.

Yet all the while a pleasant warmth rises inside me…

The door opens, I quickly turn.

It’s Neicey.

Our eyes meet in a way they’ve never met before.

For Christina

Nine good years bookended by tragedy…

A brown-eyed face of hope

suddenly taken away

leaving a hole like Ground Zero in our soul.

Speak not of political ideologies

nor proud partisan remedies

while our tears still be wet,

rather remember her legacy now.

Yes, now and till the winds of time run out of breath!

Henceforth, let us not lash out in anger

but rather reach out in kindness.



Downstairs death stares

electrodes fry her temples

Dr. Freeman taps the ice pick.

Lightning strikes temples of gods long dead

cottontail rabbit diligently digging his hole.

Downstairs death stares

like lilies of the field

scorched by the late summer sun

the Son commends His spirit

neath the cheering of the bloodthirsty throng.

Downstairs death stares

waves of horsemen and archers under one flag exact revenge on waves of horsemen and archers under another

all ignoring the nagging truth:

If compassion be honest, no sin remains.

Downstairs death stares

but what about up above?

With a vacant stare He looks down there

like a puzzled mechanic under a hood

and God saw that it was good.

A Joyful Moment

Dunes of white blanket our landscape,

crystal stalactites drape barren trees,

zig-zag tracks lay frozen in time.

Little ones in colorful coats,

hats, scarves and mittens

take playful aim at each other

while mother watches,

sipping cocoa, recalling her youth.

A joyful moment shared by all

who answer winter’s winsome call.