Monthly Archives: October 2018

July Stars

A little harshness to her face at 33, a tightness, a witness, as she fishes her cigarettes from her jacket pocket.

I still see the girl I knew at 17, but it’s a star out past Andromeda now, a light in a distant sky, light long cold.

I’m just as cold and distant, we’ve been through dark. We both could be the twin stars we saw that July night.

Stars shining down on our younger selves, the last radiation of youth shining on our sweetest moment as wild children.

Back her at the source we’re both angry and on edge. What did I think I’d find with her again? She is not the girl I loved.

We are white dwarves in the distant sky, burned out of that orange warmth. We embrace, and it’s really over.


We shared a cigarette after the movie show,

Warm in May, the early spring reborn glow.

We were both 17.

She was tender and patient, an beatific serene.

I was already old and mean, lost what youth makes clean.


Her heart was open to me, I could have held it in my hand.

My heart lost it’s away, and it slipped from her, her kindness it could not stand.

I loved her, but I was sold out to demons who told me I was strong.

Bullied and hurt as I was, hate and cruelty was a siren song.


But an ember of open and sweet child I’d been still burned.

It still had kindness and vulnerability and softness I’d spurned.

She almost won me over. I did love her, I surely trembled.

I could have been saved that night, been like the Savior she resembled.

But I turned away.

I will always pay, because I th turned away.

Tale Of Gold

She was a fashion model, not that long ago.

Not loved before, lusted for after, she left to go

Too deeper and richer soils in which to grow.


Shorn and strong, no cigarette jitters, strung

Tight like an acoustic guitar string, still young

But washed out by this year, what it has brung.


We sit in the park all night, wishing, talking,

Of God and hope and human frailty stalking

This world, toehold of The Devil, none balking.


She wants a fight but not a war, to be bold

And to be angel and to a light in dark and cold,

So before The Throne she can tell a tale of gold.


Morning comes and we embrace, say farewell.

Both of us holding on to the light after all hell.

A night of communion, of things we never tell.

Parka Dark

Parka dark, faux fur lined hood pulled over her head, black hair spilling out.

Waiting at 5 am, at IHOP, to meet her best friend who says he’s in love.

The chill of a dark and wet October morning, and the colors you can’t see in sprawl.

The pop hits playing from the 90s, her parents youth, and the too bright light.

She waits, unsure and unsettled, if this is all real, or right, or if he’ll be true.

She once fell asleep on his shoulder, in the backseat of Eli’s car, coming home from a show.

She remembered it sweetly. She felt so warm and content. Yet, something itches in her brain.

5 am, and the music is second hand sentiments, and the soda is sickly sweet.

5 am, and she wants to believe he is true, but this town is cold; you don’t meet good people here.

No more soda, or pancakes, or staying for him. She settles the check, walks home in the dark.


Skinny and sporty girl, with golden brown skin and dark hair, always in a ponytail, swish swish.

Both of us Freshman, riding with older kids, and as we cross the bridge I hold my breath so I can make a wish.

Her name is Elizabeth, and I am in love, and we talk in the back seat, listen to the cool music.


Eli’s house after school, we sit in the cradling roots of the willow tree, summer on it’s way, end of school soon.

Her dark hair is starting to lighten from soccer games and practices. I bought a Mia Hamm Jersey like hers.

We talk about life and magic and fantasy books. She also wants to talk about Jesus. She wants me to go to church with her.


I think of her as I drift off to sleep, so maybe I’ll dream about her. I imagine her as an angel, as Joan of Arc, as the Woman Clothed in the Sun.

Red Dragon chasing her, chasing me, but I hesitate, not to protect or love her, but in believing God is faithful or cares.

Red Dragon, up in the sky, and Elizabeth offers her hand, and it is also the hand of Jesus. I love her, but do I love her Lord.

The Beloved Dream

She sleeps in the bed, cocooned in comforters and pillows, a nest to hide in the dark.

I’ve been up all night, sitting in the chair by the window, watching for a threat, watching the stars.

She’s leaving me in the morning when she wakes. I will not marry her. I refuse to bring children into this world.

I love her. I want her to stay. But this world is doomed. Humanity has slit it’s own throat. The beloved dream has been taken from us.

I watch out the window. I feel a darkness I cannot name. I watch the skies. I watch for angels walking in the streets.

What a stupid race is humanity. How blindly we burn ourselves. How selfishly we destroy.

She is leaving in the morning. I will drive north after that, to the last wild places, away from my own kind.

Dark Cotton Hoodie

Friends feel like enemies and strangers, rictus smiles behind glass.

I watch the soft rain, finally cool autumn, colorful leaves in wet clumps in the street.

Dynasty Express doesn’t have coffee, but sweet hot tea, and this night it warms me.


Brother in Christ, but am I in Christ, any more?Love is not enough if it will not wipe away tears.

Brother, has not lived me life, cannot understand why I am angry and afraid.

Keep smiling, all is well, but from this time now I will keep my distance. I will not trust him.


Dark cotton hoodie becomes dark as it’s soaked in the rain. Pretty girls laugh beneath umbrellas.

Water soaks in the cotton, a matching line punishing and pushing back.

So much that isn’t protection, despite what we want, what comforts us.






Mermaid Tears II

These ghosts do not leave. There is no reconciliation between those that leave and us who are left behind.

On this Newfoundland beach, I watch nor’easter roll in, not wanting to leave you alone in the cold waters you walked into.

Mermaid tears on the beach, cool and blue, for they wept for you, and have taken you in, in the Atlantean world, where all is well.

But as that nor’easter comes in, I hear in the bitter wind your voice calling out, but you are gone, and I cannot answer you.

Mermaid tears and my own tears, as the mermaids keep you warm so deep below, a soft light because I cannot follow.

Not true mermaid are soulless; they are the only kindness left in this world, the only love in the dark and cold winter.


The soft rain, cooling this too hot October morning with the damp air and the grey caul covering the infant sky from the mother sun.

The edges of morning ¬†quietly tattered to nothing, I drink my hot coffee, black and bitter, and wonder if I’ll go see her today.

Her dark hair and eyes brown like tiled earth are more beautiful on cauled days, more the earthen hope when the infant is crying.

Dark times now, and words become actions, and I don’t if I can trust her, or which side she is on, and war comes if she’ll slit my throat.

Dregs in the coffee cup, my heart filled with cold stones, and I want to hope, but soft rain cleanses nothing, and nurtures what is lost.


Still Morning

It’s 5:30 in the morning, and she rides her fixie in the park, not as cool as it should be in October, but still with diffuse and late coming soon, and the gossamer and damp fog.

Saturday morning, no hustle and bustle of the work-a-day world, it’s all hers, a queen of a still and unawakened kingdom, a queen of something being lost, to the world and to growing up.

She stops and stands with her bike by the little creek that runs through the park, clear and cold, but still with trash and cigarette butts discarded in it. The little creek that mesmerized her as a girl, that her mother told her to stay away from.

She didn’t bring her earbuds this morning, and she heard the wind rustling the leaves and the tall Cat Tails in the water, and heard the calls of the morning birds.

And she heard a mermaid sing. In the distance, in that thin and wet fog, she saw the shape of the siren in the first of the rising sun, combing her long, dark hair, and singing into the world.

She put herself back on her back, and slowly and silently pedaled her way to the mermaid, not even fifty feet ahead of her. The song clutched her heart, made it ache, made her long for something she could not name.

The song filled her ears, a high and sweet melody, sorrowful and beautiful.
The mermaid combed her hair and sang, and looked up at the sky, as all the stars were retreating.

She pedaled to the mermaid, but the mermaid finally saw her, and dived into the water, swimming to were the mouth of the creek met the lake, and was gone from site.

She stopped and stood again with her bike, seeing only ripples were the mermaid had swam away. In the back of her mind, a thought picked at her, that mermaids had never swam away when she was a child.

The morning was still again, and her heart ached, and she wiped away tears. The fog and the peace and what little cool there was was starting to lift and leave the waking world. The world awoke, even on a Saturday.

She looked into the water, where the mermaid had fled, until the ripples were still. Then she got back on her bike and rode back to her house, realizing everything would change and slip away.