Communing With Cliffs

Fledgling grey are the cloud covered cliffs

Infantile in a wan light of dawn

Sharp jagged teeth obscured, softened

By downy feathers of mist


Presently, I am witness

When sunshine at last burns away this youthful visage

That dark plumage rises like the wings of an albatross

And takes flight over the undulating Pacific

Revealing rippling muscles of volcanic stone

The red, lined face of a wizened elder

A memory of volcanos in the hollow roar of wind


With many faces, the cliff gazes upon my seat in the sand

I see her molten and raging

I see her crumbling back into the embrace of sea

I see her holding bones like a babe to her breast


Arising reluctantly from my wind-swept bluff

I return to my bi-pedal state of mind

Tenderly leaving my woven sweet grass

To wander in the breeze



Visions Of The Blind

Your words were broken glass

Shattered  slices of light reflected, refracted

Into shades of grey and deepening black

Festooning the walls of our false celebration


Rainbows painted on retreating syllables

As the last rays of day

Embrace the sea

With painted longing


How beautiful

How fleeting

Is the sunset


In all those sharp contrasts of relative perception

A pervasive metaphor in a private hue

Glimpsed fleetingly and solitary

Whilst amid the pomp and ego


Shallow Are Your Blue Eyes

In the dark of night I remember you

How a metaphor of ink can shift in hue

All relative to where the facet lies

How observant are your lidded eyes?


Moonlight soothes your jagged edges

The path your wayward tread was led in

Brought you here to an empty page

Have you wisdom to give, you deviant sage?


Ears are open to words of your Truth

Shallow swimming in the ponds of youth

But still the seeds of epiphany swim

And I’ll surely get wet, if you let me in



The Road Home

I told myself, with the bite of 3 AM

That “cold” is a relative word

As ice clinked like martini glasses at the end of my hair

Toes curling deeply into the bedrock of snow boots

Just as a plant seeks purchase on a rocky ledge

My stubbly pink roots went burrowing for warmth

And found none in the barren soil of worn out woolen socks

“If I were in Alaska,” I reminded myself quietly “This would be a Spring thaw.”

As I crunched through frozen banks of snow

Aglow with the borrowed light of moon

I distracted my shudders with thoughts of Summer

Who had rarely warmed my bed or laughter

Despite sunlight seeping through the memory of trees

It was always on a road’s cold shoulder I cried upon

Whispers in the darkness of another’s brief passage

Four footed and fleeting for the scent of my humanity

Reminding me that I am never alone

Even when I walk in the seeming wasteland

Of a snow bound, desolate path


I am slogging toward the sunrise

A rosy promise higher than I can reach

My white, bloodless fingers reach for it like the trees do

With their bare bony limbs naked of greenery

There is a moment of synchronicity

As the forest and I stand swaying together

Awaiting a solar reprieve

From the sharp-toothed maw of January


I discover my house is darker than the sky

Who is now glowing softly with a promise

I do not find echoed in my hollow heart

A muffled curse as I kick the solid oak door

Frozen to the jam, refusing to budge

My anger and sadness adding fuel to my assault

There are three dark boot prints painted on it’s leering face

Before I am successful in passing my own threshold

I look around at the wordless emptiness

That ricochets off the notebooks and those walls still without plaster

Why did I struggle so desperately to arrive here?

This sanctuary of gas station wine bottles and thrice-smoked cigarette buts?

Why have I climbed a mountain so high, that nobody can reach me?

How is it that I can hug the trees, my wallowing, the pride of a tiger

But not embrace another human being?

Perhaps every hermit who ever glimpsed eternity

Had these same thoughts of shouting it from the highest hill

Only to fall silent in the time it took them

To leave their cave to find a pencil


Quietly I sink into my solitude

Burrowing into piles of blankets and prose

I am testing myself, I decide sleepily

Preparing for the time I will need to walk

Where no path is willing to lead me

Tempering my spirit with fire and ice

‘Till my pen is as sharp as the blade of this patriarchy

Buried in my back


A Letter From Your Little Sister

In the back of our minds, we knew a storm was coming
We could feel it on our skin, the oily charge of tension

It made our hair stand on end

We shuddered in the darkness and stocked our cupboards
We noted all the exits and mountain passes of egress
Sharpening the blade of our instincts on a whetstone of media
We could see in each other’s eyes how we were becoming feral

It was inevitable as a drawn bow
Our fawning nature begged
For an arrowhead

As clouds gathered, we dispersed
Desperately clutching to our meager pride
Divided we fell, to the Fear Monger of False Rhetoric

Where now is our loyalty to Lady Liberty?
Will she carry her torch alone through the storm?
What of her tired, her hungry, her poor
Those seeking asylum and freedom from tyranny?

We the People have no color, we have only unity

No longer will I sit silent, demure
Well trained never to speak of things bigger than I
For I am a nation
Unto myself
Beholden to my neighbors
My brothers and sisters, aunties and uncles
Those ancestors I buried all over this world

My voice alone belongs to me
And I will not be silenced by a tide of opposition
No matter how it seeks to drown me

So cheers to my family, whatever race you may be
I drink a toast to our pursuit of love and freedom
It is a rocky road we travel
But I will give you shelter from this storm
If we meet upon my road

Sleeper, Dreamer

I imagine you to be a cocoon

Of what insect variety I am not quite certain

To be sure, you have wings

Time will tell if they are the mask of a Gypsy Moth

Or the scarlet flash of a Rose Swallowtail


Sunlight peers through your hidden layers

You curl inward awaiting…

The Spring of your precise moment


Leaves whisper, time beckons

Slow to pass in your reprieve…

Awaken, I say, for the winds remember

The names you have forgotten


The Memory Of A Tree

Another from the vaults

The Memory Of Trees

This is a FWF prompt from Kellie Elmore at


I am a tree.

My roots delve deeply into the mountain soil, suckling the sweet water of hidden springs.

This body bears 750 rings of age, but I hold that as my secret. You will never know unless you murder me. Like holding a butterfly to examine it’s beauty, now a fleeting one once you have touched delicate wings with oily fingers. Bringing death to the exquisite being you had been admiring, in the act of appreciating it’s life.

These arms reach out to embrace the sky, I am the bridge between heaven and earth. Rustling and dancing to the tunes of wind, I will whisper to you wisdom if your mind is quiet enough. I will shade you from the sun, shelter you from rain, and breathe life into your lungs as I sip on the breeze.

I am a Mother of the forest, hosting birds…

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