Light in the night!

less of me
less of me
every second, there’s less of me.
spent, ebb and flow,
in the hours of yesterday.

I awake onto ‘morrow
face the rising tides of future.
bent! Low. Grow!

less of me
on morning’s breath,
midnight ran its course.
grabbed, held with no remorse
to make of me onto my death.

gone, the sorrow.
less of me, full of woe
blow for blow eye the storms
light as flight

less, less, of me
O! Wings of delight!

L. 04/08/15 0908

Inspired by the tenth muse’s “evitability”

***** some people don’t give up on you even when you’re ready to give up. They make certain to bring you out, pull you to do what they know you enjoy, in spite of yourself. Thank you Mr. T. I did this for you.*****

The docent of Hades




they said
he died of heartbreak and sorrow
hell-bent on (repent-tense)

a stance,
anchored on mosaic-yesterdays
floating on molasses and blues

his mind, a humidor for sentences
not given, uttered, nonetheless served

in seconds

compartments of guilt and regret laced with
forays of absinthe-absences

none could tell when life gave him up
or when he found the way to redemption
on this journey of punches between forgetfulness, regret, freedom

Pounding. Pounding.
Pounding. Pounding.


free indeed!
free is he!

weep no more!
lulled no more!
one thing for sure,
true to his core,
he swam ashore.
to fly above,

on the wings of heartbreak and sorrow.

L. 01/31/15 0142





Men tears

I collect them!

in buckets
drained over the years
from sunny days
inside their smiles

I collect them!

not even in my bed
sweet, salted wounds
bottled up monsoons

I collect them!

in solitude
wind-blown quietude
laid down liaisons
feels like a mission

I collect them!

Men tears!

parting words
never heard
salted and sweet
purged down cheeks to my feet

I collect them!

from them that can’t let go
of those who won’t say no
gifted in long embrace
wrapped in moonlight lace

Men tears!

I collect them!

L. January 18, 2015 1800


Those who don’t allow themselves to cry pass the hurt onto others who will!


Dare to live!


Dawn declares another day
what if, you too go away,
embedded in the margins of yesterday!

Wilted, to mean much more
than smoke bellowing off a chimney?

Does the moon shade the sun,
or the sun the stars?
do they string across the firmament?

many some-days, but only just one day to my dismay?

You want me unafraid
when promises rest between heartbeat and breath?

To succumb
catch fate unaware?
do I dare, do I dare?

L. 01/7/15


I hovered over your name today. I almost contacted you. A moment of weakness I am sure, then I recall how you weren’t kind to me. We all leave footprints, yours were hurtful. I remembered why I let go.

O, Zarathustra!


not yet a man
youthfulness not spent
I crawled to old
for a bowl of future
filled. overflowing it was.
so, I was told
piled high with mementos
mainly clouds
they sunk down low
secured in the gallows
success, not fame
fun! laughter aplenty!
art, even though I wasn’t Van Gogh
music, tunes with catch phrases
pleading to and fro
and LOVE!
on my belly to your shore
Rhea, queen above all
empty me
now comes the fall
hollow, the cause of it all
the gravity of depravity!
youthfulness is no more
I wait no more!

L. 01/12/15 1937

“Rhea” reference to the queen of heaven, queen of the universe, the great mother,” “the mother of the gods,” Cybele, Cybebe, Agdistis, Berecyntia, Brimo, Dindymene, “the great Idaean mother of the gods.


When I was 12 years old, I stopped writing because a man stole the very first book I had spent months writing. He promised he was going to read it and turn my little notebook into a pretty nice real book. And I stopped writing for 20 years after that. Well! I stopped sharing my writings. My ex later told me he went into my diaries, secretly and read them all. More than 20 years later, a male asked that I share my writings. He encouraged me to. Eight years later, I stopped once more due to heartbreak. My writing, a source of joy, turned so dark that I felt myself sinking every time. It was a form of release as well as specks of soil on my head. I wrote yo remove that male demon out of my head, my heart, my thoughts. As I couldn’t, I killed my muse. Well, I tried to. I silenced her. It stopped being about the men in my life, what they said, how they impressed themselves in my psyche. Recently, I called her back. I longed for that voice inside my head. Then came him, a ghost from the past. The fool always told me to keep her in my back pocket. So, I reached for her. And through a male poet, she kissed me again.

This year has been so busy already. It is insane! I have a CD project in the works for this summer, a book tour, some readings in the area etc…

Happy present my lovelies!

Here’s to good and bad, really the same coin!