Tag Archives: my writing

grandmothers

When your grandmother dies,
she does not remain in the ground
or in the picture on your bedside table.
you will find,
that when a man kisses new dreams into you
you’ll remember to thank her for your face
and the lessons she whipped into your skin
thank her for making you worthy of good love
again and again.

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..When distant

I think I miss you,
all of you
then I remember all the yous you’ve been to me lately
and none of them are worth yearning for.

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symbiotic

We are two different kinds of beasts
You growl to bite
I growl to show you that I too have teeth.

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..-The Dull Dame’s Guide to being interesting -..

Perhaps:
I could move houses,
change my hair,
stop biting my nails,
I could paint the walls,
let the dog loose,
meet my neighbors,
ask strangers for their names,
have french stew on the stove,
smoke only filtered,
drink only decaf,
travel to India,
dress like a peacock,
dance the samba,
speak German,
do yoga,
breathe with rhythm,
buy books, then read them back to front
go barefoot and bra-less ,
recite Shakespeare,
sing Opera,
use chopsticks,
Tell good stories,
spit poetry,
pray to rainbows,
grow my greens,
birth my children on the kitchen floor
[by choice],
time my kisses,
send postcards instead of emails,
tell the time by looking at the sun.

I could be interesting
call you on a rainy day just to talk
over the backdrop
of raindrops

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La Noche

La noche.
La noche.
Dreams,
no, dreams aren’t for the satisfied-
those in love with the real.
those not clinging to the paraphernalia of time,
we believe not in the stillness of thought
but in the beauty of action,
holding, embracing moments
as they come not when it
is their time to leave,
to waltz out into memory
into the subconscious.
Never digging through
the rubble of the past
looking for surviving trinkets of time

La noche
La noche
A sky bejeweled
and under it motion .
Yes locomotive nights
moments fast coming,
fast fading,
you are at fault not enjoy it
not to dance when music plays loud
roaring!
a lion in your ear
you have howled
yourself into a pit
dug by your own hands,
where you waste time
wishing on fairy dust,
hoping to redo, undo, replay
and alter
so you can get a second chance
But time does not favor.
my friend,
Time does not pick sides.
Rise and kiss the real,
love the image not its reflection
embrace the now
and not its shadow.

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