Monthly Archives: October 2013

Of Bridges and Bugs




I think about those bridges in Madison County,

about a movie they inspired, about the man and the woman

finding love in one another for a while.


I think about the choices they made.

They both wanted the same thing. He offered her his world,

but she chose her wedding ring.


All the seasons from her life to death,

how many times her heart must have ached

for a man that crossed her path perchance –

It’s not often fate makes a mistake…


I remember she gripped the door handle,

a single life-changing moment of time, and

like a lazy day spent in the sun, she let this one pass her by.


When I was young I judged her harsh, said

she was a fool for letting that man in, that she

deserved the regret of a thousand years;

she should have no rest in her chosen sin.


Now I am of an age – no longer young but not yet old.

Should I be given a taste from her bitter well, would I stay,

be the good wife, in appearance and duty and

do what’s right?


White knuckles grabbing the handle of the door,

would I open it and run into the arms of ‘More;’

or would I sit, pressing bottom to chair,

resign myself to always be there?


Through death or distance or giving up,

through bitterness or fear or the liar’s cup,

through all that there is and all that will be,

Regret washes down with certainty,

so whether to stay or whether to go,

the heart follows love, no matter how far;

one can be free to fly in the dark

or one can be a firefly trapped in a jar



***photo credit: <a href=””>Christopher Chan</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a>***

The Reader




Your poetry is not found on the page, within letters

strung together in words that rhyme, hoping for some

understated epiphany or hunting for resonance in the

echo of a student’s cephalic cavern.


Your poetry is in the simplicity

of your touch, in the lines of your



Yours is a poetry of the eyes speaking to my heart,

leaving me to wonder how it ever desired to beat before you



I am your reader, soaking up every nuance, absorbing

your language into my flesh, feeling my marrow

burn with desire for you. I should like to read you



(photo credit: <a href=””>Eddi van W.</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;)

An Autumn Evening





Strings of orange lights

Bitter chocolate on the tongue

Lazy expressions

You and I having a little fun


Teasing, the way we touch

A song plays on the radio

The scent of rain in the air

Glad we’ve got no place to go


Memories birth into time

Gooseflesh on the skin

Dancers on the moon

It’s lovin’ time again



photo credit: <a href=””>hapal</a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

Back and Forth




Thoughts of yesterday creep in as shadows on an autumn afternoon, reaching across a polished floor to crawl up the walls of my mind; yes, you are there, always there. I hear your whispered declarations, I remember the needs and the desires.

We stand in opposite corners of the room, glancing at cobwebs, opening silent mouths, our polite manners and kind gestures let time pass in hours that mock our situation.

Send me a token…my address has not changed.



Photo Credit: photo credit: <a href=””>Flóra</a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

The Witching Hour


scary pumpkin

Everybody’s got one, just after midnight and before the morning sun

Time seems to slow, shadows begin to dance, the Devil’s in the details

And you’re living on chance


I have a witching hour, thirty-three past three

In the middle of the night, this hour calls to me

Wakes me from pleasant rest to taunt me in the dark

It’s my turn, it seems, for the haints to choose to haunt


Maybe there’s a chill, a strangeness in the air; the mood’s

A little different, and you know something’s there

Hiding in a corner of your cozy little room

Your eyes play tricks on you – is that a shadow or a broom?


When you hear a thump in the attic

When the TV turns to static

When the gooseflesh dots the skin

It’s that time again

No need to wonder or ask why

Like me, like so many mournful nights

There’s no way you can deny

You sense the grief, a darker power

You’ve been awakened to the witching hour



Image courtesy of MicroSoft ClipArt

A Lyric, A Poem? A Work in Progress…


Do you ever write something, and know you’ve got some good words to chase but never quite put it all together? That’s how I feel about the following bit of writing I’m sharing. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a song lyric or a poem – the lines become blurred sometimes between the two. It needs more work to be ‘finished’ on either account but go ahead, take a read and share your thoughts.



When the lonely settles in

Like a blanket of fresh snow

Clean and quiet it lays down

To insulate my broken soul


When there’s no peace to be found

I’ve learned enough to know

When sweet sadness seeks a friend

That’s when the lonely settles in


Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I wake with morning light

I’ve made it through another night

But like a promise without end

That’s when the lonely settles in


Grief takes me in his grip

Won’t let go out of fear

That I’ll let your memory fade

That I’ll no longer feel you near

Every season has an end

That’s when the lonely settles in


photo credit: <a href=””>LukeAndrew94</a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;