~~~ Machine Madness ~~~

To find a key, to find a key 
to story and machine;
to stumble resolutely, 
from shambles into scene;

to stagger over letters, 
erased on every page,
from flaming imagination, 
to exasperated rage;

to finish with a manuscript 
that's not entirely tripe,
always use a keyboard 
but never learn to type.

.

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~~~ Priceless Antique ~~~

Do not think that because I'm old
I do not understand your pain.
I've been where you are and have little doubt that I

 shall be there sometime again.

Do not think that because I'm old
I cannot feel the fire.
For like a diamond pressed by time
old women sparkle with desire.

Do not think that because I'm old
I've forgotten how to crave
For, like the Phoenix, I will rise with passion
when my ashes float on an ocean grave

Do not think that because I am old
I cannot love thee well.
You do not know what wonders lie
in the Hag's enchanted spell.

~~~ She Who Is, A'Lat ~~~

Who am I?

Trust me

you don't want to know.

I am the rain that dampens your parade.

I am the ocean; soothing ebb and flow;

mystery of crags and snags.

I am a river; placid moon-ruled surface;

shimmering; inviting.

I will warm you in Autumn,

freeze you in Winter,

refresh you in Summer and,

in Spring,

I roil and swell with rage.

Safe enough with caution's care you say?

Nay.

Not so.

Caution matters naught 'cause I,

foul current that I am,

I will not tell you when the seasons change.

Who am I?

I am rain?

I am ocean.

I am the rivers of the world.

I am the salt of tears unshed.

I am rain,

all cleansing,

cool;

hot spring of Earth's pure blood;

a stream,

life-sustaining,

calm;

You can float on my surface endlessly, safely.

You can dive into my mystery if you wish,

but do not plunge too deep.

There are tides and currents in my depths

that can drown you -- and I?

I do not wish for you to die.

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~~~ Computer Blues ~~~

My computer is bisexual, of that I am aware.
She has a feminine spirit,
but her masculine hardware doesn't care.

She heats right up when I turn her on
He gets overheated and then he's gone

She's sensitive to my moods, I hesitate to boast
'cause her masculine side refuses to perform
just when I need him most.

She has a warm and dulcet tone.
She even answers my telephone.

If I pamper him and cater to his crabby ways,
he doesn't throw a tantrum,

at least not for a couple of days.

~~~ Love's Terrifying Sting ~~~

I quiver with uninvited feelings.

Where is the safety net I wove of convention?

Where to hide from Love's terrifying sting?

I did not ask for this.  It came.

On wings of thought it came and burrowed ruthlessly beneath my crusty veneer of aged wisdom to find it's way, laughing, to the child inside.

And the child within me runs in terror from an intensity of emotion beyond its ken.

Where is the safety net I wove of convention?

Where to hide from Love's terrifying sting?

Where to find the song worthy of this glory?

How to sing of angel wings and Lucifer's breath all in scorching, confusing disarray?

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~~~ Africa ~~~

I've never been to Africa; Dark continent of mystery.

I have never been to Africa, though Africa has called to me.

I wish to know thee Africa; The psychic wonder of your soul;

The reason you can touch me, Africa, and by your touching make me whole.

I would learn the hidden treasures of your center; the alien patterns of your core.

What makes you different, Africa?  What cultural wonders are in store?

Wrapped in a shell I scarcely notice, a being captured by your light;

a light so bright, so compelling, too transfixing to allow for flight.

I would know thee, Africa, and I would have you know me.

I may explore your surface later, Africa, when I have time for topography.

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~~~ I'm sorry ~~~

My heart aches for you

because I love you

and yet I cannot WANT you.

My body feels

no answering spark in yours.

You are my friend.

I do not want to lose you.

I do not care to let you go,

but I cannot WANT you.

It isn't in me.

I'm sorry.

~~~ To Writers With Love ~~~

It eludes us at each turning,

 to laugh behind our back.

No matter our depth of yearning,

 it always jumps our track.

We start each day with longing,

 and fail with every try.

As yet there's no belonging,

 no cabin in the sky.

Brushing aside frivolity,

 no matter what you've heard,

there's no more elusive quality,

 than the written word.

~~~ The Agony of Memory ~~~

Kewpee dolls with broken noses, ceramic cats and plastic roses.
Ferris wheel circles in a marshmallow sky are all that's left of you and I.

Old gold rings and tarnished fingers, dime perfume that never lingers,
tomorrow beckons, "Come, let's go, life is just a burlesque show,"

Too tight masks with painted smiles, roofless churches, rain soaked aisles,
duty bound to empty dreams, so much for youth's forbidden schemes.

Syrup kindness, candy kisses, wind whipped dust and rattled hisses,
no backward glance to find the fault, the wound's too deep; don't risk the salt.

~~~ Wish upon a full moon ~~~
(from PSAPPHA, a novel of Sappho)

"Sweet longing permeates the soul, as summer dances into fall ;
 tiptoeing over crackling leaves on satin clad feet.

"How dear to have a friend with whom to walk and talk through breezy, easy autumn days;

"to dream and scheme of winter warmed by friendly fire, and sweetmeats roasting,
 glasses toasting psychic twins entwined in magic."

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~~~ My Forever Friend ~~~

You slam a door and there it sits, an accusation, a scab, a scar,

hiding a festering ache of loneliness, an emptiness,

a vacancy where love once lived.

 I sit and stare at that closed portal, wondering were you ever near.

Did you ever promise not to leave me?

Did I know I’d miss you so?

Friends forever was what you said.  Forever’s here – you’re not.

I’m alone in the dark. Alone, with no one to hold my hand.

Alone in the dark, a whisper, an open sore that will not heal,

a heart beating in an empty well.

Tell me, Darling, were you ever here?

You're back?  Hello.

Do you plan to stay this time?

Or, is this a foray to test the barricades around my heart?

It was not I who loosed the first harsh lie,

although I'm sure I fired the last.

I do that when I'm hurt.

Anger insulates pain and I attack

to be sure the words don't get to me again.

But, now you're back and I'm afraid.

Large portions of my psyche

hide behind the battlements,

until I trust that I won't  lose you

sometime in the future,

just when I need you most.

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~~~ Fair Thee Well ~~~

Oh, Fairest One, I have no song to give you.

No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray.

Yet, e'er we part, one lesson I can leave you,

for every day.

Be good, Sweet Maid, and let who will be clever.

Do noble things, not dream them all day long.

Through your own efforts, make life, death

. . . the vast forever. . .

one grand, sweet song.