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She’s supernatural, my cosmic kin,

forged at once so long ago, now together again.

Comfortable companion through eternity,

she’ll always find a way to return to me.

Fearsome defender, but with a soft touch;

she gives her everything, doesn’t ask for much.20170423_162757_HDR~2

Together in stillness, for me it’s enough;

she’s always nearby when things get tough.

With an intelligence that’s second to none,

her muchness just can’t be outdone.

So fierce, so brave, so misunderstood;

she’s lived through more hell than anyone should.

She is her own, but somehow also mine,

two spirits linked with a psychic line.

All beauty pales next to her light;

an earthly star, she’s still so bright.

Olive eyes shine forth from a stone facade,

relic from when she was worshiped as God.

Still my Queen, picture of magnificence,

she’s well aware of her own significance.

Fabled, famed- Supernatural

mistress of mine, a grimalkin called Nell.


Library in the Bog

Library in the Bog

Musty, dank, and clammy cold

furtive shadows lurk, dancing

in the twilight. Mists enfold

ancient cases, sinking, barely standing.

A catalogue of self, hidden within this fold

of brainy bog. History decomposing.


Danger and pain await within.

The Traveler must be stealthy, must be wary,

lest they be led astray again

by the will-o’-the-wisp and the dancing fairy.

Come upon a pilgrim past, and mark their deathly grin,

a grim reminder lest you ever seek to tarry.


Be wise and listen to my words

as I tell you of the lady grim.

Her beauty and her grace have ruined many lords,

bewitched by her form, svelte and trim.

Any man will gladly join her ghostly hordes,

though they be ripped limb from limb.


Our lady prowls these fuming halls,

seeking no prey, but sparing no man

who dares answer her mourning calls.

The one whom she adored left this lan’

long ago and past even her recall,

Death of love, this bog-mire began.


The overwhelming stench of decay

has eaten the flesh from her face,

and despair has well done its part to flay

her soul from her breast, and erase

the compassion she used to display.

Leaving only lust, and love debase.


Spoiled memories of love

crowd every drifting shelf.

Rot spilling down from memoirs above

adding ever, more filth to this bubbling piece of self.

What used to be a thriving treasure trove

of memories, is now, deplorably beyond any help.


People of wisdom and spirit

will avoid this library of bog and hell,

opting for life and all that comes with it.

Disregard the mire’s putrescent smell

you must pass by the Lady’s horrid pit

unless, you’re already under her spell.

For Sage

For Sage

No one knew her history.

No one knew her name.

She was old and whiskery,

yet no one for her, came.


The kitty was on discount.

We saw her through the bars,

so frail, and of small account,

but eyes like forming stars.


We brought her home that same night,

already so in love.

We learned she had little sight,

or much health to speak of.


She was sassy for her age.

She was bossy as hell.

She was full of fire,  our Sage

with her old lady smell.


At night, whiskers in my ear

or a weight on my chest,

letting me know she was near

‘fore going to her rest.


With each and every morning

came her yowl at the door.

“You’ll be late,” she was warning,

“And my food, I need more!”


From the beginning we knew

our time would be too brief.

Each moment with Sage flew,

turns out, time is a thief.


Just because I know it’s right

doesn’t make it simple.

You’ve given all to this fight,

it’s time, I’ve your signal.


Now, Sage, I’m putting off sleep,

it’s my last night with you.

There is naught to do but weep,

my heart is broke in two.


So Sage,  here is my goodbye.

This is my love letter,

my vow, my last lullaby-

I’ll love you forever.

Love, Now and Then



     It’s a beautiful spring morning, mid morning really. The air has that fresh- pleasantly muggy, comfortably warm and slightly giddy feel of late spring. In a few days summer in all its oppressive heat will be upon the world, but today the bright sun filters down through the perfectly leaved trees that line the street. A pleasant breeze blows in light gusts, making the sunlight and shadows seem to dance on the perfectly smooth sidewalk.

    It feels like San Francisco. Looking up, about a block further on, I see an heart-poundingly steep hill. Yes, this must be San Francisco. And a very nice neighborhood at that.

     As I find myself at the foot of that terribly steep hill, my attention is suddenly drawn to the scene unfolding above me. In the middle of the partially car lined street, I can see a old woman fighting fiercely with her care-taker.

    Moments earlier, from the imposing house to the left, an almost ancient woman had run into the street. Her white nightdress- and it was definitely a nightdress not a nightgown, she was firm on that point- had billowed out behind her.  The ruffled and sky blue beribboned hem of her nightdress was ever so slightly dirty in the back; but the front was clean, because the old lady held it up and out of the way of her pounding bare feet. She was most certainly a lady.

    I noticed, as our aged heroine grappled with her care-taker, that her wispy, pure white hair- kept short for easy maintenance,  and not by her choice- was today, yet unkempt and very flat in the back. “Leave me alone!”, she screamed at the woman trying to aid her. “Go away!” And so, the caretaker- with her white scrubs, white shoes, black stethoscope, and with her short brown feathered 70’s hair- was gone. Vanishing into thin air, just as the old woman fell, in a graceful swoon, onto the hard black pavement.


     In a scene eerily similar to the one above, there is a tall and poised young woman. The sleek lines of her long, off-white dress, and its high waist, suggest that the year is somewhere near 1918. The fabric buttons that run the length of her right side, the lace at her throat, and her magnificently wide, off-white hat, also suggest a date of around that time. Curiously, a sky blue ribbon winds its way through the hat’s heavy decorations, it seems she had always favored that shade of blue. Sky blue always brought out the color of her deep blue eyes and somehow accentuated the gleam of her bright, yellow hair.

     Here, again, she has fallen in an oddly graceful swoon, but this time she misses the brick paved street because she is caught, and helped to her feet by an appropriately tall young man. His short army green- for indeed he was an recently enlisted army man- jacket and tall army green trousers accentuate his lithe strength. You’d almost call him jaunty, except his garrison cap is situated very evenly on the exact center of his sleek, dark-brown hair, and his trousers are tucked succinctly into his tall, gleaming black, army boots. He is a no-nonsense sort of young man.


    Lying on the grass between a nondescript car and the sidewalk, age twisted hands lift the hem of a now heavily soiled nightdress. “Take me young man,” she whispers as she pulls down her elegant, high-waisted, silken panties, “take me right now.”


     Lying on the grass that sits between a black, Dodge touring car, and the sidewalk, is a woman, who, in a lady like fashion, uses her elegant, manicured fingers to raise an equally elegant, off-white dress. “Take me young man,” whispers the genteel young lady as she lifts her petticoat of bright yellow lace, “take me right now!”


    Startled- by an unimportant woman, in a white dress and a chunky, burgundy, button-up sweater- our leading lady takes off for the foot of the hill. A lady still, though, (and the viewer will please blur this part out, because she will always be a lady) with her private bits fully exposed in her mad dash.


    Startled once again, actually for the first time in the time-stream of our story, our young, high-bred, lady is tearing down the hill. Her well cut, off-white dress pulled up still, along with her frilly, bright yellow petticoat, exposing her womanhood to the wind. The viewer’s mind will once again blur her private area, for no matter what, she is still a lady.


     Crash, crunch!

     An elegant old lady has been hit by a blocky blue sedan (with black interior), driven by a very confused, old army man who seems to think that he was in a rush to meet an elegant young lady for a love affair. 


*Author’s Note*

     I’m sorry if this story leaves most questions unanswered. If I have to live with the disappointment, then so do you, for it was, after all, ought but a dream. Also, in case you’re wondering, that was my exact dream. No details were embellished or harmed in the writing of this story.

Then, There Was You

My hand heart
Before I met you,
I had forgotten who I’d been.
Maybe, I never even knew?
She was buried so deep within,
I never even had a clue,
but then I met you.
I knew you loved me,
I felt it, that very first night,
and that frightened me horribly.
What’s worse, was that it felt so right.
I had to get away quickly,
I had to get free.
But then, I missed you.
I wasn’t good at emotion,
so you said, being friends would do.
I thought that I was too broken
to ever really, love you true.
Good thing, you, were you.
You quietly stole
into my sad, everyday life
and then with care, you made me whole.
Did I know then, you’d be my wife?
My walls crumbled, I lost control
of my heart and soul.
Sitting all alone
one day, it finally hit me.
That lil thing, that you had always known,
that we were, simply, meant to be.
I needed you to be my own,
‘cause you, were my home.
When you slipped that ring
off of your finger, onto mine,
you caused my heart to start pounding
with more love for my valentine,
than I thought life, could ever bring.
If my heart could sing…
I am different now,
not at all like I used to be.
Turns out I like to laugh aloud,
make up rhymes and sing terribly…
all ‘cause you were able somehow,
to love me, out loud.

My Fuddy-Duddy (Memphis)


Eight years in a shelter,
but now we’re together,
forever, my fuddy-duddy.
His face is a lil odd,
offset and kinda flawed,
that’s why he’s my fuddy-duddy.
People stare in alarm,
they fear he’ll do them harm.
He’s my misread fuddy-duddy.
He’s running after sheep,
and talking in his sleep.
He’s my funny fuddy-duddy.
Seven soft kitties purr,
all wrapped up in his fur.
He’s their snuggly fuddy-duddy.
His farts can clear a room,
it’s such a vile fume!
He’s my stinky fuddy-duddy!
He’s smarter than he looks,
and takes us all for schnooks.
He’s my tricky fuddy-duddy.
Capering for a treat,
he’s not afraid to cheat.
He’s my cheeky fuddy-duddy.
Sneaking into the bed,
then quickly playing dead.
He’s such a sly fuddy-duddy.
He’s scared of the thunder
so I’m his defender.
He’s my scaredy fuddy-duddy.
He loves with all his heart,
he’s such a little flirt!
He’s my charming fuddy-duddy.
He will always defend
us, even to the end.
He’s my galant fuddy-duddy.
His huge smile says it all,
He wants to chase that ball!
Such a playful fuddy-duddy!
He is such an old man,
sore, but he barely ran.
He’s my creaky fuddy-duddy.
Cuddles at the ready,
He’s my great, big, baby,
a very loved, fuddy-duddy.