Sometimes I Wish
We peer into the night to
collect shooting
stars and gather around the
fires held in
our aching hearts.
We are astonished to find
how broken and
gutted we truly are, yet we
still breathe.
We create pyramids of empty
beer cans, a
shrine to the thirst in our
souls.
We gather together as lost
sheep holding
hands and take another sip
for courage.
We feed our hunger and tango
with anger
as we fuel ourselves with
leftover sorrows.
We slap at all the things
that bite and notice
how easily we can still
bleed.
We visit the ghosts from our
past seeking
answers and finding none we
sweep the
ashes, looking for bones.
Sometimes I wish we were
just dreaming.
Just Because
Pray for prayers for no
reason, just because.
Tell the story about the
time you watched the
mountains part the sky.
Reach for the lives you are
not living and
dress them up like paper
dolls.
Separate yourself from
routine and draw a
new map.
Take the detour.
Abandon your rational mind
and swim away
from shore.
Drive past the petrol
station and step on the
gas, heading for empty.
Wrangle with the questions,
follow the wind.
Get your fingers dirty and
write poetry in the
soil.
Dig up dreams on the side of
the road.
Align yourself with Jupiter
and Mars.
Paint your nails the colour
of loneliness.
Taste the infusion of jazz
on whiskey drenched
lips.
Light the fire with the
morning sun and sing
lullabies to your sorrow.
Make a commitment to getting
lost.
Taste of Freedom
Thundering hooves colliding
with sand. Waves crashing to
the chime of freedom calling
as wine drenched candles
drip
serendipity across a
champagne
sunrise.
We raise a toast to Alice
and
sip tea with the Mad Hatter
watching time run backwards.
We have let ourselves tumble
down the rabbit hole.
Everything known becomes
unravelled, fuelled by a drop
of acid and the brain moves
to a new rhythm.
A kaleidoscope of colours
explode behind melting eyes
and emotions taste raw,
salty,
unfettered, alive.
We pick notes out of the air
and dance drunkenly under
a full bellied moon,
twirling
to our own song.
Unlocking our dreams we
add nectar to a poem and
watch it brew. We twinkle
with stars, cascade with
waterfalls and erupt with
volcanoes.
We let freedom take us where
we need to go, Hair unbound,
ribbons cast into the wind.
Riding painted ponies,
running
with the rivers.
Blue Twilight
It is the hour of blue
twilight
when I seat myself at an
empty table
where I have an unobstructed
view of
the parade of characters.
She enters the scene with
her intricate
lace dress on long flamingo
legs and
her chapeau tipped in the
way of the
avant garde.
Delicate fingers circle the
stem of her
wine glass and she sips
Merlot with
her generously painted lips
like a
hummingbird drinking sugar.
I watch as she lights a
match to her
Gitanes and inhales, holding
it in for
an extraordinarily long time
before
exhaling her bitter
thoughts.
The air smells like cheap
perfume
and sweat as couples fuse
together
waiting for what the night
will bring
as the feral cats swagger
between
legs and wait for scraps.
As stars begin to poke holes
in the
darkness, I stand and raise
a glass
to the ghosts who have
gathered and
watch as the moon drips
mozzarella
and glazes the terrace with
love.
The Bitch of Boulder
I was born a rainbow.
Full moon of many faces.
Dancing in balance with the
seasons
to alter my ego.
I created rivers out of the
desert
and taught Monet to paint.
I danced Swan Lake to
Aerosmith
and taught Mona Lisa how to
smile.
I am the Bitch of Boulder.
They named the Badlands
after me.
The sharpness of my tongue
makes the
sound of fingernails on a
chalkboard
pleasant.
Here the word mother isn't
nice and
PMS is easy.
I've sat side by side with
Virginia Woolf
and I wasn't afraid.
I travelled with Charley and
showed Steinbeck
a few back roads that never
made it on any map.
For whom does the bell toll?
I answered that for Ernest.
I also let Paul Revere in on
a little secret.
With breasts that jut like
the Tetons,
to howl at the moon is my
right.
I can bring on global
warming with a
belch and my breath sets the
canyons
on fire.
My sneezes produce a gale
force wind
that rearranges the
landscape and causes
a solar eclipse.
The return of the ice age is
near..
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