INCONCEIVABLY BLONDE....

Special Note before reading further: I've pondered long and hard about sharing this, and for good reason. This is a very mature topic which is definitely provocative and not for everyone's taste....In the end, I felt I needed to share--to point out something incredibly powerful I learned from dabbling in affairs of body, heart, and soul.... I guess, in an odd way I'm sharing what happens when you don't follow what you know and feel to be true, just to see what happens...to see if the grass is greener on the other side...so it's a poem with a story and a warning. The road back to self-esteem, self-worth, and spiritual healing comes at a very dear price--while I'm forever grateful for the miracle of forgiveness and the Atonement, I honestly would never want to experience that journey again, nor would I wish it on anyone, if I could prevent it..... This was something I wrote after going through a very experimental point of my life, when I wandered and explo...

This was written back in 1994, the very first time I truly dealt with death of a close loved one--my gran was everything to me at the time--not only was I her and my great grandma's namesake; but she had a way of making me feel like I was the most special thing on the planet.  She had a tradition of making afghans for each of her children, their wives, then her grandchildren, and then great-grandchildren.  She had made me mine the year before.  I went to see her two weeks before she died, and we had planned on my coming up again in a couple of months so she could finally teach me how to crochet so I could begin making afghans for my very own family someday.  Sadly, that never happened. Her death totally crushed me at the time--that was the very first time in my life that I couldn't stop crying...it wouldn't be the last, but at the time I thought it so strange and very intense....Ever since, I have had a very powerful spiritual connection with her, for which I'm prof...

Another oldie revisited...again, from another chapter in my life.... I miss you. I had that dream again last night. Whispers prickling, tickling surrender into the back of my neck. So real I giggled in my sleep. I miss you. Warming flushes sweep my thoughts, my face, my heart at one wordless moment. Trapped by the burning black of your eyes. So real I gasped into my pillow. I miss you. Searing, rhythmic velvet tracing, teasing, tormenting constant, gentle spirals of hot everywhere. So real I cuddle closer in bed to make it last. I miss you. Cradling me tight against you and the low, hot roar of your bike. Nuzzle my throat, my chest, my hair in the salty breeze. So real I breathe the fading warmth of the sunset. I miss you. Clearing the haze of memory at morning's light. Struggle to stay in your arms at the beach awhile longer. So real your smoky taste lingers on my lips As I lazily stretch awake. I want that dream again. I miss you. Writ...

Look at me. Really. Look at me. When you look at me what do you see? Do you see what you want to see? Or everything I could be? Everything... except really me . Talk to me. Really. Talk to me. When you talk to me what do you say? "Come on over," or, "Go away!" "Do you want to come out and play?" Everything except "It's okay." Dance with me. Really. Dance with me. When you dance with me what do you do? Do you move how you want to move? Or do you sway to the beat and the groove? Everything... except you're in love. Listen to me. Really. Listen to me. When you listen to me what do you think? Do you listen as well as you think? Or do my moving lips wake up your kink? Everything. Except, I'm swollen pink. Come with me. Really . Come with me. When you come with me how do you feel ? Do you come undone as you start to feel? Or manage to keep both hands on the wheel? Everything... ...

I stand here, quaking, like those aspen you showed me, unfinishing the poem I cannot write. Quaking--to feel warmth in chilling breeze. Empty-handed, looking at Stars, wonder how they still manage to shine in the frigid night. Do You shiver in solitude? Can You get warm? Show me how.... I lie here, stroking my hair, like the wind in those mountains you brought me to, unfinishing the book I cannot read. Stroking--to feel passion in sterile room. Empty-handed, looking at Sunset, wonder how it still manages to paint vibrant on the dusty night. Do You  caress the land lovingly? Can You still feel? Show me how.... I turn here, streaming with tears, like that river we passed, unfinishing the song I cannot sing. Streaming--to feel whole in enormous bed. Empty-handed, looking at Waters, wonder how they still manage to surge through the endless night. Do You pour out your sadness? Can You forget? Show me how.... (For JMS, original draft 8/...

Mirror, mirror on the wall, can you tell me where I am? I've gone and lost myself somehow don't know if I’ll get back again. Get back to where I actually knew and felt and lived where I belonged. Where life was simple, good, not cruel or missing everyone else.  Just wrong . Mirror, mirror on the wall, can you show me how I am here? They've gone. I'm alone now. Don't feel I can begin again. Begin to feel I actually know  and feel. and live. Where I belong. My life uninterrupted…no,     it seems those days are long since gone. Mirror, mirror on the wall, can you show me when I am supposed to get a clue--right   now ? Don't know when I'll feel   me   again. Begin to feel myself allow, relax, unwind, let my guard down just enough for it to show before the tears come crashing down. Mirror, mirror on the wall, can you show me what I am trying to do-- as if you know . DON'T tell me it’s al...

Dedicated to Alana Deringer Segall, friend of my heart and soul, a great hero and mentor and tremendous example who returned to Heaven Friday, June 12, 2015....I love you now and forever.... People act like death is war-- a personal vendetta. And, while I suppose it can be, I disagree. To me, life is much more a mountain to climb, conquer, figure out, wrestle,  and struggle with... battle against, if you will... until that gradual surrender. Death is peace, the reprieve, the calm after the storm that is life.... the pause, the space, the catching of breath...  letting go-- finally-- to be able to  spiritually breathe, see, and feel.... Reality of what's true and honest , when it all comes down to the wire, is so very different than what we like to think. Drink it all in. Slowly. Sipping. Savoring. Line upon line. Here a little, there a little. Though we somehow tend to linger in the middle, meander, muck around and ar...

Another oldie revisited and reworked....from forever ago, it seems ;)  Enjoy!! EG I needed to come here to clear through the haze of my thoughts. To reach out and scratch your whiskery jaw, to see gold bits dance in the depths of your eyes-- the gold of the heart of a good man. And a good friend. I needed to stretch here To grab myself from within. To reach out and rub your weary head, to cradle you in my arms, to melt with the heat of your lips-- the heat of the heart of a good man. And a good friend. I needed to lie here to feel alive again. To reach out and tug on the back of your neck, to lick the pulse of your skin with my tongue, to revel in the cool thick of your hair, to moan in the strength of your hands-- the strength of the heart of a good man. And a good friend. I needed to see here to see where my life should go. To reach out and finger the cleft in your chin, to drown in the green of your life, to curl my toes in the soothe of your voice,...

A sister's love is a funny thing. Not all sweet and peachy-fuzzed. Yet you love your dumb brother who runs crying to Mother-- Why do you love him? Because. A sister's love is a funny thing. It's not loud so all can hear. You've had a bad day. He's broke and can't pay... you quietly put in his hand-- "Here." A sister's love is a funny thing. Doesn't change with the times or the days. You love him still, although you could kill him. Sometimes. But you won't. Always. A sister's love is a funny thing. Sometimes either subtle or proud. Yet nothing can replace that look on his face whenever your eyes first meet in a crowd. A sister's love is a funny thing. Always has been, and always will be. We reserve the right to hug, laugh and fight with our brothers. Eternally. To all the sisters and brothers out there...

Let it run let it pour let it out let it soar let it be let it more let it see let it for let it feel let it tore let it heal let it more let it flow let it roar let it melt let it floor let it love let it more let it peace let it war let it burn let it door let it me let it more let it scream let it gore let it free let it sore let it do let it more let it think let it bore let it speak let it swore let it sweet let it more let it write let it wore let it sleep let it snore let it dream let it more let it done let it lore let it rich let it poor let it laugh let it more let it roam let it tour let it go let it spore let it stop let it more let it high let it score let it low let it fore let it live let it more

A stone keeps on turning in the sand keeps on smoothing, getting glossy in the water swishing 'round back and forth in clouds and sun. A stone keeps on turning in the sand getting smaller, smaller still mixing more into the water swishing 'round back and forth in clouds and sun. A stone keeps on turning in the sand, smoothing, shrinking, drifting down, until it turns into just one, one of  the same same sands that washed it all away under the water and then returns more stones to sand-- sand for water to swish around back and forth in clouds and sun.