Becoming Violet
There is a number, a precise hour, minute, second between the sun’s revolving door and the moon’s sparkly shine when the world grows quiet and lavender fields weep violet.
Year: 2017
Silent Sky
I hear the breath of the earth surround me
as mud bubbles pop they sound
like the tension released
between my own two tucked in lips:
the opposite of a kiss.
Geraldine
there is a danger to dismissing history
and we will be the price bloodied
face-down
folded over ourselves
Political Peace No.1
Alive in a gilded age of silver-tongued wordsmiths
well-versed in hypocrisy and greed,
our deaths before sunset transverse transsexual hurt
Raising Feminist Daughters
I feel that I support the movements which I believe need tackling; encouraging positive images of women, challenging stereotypes and questions of female morality and sexuality, and like I always planned when I was a stroppy teenager, I tackle sexism by doing what I think I do best; writing about it.
The Chameleon
She makes magic with her warm colors,
and lets us play with our creativity.
Isn’t That What Friends Are For?
Decades ago, when I was in elementary school, I did have a few genuine friends. However, the so-called cool kids swiftly kicked us to the bottom of the totem pole and successfully labeled us as faggots to the entire school. When I moved to Florida in 1979, my world did improve. However, because of my grade-school trauma, it wasn’t easy to make real friends. In High School, I was acquainted with dozens of kids from every social group, but I didn’t have the phone number of one friend to rely upon if my car broke down.
Whirlpools and Windmills: I Choose the Present
I can be like a boat passing by and flowing onward or get mired in it trying to make it what it is not, and whirl around and around wandering in an endless thought process of, “If only.” I then get stuck on the rinse and repeat cycle, living reactively all the time, falling blindly into the holes of my history, until I give up altogether and get stuck on the riverbank of hopeless despair. OR, I can see. Recognize. Steer clear. Float over. Dance through. On, into the vast river of life. Mistaking the whirlpool for the river, I am doomed. And yet the only way out is to realize that the whirlpool and the river are made of the same substance, dancing. I am whole.