Category: Poems
In Visible Woman
I will
Never be invisible again
No more a distant echo
Of your twisted imaginings
I am rooted beyond brain and bone
And in
Welcoming this synaptic discourse
I will
Lament no memory forgotten
Wrapped in the intrinsic, beautiful madness
Of my spirit dancing
I will
Be forever so much more than moving flesh and sound
I am rooted yet unbound
In stillness more than my silhouette
Dark yet visible
I am found
I remember me
She Always Ran
She always ran but never left
And I only heard the hurt without hearing the reasons
The season came and went for me to listen
The leaves fell at my feet
I didn’t notice the colors
I forgot the timbre of her voice and the brightness of her smile
That beckoned stay with me, be my love of a lifetime
Dance with me awhile
I didn’t notice the colors
That floated in her eyes
Kaleidoscoping brightly
In the quickness of her mind
I forgot her fear and replaced it with mine
And couldn’t listen, wouldn’t listen
I ran out of time
I replaced her
With others of a watercoloured hue
Wanting only to preserve
My point of view
And I found the palette wanting
Still not knowing what to do
I’d forgotten how to listen to both her and myself
And couldn’t listen, wouldn’t listen
Put us both upon the shelf
I didn’t notice the colors her asking fingers drew
As they trailed upon my chest and lips
(She kissed my eyelids too)
I couldn’t see the colors blur
In her last goodbye
Her heart had been in love alone
I forgot the reasons why
Women are the Weavers
Women are the weavers of stories and lives
And a woman can see in another woman’s eyes
To the depth of a heart and a soul in seed
In the want, in the joy, in the cry in need
Heart honed as the fingers of a fleshless sigh
To the visceral laughter of an angel on high
Drawn near, drawn close to a point, to a hole
Not filled ‘til we heal our own aching soul
‘til we eye to eye each other in time
Say I to I
I am, am I
And a mother is no mother
But a spirit of flight
As a beacon that beckons
In a pale blue night
To draw near, draw close
Ourselves in time
Say I to I
I am, am I
Women are the weavers of stories and lives
And a woman can see in another woman’s eyes
To the depth of a heart and a soul in seed
In the want, in the joy, in the cry in need
Heart honed as the fingers of a fleshless sigh
To the visceral laughter of an angel on high
Drawn near, drawn close to a point, to a hole
Not filled ‘til we heal our own aching soul
‘til we eye to eye each other in time
Say I to I
I am, am I
And a mother is no mother
But a spirit of flight
As a beacon that beckons
In a pale blue night