Monthly Archives: September 2019

Everything Is Bright

The first of spring, warmth is coming, trees, flowers blooming.

It is my birthday.

I ride my bike by the canal, thinking of my friend.

She loves me so.

I think of her and her love and warmth and tenderness.

I love her so.

The first of spring, life is coming back, everything is bright.

The hard times are over.

I’m riding to her house. She has a present for me, chosen with care.

She picked it just for me.

Something wonderful, wrapped with care, given from her heart.

She is my world.

The hard times are over. The world begins again. We will live again.

Maybe me and her, have a future now.

The lush trees and green grass and tulips nodding in the wind.

Already covering the scars.

She is waiting for me on the front steps, the box in her lap.

She loves me so.

I think of her, and how we pulled through the fire and dark.

I love her so.

The first of spring, life is coming back, everything is bright.

We love each other so.

Wilds of Heaven

Gay St. empty at 5:30 in the morning this Saturday.

You riding on the handle bars of my bike, laughing,

long, black curls flying into the wind, into my face.

Everything was perfect.


A small, South Knoxville home, sun still soft, distant,

we, laughing, kissing, in love, fall into bed, still vibrating

from the night that was so sweet and perfect.

Nothing like it will ever come again.


As the birds call out their song in the trees outside,

we fall into a shared dream of some perfect solace.

The perfume of your hair invokes the wilds of heaven.

I wish we could dream forever.


Those Soft Songs

We, her and I, try to call down angels, as a profession.

Sometimes demons come to us. Either of them cut our skin,

and demand our memories and soft feelings as payment.

We’ll pay anything, to get the words written down, of the

dreams and loves and aching dream, the last remnant that is human.


A run down, abandoned farmhouse in Nebraska, turning cold with

the coming winter. We couldn’t make it to Colorado, and Tennessee

is full of vampires. We build a fire in the ash covered and cracked fireplace.

We sleep side by in sleeping bags

A Matter of Faith

She is named for the messenger angel, and I tell her jokes, loving to see her laugh.

She came into this town, down by the river, and I happened to meet her while here.

A matter of faith makes me seek her out, to share her company, to know her thoughts.

Faith that she is kind and generous as she seems. Faith that I can be a good thing for her.


I sit in James Agee Park, cheap drive thru coffee at my feet, wishing for the cool of fall.

The fall of leaves, the fall of summer light, because of the fall of man, the fall of our grace.

So many years in the dark, so many years afraid and full of hate, can I shine bright again.

I fell from grace, but I feel the stirrings of light and love again, can I nurture them to stay?


She says she’s the Woman Clothed In The Sun, Chased By The Red Dragon, always unsure,

but sure she is protected, and that God Above loves her, no matter what comes.

The fires and the floods, the stars falling from the sky, the breaking before healing.

She is chased by demons, but God extends his wings, and I know I am left behind.


She offers a ride on her second hand and beat navy blue scooter, to the soccer game.

It is cool this night, not even 70, as the street lights on Neyland Drive are paper moons.

I hope to be her friend. I hope to find the faith that has come to her. Or I think I really do.

The wind rushes and the river is dirty and inscrutable, and I feel an old world pass away.

A Wonder and Full of Grace

Women have lighter, fairer voices, and God cannot hear them easily,

as He sits in his chair, and lets His mind drift again the beginning of all,

before it all went wrong.


Cara taps His shoulder, calls His name, but he cannot hear her voice now.

She knows God loves her, loves all his children, but she cannot reach him now.

He seemed so close, when she was young, a brand new angel.


She remembered Him taking her by the hand, as they swam beneath the ices

of Europa, and He flew her through Saturn’s Rings, and let her build a sandcastle

from the grey dust of Luna.


She sat behind His throne, as he laughed at the singularity exploded, His voice

causing it all to come into being, the whole show started, forgetting for a moment

it was all burning, that His Children acted lower than the beasts.


Cara looked back at Him, and wondered when he disappeared to everyone, to her,

to all that He’d hoped would be a wonder and full of grace, when the pain in her heart,

for the humans she’d once loved, and the distant Father, had become one.


She heard Adam and Eve, in the garden, in the plucked fruit that’d plucked the

thread, to unravel the world sewn of silver and light, and she head His tears,

and hoped He didn’t hear her own. Nothing for either of them had gone as planned.



The Columbines Bow

We smoke outside, lunch time.

I feel close to you, without desire

getting in the way.


Still cool, Rockies spring, the flowers,

the wild flowers, the Columbine’s blooming,

the last clumps of snow fading away.


Marlboro Lights, and laughter, laughter,

planning for the wide open sky, so bright,

but you couldn’t see the stars anymore.


We turn to look, a crack of thunder.

Guns? We don’t run, only confused.

You open your mouth to call out,


then you are quiet, and I am cut down,

and their laughter is filling the sky above.

The Columbine’s bow and bow and bow.


I lay, not feeling, still bleeding, still quiet.

The wind whips my hair, and your hair too,

but your eyes are empty, gone to the stars.


The Columbine’s bow and bow and bow.

The prairie is melting and warming, falling,

and the fires are yet to burn today, all hope away.

Mermaid Spring

Hedy in a Mustang, in shining LA,
the road wide open, she’s so free!

The ocean deep and clean and warm.
She’s driving there for The Mermaid Spring.

Naked in the waves, sun warm on her shoulders.
Summer going on and on forever, untouched.

The mermaids with auqua marine tails sparkling
and silky black hair a weightless veil about their faces

will welcome her in, and breathe dreams in their kisses,
and she’ll the sea that washes away all sin and sorrow.

A pearl that is her dreams of blue depths and moonlight,
redeemed when her tail wraps her tight and those ljps

whisper songs she knew as a child, still whole and clean.
The road to quiet memories is followed with her song.

Hedy floats in moonlight, the sky so clear and close to her.
A seed in her heart starts to grow, and will grow so beautiful.

Blue Hoodie

Blue hoodie, so soft under my skin.
Her hot cheek touching mine in the cold.
Her breath is ragged and sad.

Other girls wear bikinis in the hot tub.
We look out onto the lights of the city.
She burrows her head into my neck.

That hoodie, soft, like her, keeps warm.
I kiss her ontop of her head, kiss her again.
The cold is coming closer as we hold tight.

Back to our hotel rooms, class trip rules.
We squeeze each other so tightly, shiver.
She looks up, and I softly kiss her plain lips.

Blue hoodie, soft and warm, our armor.

Tennessee Girl

Some nowhere town, up in the hills


was once your kingdom to roam.


Under lush trees and flowered meadows


you chased dragons and rainbows.


Once you were a dreamer like me.



So far from there now;


your face is on our movie screens


and your smiling face on magazines.


I am still the same, watching the world


come at me from a glowing TV.



And my nowhere town grows smaller


and my children all grow so much taller.


Same old job that I’ve had since high school.


You’re a goddess, a matinee queen.



Does the twilights of fire flies fill your mind?


Or the summer afternoons bathing in a stream?


It’s what’s left for me; would you take them back?


Would you sit with me at the run down bar


and talk about your day over a pitcher of beer?



Some nowhere town, up in the hills


was once your kingdom to roam.


Under lush trees and flowered meadows


you chased dragons and rainbows.


Once you were a dreamer like me.


Quiet Street

This little house on a quiet street,

where we were children and free.

That yard that could be the moon

or the jungle or the palace for you,

and the deep, deep, black woods

where every monster did dwell.


Older, I took your hand, to the creek,

past the monsters that had grown quiet

and where we never dared to go before.

The soft, springtime sun through leaves

that cast a veil of shadows on your face.

My heart raced and raced and howled.


Something I thought meant to be,

before the war and before that night.

Cuddling on the porch swing, saying

we’d make feet for children’ stockings,

and on a quiet street, in a little house

we’d build our own little paradise.


This little house, on a quiet street,

a sweet honey that hurts the heart.

I remember a sweet time with you.

A shard of it lingers, even now,

and I cherish it like a child so afraid.

I don’t want to lose the light,


not after all I went through.