i am in a place between sleeping and awake
i am breathing deeply
the golden light hues from old lamp shades
the spinning circle ceiling fan
the hum hum humming of its patterning
my cat is sleeping on my feet.
far gone from my body my head is thinking lofty things
like
i want to share your last name
and
i want to secret smile at you and you'll know everything of me
and
i want to understand you and stand strong
when all the bad parts of us come tumbling down
around us
a plow on the harvest soil.
this time next thanksgiving
i want you.
my maiden mind can't handle it and
my priorities are supposed to be straighter, anyway.
career, independence, business suits, my life, me.
my head is so far in the sky tonight
spinning circles
delusions of grandeur
grander, grander,
i just want to get old with you.

accentric (written for you, on my nicest paper)

we sleuth and sneak and hope we find
the meaning in a crooked time,
make locked the doors in the back of our minds
ashamed of what we hope is true.

we laugh, admiring those with wit
and oft forsake sincerest things -
it's of the past, we all admit, but
do we not long for sincere touch?

dollars bind our hearts with ropes
pulled taught until we lose our pulse
and stumble round the sterile rooms
of squares, and cubes, the halls, this maze.

our fathers strike from their fathers hate
our hands and words are trained the same
so we drink now, accept our fate
our boney fingers on frosted glass.

and every hope we ever had
it's hidden in our deepest heart!
our laughs, a bellowing hollow sound
our smiles, a secret sorrow now.

wake up, oh sleeper, there's meaning to find.
fear not, oh dreamer, your dreams aren't vain.
open the doors in the back of your minds!
search and feel and laugh and know
there's more, just as we always hoped.

about the morning

(this was a poem i submitted for class, and used bits of other poems i have previously posted.)


all is silent about the morning
before it breaks over the mountain
soaking into my window panes.

sometimes i wake just as
the black night fades into dawn's gray
i am reverent as a child.

the moments are a sanctuary
the dawn a cathedral where
i hear only my breaths
deeply drawn and poured out again
a prayer, fervent and humble.

all is still and from my pillow
i watch the stained-glass sky arrive
in royal purples and golds,
a holy march to morning sun.

the sky, wide and
plush as feathers in down
bids me to sleep again and
not soon forget these things i have seen.