My love is not small
Arriving as a flash flood
I know the drought of her melancholy
I’ve worn it like armor
Wielded it like a self-inflicting weapon
I want to wash it all away
To watch the smile cross her lips
When her sun shines again
I never want to miss an opportunity
To be a mirror that radiates back to her
All the strength and peace
Of the love she gives to me
To be the wolf who howls in the night
Chasing the demons away
Because when she lets me curl up at her feet
I can breathe again
All of us carry broken buckets
Let us put them down
We can water each other instead
And bask in the sun while our garden blooms

--

--

Someplace Only We Know

I dream of crisp Autumn mornings

Watching the leaves drift down

Snuggling on the porch under blankets with my loves

The kids’ laughter dancing on the breeze

I long for fancy holiday anxiety

Helping my darling dress our Thanksgiving table

And late night secret gift wrapping

Christmas mornings in pajamas

I want to photograph our birthdays, anniversaries, and milestones

To grace our walls with love and make our house a home

A safe haven for the kids to come to, however far they roam

In the blinding light of day

And the spaces between your words

I wonder if you can feel it too

This calming comfort of a forever with me

And you, and you

--

--

Hope. Renewal. Reanimation.
Sighing breezes, lightly warmed
by the emerging Sun.
Dormant life stretches slowly
shaking off winter’s grasp
all sharp — cold — edges.
Grays and browns flare into
brightly lit gems — color bursting forth.
Everything that’s been off-kilter
is righted once again — tenuous balance.
Soon — too soon — scorching heat will come
Followed by the slowing — bitter — killing frosts.
Bringing the deafening silence — stillness
that imprisons.
The heavy gray that is never far from mind.

--

--

“You can wish as hard as you want for something to stay,
but it will slip right through you,
drift to the bottom of
you
as you stand, watching,
watery, logged,
bleating bloated blubbering,
doing and holding nothing.
Look at yourself, Biz.
Do you see?
pushandshoveandslap
How useless/stupid/hopeless you are?
Of course the waves should take you.
Yes.
Of course.
They should.”

~Helena Fox — “How It Feels To Float”

--

--

Written: May 2015

Lips pressed to lips
Hands pawing down my body
A tongue furtively darting in my mouth
A giggle building in my throat
Yet a chasm grows inside
My thoughts numb and indifferent
My tenuous heart a distant echo
Chemicals engorged on my emotions
Isolating my existence, depleting the passion
Leaving a sexually emaciated husk
These surface connections mere trifling amusements

--

--

Written: May 17, 2015

Lurking near the edge
This solitary she-wolf
Seen as a menace
Threatening establishments
Set in place by other lovers

Tanka (短歌, “short poem” ?) is a genre of classical Japanese poetry and one of the major genres of Japanese literature.

--

--

Written: 2004

When I was little, the world seemed huge and
full of mystery;
Like the worlds in the fantasy stories I
used to read.
Growing up, reality stripped away those
amazing mysteries;
Stinging, like ripping off a band-aid that’s
stuck to your skin.

Laying all day in the grass, oblivious to the
passing of time.
Watching the clouds form the shapes from
the stories like fairies and unicorns.
As a little kid, stories from books filled my head but
growing up the stories became lyrics from songs.
Without the fairies and unicorns life
feels different.
The feelings underneath seem to still be there but
all the magic is gone.

--

--

Written: 2015

Splintered wood threatening to crack
Soaked through from the icy spray
Bob, bob, bobbing upon the choppy waters
Oars clacking against the side with each stroke
Thunder rumbling in the distance
Angry clouds gathering on the horizon
Skies darken at an alarming rate
The Gods display their fury.

--

--

bohemianprincess

bohemianprincess

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Wanderlusts of a Bohemian princess | Echoes of a vagabond