You say "Stay."

when the day comes and the angels sing,
it’s to the memory of you
I’ll cling

and when the time
runs down to nil
and when the seconds come to still
and when I lose everything, and I will
I will...

inside of me you’ll stay.


In secret chambers in my heart,
and all of my past
lives..

in the places where I hide,

in the moment that I die

you're there in everything, to you I cling
I cling
and with you I

stay


http://www.lyricsdomain.com/12/lisa_loeb/stay.html


The title comes from a Lisa Loeb song

Remember Me

when you think
about that girl
whose gone


and when you muse
on her
memory that
hangs around and
lingers on


I hope you think of
peace and love and grace

a million tender things,
and
moments that live forever...


Then
I hope you smile


when you remember

Standing on Burning Ground

Long after the last tear has fallen,
I watch as you stroll away
and all I can think

"This is gonna kill. This is gonna break me down."

This is the kind of sin that burns the ground.
The sun is gonna fall and crush me dead.
End this now,
now
now.

Stop my heart.
God, take me out.

End this now,
now,
now.

The time was September, years ago.

The town was Chicago. Though, it could have been
Houston or Detroit-

gritty and urban, wholesome, home.

The dawn was just breaking. The sun
made a sound,
like fingers
untwining
and dreams lying down.

We walked through the station,
silent and stout.

Our eyes told the story, for our
words had died out...



The train came early, a beast without
care, a steel monster jerking, then burning
the air, then leaving me looking, then you just weren’t there
anymore...

“Once you love, you can never lose..."

"Really? You think that's true?"

You swore it was that day.

That beautiful morning,
that ugly ache,
when
you left and I
remained.


And I remain, still, stung by the day

when
my first taste of freedom
rode away on the
train.

Dark Side of the Moon

Never saw
that curve coming....

Like
a blind man who makes his home
on the
Dark Side of the Moon

and yet
never wants for a thing,

I never wanted to see the truth.

Cause I loved my myopic vision,
reveled in my foolishness,
and built a world strong as sand castles
blowing in the wind.

And if you ever asked me, even now,
"Did that revelation lead to a beautiful sunrise?"

I'd say, "Me? I don't need all that
light. Curve me back around,
give back the night."





Never saw that curve coming...

Her Attitude

You jut your chin out at me,cut your eyes.

Cunningly, you measure me
and I surmise

you've had your fill of taking it,
you've had your share of crime.

And all the sweetest in you
has curled up and died...

You never say the words, I hear them all the same.

This new attitude of yours,


it
burns.

And I,

I feel your rage.

NOTE-This was written in response to a challenge at the New Writers and Readers Welcome blog. Check it out and think of joining if you are a poet.

Once Upon a December

this world’s turned around
ten thousand times or more

since last that I saw...
since last that I was


yours

this world’s spinning fast
it’s ricocheting me away

and soon I’ll be so far gone
the past will be a haze

a haze of blue and gold
a blur of green and gray
a place I always go
the place you always

stay...


the world's turned around
now I am the only one who knows

the last time I saw
the last time I was




yours.



NOTE- the title comes from a song by Deana Carter.

Meet me where I am

stop these tears.

make all I feel
come to an end.

make all I know
as the truth
bend

and meet me where I am

and save me from the fall

take the pain
the ache
the loss

take me out...

take it all
away

take it all away

how do you stand

when what you have done
strikes you down,

like a bullet fired from a gun?

and all you are not
is overwhelming,
stunning,

taking your breath away-the spirit fades...

such a long terrifying fall from grace

the have becoming have not
the giver becoming the spent
the girl becoming more and still feeling less, always less...

the life, twisted like white sheets billowing on a line
the love, the one, the time

all lost to the hurricane
that you caused

how do you stand,
raise up from the wreck,

when what you have done

exploded
your world,

like bullet from a gun?

Part of New Writers and Readers

tumbling down one thousand stairs,

like a doll I fall,

like a toy a child has tossed,

like a love a boy has lost,

you did lose me, you know?

you did, you did, so easily again...

the blood, the scars, still show the sin

of the last time you let go

falling, falling, and never hitting the floor.

NOTE FROM SARA- this poem was created as part of a challenge posed at the blog, New Writers and Readers.

"How are you doing lately?"

"Just miming away my life. Pushing up
against these invisble walls that shrink
my world small, so small. Trapped
in the frame of an old photograph,
where all my edges are frayed, aged,
a little worn with time. But time,
time don't mean a thing. Not to someone
like me."

And if I was a different sort of girl, like the one
you used to know, I might say all that and more,
much more.

But she is gone,
and in her place is the one
who smiles, drops her eyes,
lets the truth fall between the lines.

"How are you doing lately?"

"Fine...fine."

Endless Well

I don’t mean to scare you
with
my eyes

Don’t mean to chase you away

just because
I need too much.

An endless well.

Just give what you can....
and we’ll pretend that’s enough

A pretty girl

a tragic smile decorates
her otherwise
pretty face

a pretty girl
she could have been
could have been...

But knowledge slit her like a sword

open, end to end
exposed

and all her heat grew cold, so cold
and yet......

yet

except for the
telling smile

she shows the world

she could have been.... a pretty girl

The Last Remains

Turn away your eyes,
leave me here with this
sweet sorrow

And I will clutch at the last

remains...

For this dream’s
come undone

Another discarded deserted one
A broken down disgrace

But

I can’t turn away my eyes
So I will
lay here beside


the last remains
our last remains...


For it isn’t over, no it is not over,
It is not over until


I say so

Underground Sanctuary

her fingernails bear the mark
earth packed down to her skin
from where she has clawed
scraped, dug
this hole...


she lives within
it’s misery
beneath the ground


it’s a sanctuary
where she conceals...

what others should never know about.


she breathes in dank
dirt, death.

she won’t crawl out,
quite yet,
for the pain still resonates.

it thumps, runs through her like a fire
burning ever brighter.
it thrives.

and here in her Land of Dark
she dies,
dies, dies

rips at the ground to cover herself
and prays....

to be
buried alive...

Begging

I want to touch you
on a shore, kissed by the sun.

I want to touch you
in the center, where your past lays.

I want to touch you
in the depths- of your bitter soul.

Let me know you...
a fraction of your days.

give me moments
give me moments
give me more

give me glimpses
give me seconds
give your touch

give me this
give me time
give me us


give me moments
give me glimpses
give me...


love.

An Internal Open Wound

I’m dying
right here, now,

in front of his eyes but

unnoticed by him.

he can’t see the wounds

bleeding away pieces... of... me...

death
would be merciful but
he insists “no one gets out of this that easy.”


a heaviness passes through the air
and I start to believe
even ghosts can’t break free
of him.

He can’t escape himself
so why, his illogical mind declares, why should I?

Sinking Floating Surrender

October 26, 2006

let me sink
in this sea
of words that call me home

let me fall
into a swirling blue mist
and never see the surface again
breathe in the essence of Shakespeare,
Emma, fire and ice

and drown in my own expressions
loving, loving, loving
this falling without effort

yet, never reaching the ocean floor

living now, then, forever
a sinking floating
surrender
among the words that I
adore

Something Sweet

Fall off of the
ledge,
so effortlessly.

Drift down to the
earth,
swaying soft like a leaf.

And the crash will never come,
if you only

believe,

you could always fall on me,
fall on me.

Thoughts from May

I am shame ridden. I was made better than this.
And when you reach the depths of this kind of
disappointment it can’t be healed with a touch, a word, a kiss.

Psyche of a Writer

"Words are power."

I crave
the ability to take these
pieces of fury
and shape them,

hold them down,
mold them around into
what I decree,

control the temper, the flame,
curve their cadence to my own
refrain,

whip, shake, fling them at the world
string them like a cord,
taut

then open up my palm and let them fly

to dance across a mauve sunset.

the words and I
the words and I......


"Control the words, control the world."

ready...set...write

write, write, write
get lost and
fritter away hours of the night

slave, slave, slave
until
the comma's just right

what a crazy way to live... purging to survive

what a marvelous misery...living this writer’s life

race, race, race
then slow

and take some time

after all,
this is a marathon


and you are writing for your life

Existence Transient

Written May 17 2006*

an anchorless
existence.

transient.

wandering.

waking
to look
through opaque windows,

walking
to stare at
distance shores,

passing others,

others take no notice.

weighted to no one.

isn’t this
what they call freedom?

isn’t this
what I wanted?






* To me this is one of my most depressing poems because it speaks to being abandoned and also to abandoning yourself, your home, your loved ones and being left hopeless.

This is the heart of darkness

He might as well of said “This is the heart of darkness, my child. Come in. Let me introduce you to Evil. Why don’t you two dance? He’s nice. We’re old friends. And he will be yours, too. This is where I wallow; I wanted to share it with you.”

Flag waving

I carry your scars

decorating

my heart and my skin
and anyone who has ever been
like me

can see it clearly
see it from miles away

It is like a flag I wave
and it screams of ache and rage and sin

and shows the world
just what I am
just what I am

Too Late

written may 31,2006

you’re there
right in front of me
but I can’t touch you.

you’re out of my reach
already.

and I can’t save you
for myself,
hide you in a box,
and take you out when I am ready.

you are leaving
and I want to call you back.
but I am unworthy.

so I smile and wave and say
all the things I can think of, but none of it sounds right,
and just as I think
of the right thing
and I reach out to grab you back
you are gone.

already a part of my past.

Pretend you don't see

invisible blood
runs like flood water
drowning out hope
cascading waves

upon
me and him both, pulling me under
pushing me down with

a mix of power,

anger and scattered fragments of sin

don’t stare
don’t stare


it’s just a family affair

Fade to Blue

With resigned eyes,
I watch as the needle hits my vein
and I think......

I think blue,
baby blue,
ocean blue, sky blue, midnight blue,
your eyes of blue,
streaking and
colliding fireballs of blue


And when the drug sinks in,
separates soul from man,
and what was my existence fades
Blackness does not take over

there’s still blue
and your face

baby blue, sky blue, ocean blue,
times of blue,
exhaling blue- pure as winter rain-
flashing lightening blue,

uncompromising
undeniable blue

and you

remain.

a soundless cry

It’s just a poem about love.

don’t look too close
or expect too much

just like you do
when you look at me.

it’s just a lonesome lullaby
a plea, a soundless cry

it’s longing and needing, beyond reason

I hold on
yet you don’t feel me

it’s my version of love

don’t look too close
or expect
too

much.

Sinking ships

You struck the match
then burned the ship
and jumped to save yourself

through a burnt orange haze of golden waves
I found some driftwood
and clung

clung
clung

now May has come
and December
circling through time

and now you
casually rememberto inquire

if I survived......

and then you clutch my hand
and ask
could I be a good girl and understand?

you had to save yourself
save yourself
save yourself

that ...is... just the way it works

Creeping through life still

there are footsteps down the lane
that leads past your mother’s door,

invisible, they remain,
though seen no more


for
the soul you are
still is

and all you were
you are

your spirit stays in more than memory,

you stroll gingerly, right past your mother’s door.

The Discard Pile

breathe in
then out
in

blink
blink again

I’m still here

lying where you left me
I’m still here

discarded isn’t easy to survive
discarded is my life

And as the acid burns
I will
bide...
just bide
bide for a while...


breathe out

Hey Susan, friends and strangers

Susan, a great writer and someone I feel like supports me and other writers with her unending supply of thoughtful comments, has been nice enough to offer to link to me on her blog.

Anyone else you wants to that would be great also.

I love recieving comments but I am sure any writer who visits here would know that. I mean aren't we all thrilled to hear something sweet about our musings?

Anyway, Susan mentioning linking to me reminded me that I had been lax in putting up any links on this blog so far. So I went and found a few blogs that I feel are worth reading, based on the fact that my online friends link to them and I have stopped by and read them a few times. I hope to stop by them more often in the future because I do love devolping writing friendships with fellow writers around the world.

Here is a link to my other blog, in case anyone drops by that does not know me. That blog discusses my fiction writing.


Aspiring Romance Writer
On there you can find links to many blogs from talented writers I admire. Those links are purely my writing friends or someone who has linked to me.

I, also, wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who reads this blog. When you take the time to read my words you read my heart. You honor me and my existence if you find even a shred of truth, joy, hope or understanding in my words.

Do I write only for myself? No.

I write to share myself.

Like it doesn't exist

I am praying for amnesia
a beautiful unknowingly to ease this weight

that lays over my life

a magnificent erasure of that
waking death he carved
into my soul,

there’s nothing left to salvage or save
so show me mercy tonight and
erase
erase

Please

if I could conjure up a pretty word
the perfect word
and say it in the right tone

would it melt the ice and bring you home?

if I could change everything single thing
about me
give up my sins

would it
twist the past
into a shape that allows
you to forgive?


if I could
if
if

just forgive me already
just forgive...

It's just what daddy did....

What Daddy did.

There are those who know
how that
handful of innocuous words can
alter a life.

What.... Daddy..... did.


yeah, it was innocuous
sure it was

innocuous- not harmful or injurious; harmless
not likely to irritate or offend; inoffensive
not interesting, not stimulating, not significant

not significant at all
innocuous
it didn’t hurt a bit

What Daddy did.

The Coming and Fading of Fall

A Midwest October

it comes sneaking in past the last
few seconds of
summer’s bow

slip in
relax
let the leaves fall now


don’t mourn for heat
don’t be alarmed

its not beach time
but it has it charms


a snapping crack
smile at the colors
the wonders


the dying summer is gone to grave
again


and sure as sin
autumn will leave with a thunder
as the snow crashes in


but it’s only October
and we still have time
we have some time

there’s today and then tonight
to let the fall live

slip in, relax


it’s already fading too fast.... too fast......






The Atonement Season

Come on, gently, wash over me and I will soak you in

this time of year
that heals like a balm

this season rocking calm
that soothes
and sways away

traces of the loud noise
seen in the wake

of the wild chase

through the
riot

of another summer of storms.

Another year surviving it
and I have made it
through this much of this year’s war.

Gently, give me more
a little more

And now we live in shadows that
hint

at the coming night

take peace in it
find grace from sin

bask in
the season of


atonement.

Over and Over again

I keep tweaking the poem Drowning in a Word. I think it is because it is about writing and I am struggling to capture the joy and pain. The need to create that goes beyond a choice a writer makes to be devoted to this art. To not write leads to misery. To write can lead to frustration or an amazing high. It seems impossible to find the words to express all that writing is to me.

Say it with me now

“It’s no big deal,” you tell me with a frown.

And I nod mutely
but I’m lying.

Smile now.
Keep smiling.

It’s easier to agree.


Then silently I repeat
it’s no big deal.
it’s no big deal.
keep repeating
till its real.
keep repeating now.


Your life depends on this.

To Find His Girl

He threw me away

with a flick of his wrist,
like one of his cigarettes,
disposed of
thoughtlessly


and if he remembered later
that he lost me ...

and clawed at the ground,
looked under
every stone in the world,
beat back the tides
to find his girl


that wouldn’t change a thing.

He threw me away.

(Slightly Edited) Drowning in a Word

Light the fire
it’s time to write away
another day,

to lay my soul down
and bleed over the page.

This muse I love,
this muse I hate
and when it hurts it kills.

damn, it kills

But I don't suppose
someone unafflicted
ever would

know that nearly
dying

as I try
to breathe new life

could ever feel this good.

So
Cover my aches with verbs
and drown me now
in lovely words.

such lovely words......

A thesaurus of descriptions

Written May 15th


A vagabond existence,
she is an enigma to herself.

Those around her
claim to know her.


A thesaurus of descriptions
float through the air around her,
surround her.

To them that is her!

If anyone would ask her,
but they never do,
does she agree?
Is she innocent and sweet?
Evil and mean?


She’d say
“Delve deep.
No one has mined me.
No one,
not even me,
could bare the truth.
Turn away,
let me leave.”

Aged

Written May 17, 2006



Candles
burning in the window,
flickers
dancing on the pane,

cast shadows
over long forgotten
discarded
shells,

that cling to the
remnants
left,
the inches stretch,
these last few breaths,


linger
past their prime.

From the Heart of this Woman

Written
May 22, 2006

From the heart of this woman
there was
born
a dream
that echoes
through the corridors
of her heart,
soul,
mind.

Till it seems it might
overtake her every other
desire.

And she begins
to eat and breathe and sleep
this dream.


And in that moment she
has her first taste of
desperation fueled
drive.

And in that moment
her dream becomes
her fight,
her life,
the one thing that keeps her alive.

Come on in and see my heart

This blog is to showcase my poetry. I hope you find something here that speaks to your soul.

Leave comments if you want to chat about creative writing. I am an aspiring novelist.