Muse Pages

Here's some of the poetry I've written over the past few years. I got into writing as therapy, and have grown to love it. I'm even majoring in it! Hope you enjoy!

The contents of this page are copyrighted by me. Any use without my consent is illegal.


A single red flower grows
In a field of gold.
One flower in a group of many,
But, if it was gone,
The field would be that much dimmer.


Cobble-stone paths,
Hard, unfeeling,
Lead to the river.
Dark sky
Threatening rain.
Frigid wind
Bites through my clothes.
Wet sand under my bare feet,
Shivering, not from the cold.
Like a skipping stone I fly,
Sinking under the waves
To the welcome embrace of the water.
It rains.


Sea spray and salt air
A dolphin leaps into view,
Iridescent body gleaming yellow noon.
Molded light, fluid ecstasy,
The heartbeat of a song;
She soars higher.
A flick of liquid tail
Announces her return
To the caress of home,
Leaving only ripples and startled birds
To tell the tale.

Never Again

I can't hear you screaming
Across the distance between us,
Can't see your mouth
Contorted over my unknown sins.
I am not there
When you slam me against the wall.

I can't smell your leather boot
As it crushes my chest,
Can't taste the blood
Seeping from my mouth
As my eyes close.

You grab my shoulders
In an obscene embrace,
But I can't feel you.
I am not there.

Serpent Dance

Through the crowd and summer haze
Surrounding the snake charmers,
I saw the man in black.
He slid around the circle,
Dust storms in his wake.
He took my hand.
A cloud shadowed the sun,
And a sudden breeze
Blew his musk cold against my sweat.
I followed his green eyes
Into the woods.

He wrapped himself around me,
Gently caressing as he moved,
And the ice of his pale touch
Shivered my arched spine.
His breath,
Rhythmical wheezing,
Frosted against my neck
As he melted in my fire.

In the chill night air
I barely felt the trickle
From his two-pronged kiss.

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Saturday Night

Heavy liquid smoke
Green and purple and red
And a feather drips from a lone white lamp.
Old musician's bones
Dangle on tendons from the ceiling.
Husbands sit at dirty tables
Twisting tarnished rings,
Trying to ignore the man at the bar
Blaming the Mexicans for his unemployment
Between shots of tequila.
The jukebox plays scratched blues,
Drowning out wives, bills,
And the rain.

Outside My Bedroom Window

They stand at attention,
As if some passing
Envious of their beauty,
Trapped their souls
In a wooden frame,
Paint peeling,
Hanging on the wall.
They stand, arms raised,
Pleading hands stained
Ghostly-white faces
Beseech pallid stars
For the freedom of a raindrop.

There may be luck amongst them.

Goddess Moon

Soars, full and low,
Amid stars like pixie smiles
Through velveteen skies,

Laughter pouring
Down like milk on her sister.
Thirsty ears, eyes, and

Hearts drink in her
Faery kisses until full,
Then rejoice, and dream.

Frustrations of an Amateur Poet

Old Shakespeare seems to have the hang of this...
But blank verse poetry is much too hard.
How would old Willie turn a phrase in order
To make the accent pattern match the words?
O Muse, please let me borrow Shakespeare's pen!

Inspiration teases like a breeze
On hot and sticky summer days.
That sort of sounds like him, but would he use
A headless line? Or was his skill so great
That language bowed to his command? I guess
Perhaps I'd better keep my daytime job:
"Excuse me, sir, would you like fries with that?"

Lover's Pentagram

Alone, wishing you
Were here beside me
In your apartment,
Lovers intertwined
In rumpled bedsheets.

Red candles, silk words
Whispered in my ear,
Sharing a pair of
Gloves, holding bare hands
Against icy air:

Especially that
Morning at dawn when
You brought oranges for
Breakfast and then helped
Wash off sticky juice.

I watched the airport
Until it was stars,
Then one star, then gone.
That was the last time
We saw each other.

In daydreams alone
Can I still feel you
Kissing me with soft
Fingertips and with
Satiny glances.


Muscled arms and a maniacal mind
Throw me through the kitchen table.
His hate shoves me against the hot stove.
His bastard blood bleeds from my veins,
Running red across red welts
And old scars, scarcely showing.
With purpled eyes I plead for peace;
Angry insults answer my anguish,
And calloused fists, full of fury.

A crumpled body cries in the corner.

Just a Frog

That morning when I saw you walk
Out of the blazing red sunrise,
Laughter like lightning in your eyes,
And you sat with me a while to talk

Of faery queens, the blood-red shade
Of perfect roses, summer nights
When brilliant dancing firefly lights
Cause even ancient stars to fade,

And love like endless dreams, I wish
That I had seen the warts which grew
Like poisoned toadstools, wet with dew,
On your silken words, the slimy greenish

Cast of your skin, or maybe how
You looked, not in my eyes, but at
My chest, the throne on which I sat,
And the gold crown which crossed my brow.


All the company is in
Preparation for the big
Parade, with banners waving,
Horns wailing, and bright sequined
Girls dancing through all the streets
Of the town.
To go along,
The lioness wild-child must
Be shackled with leaden shoes,
But she rages and tantrums
And the shoes will not go on.
The parade must leave without
Her. She rattles the cold iron bars
Of her cage, howling wildly
And sadly, desperate to join
The play. She will not be still.

Enter the lion tamer.


Angel with ebony wings
Sings of solitary daisies
Lifting bruised petals
Over broken asphalt
And broken glass
Like so many stars
Shining hopelessly
While drowning
In black-like-decay ink.

She weaves her heart-harp strings
Into a silver thread
To lift them home to the sky.


A doctor once told me
Scar tissue is stronger
Than my regular skin.
The skin right here, tracing
The rough marks on my wrists
With his caloused finger,
Is stronger than this skin,
Touching a smoother place.

I thought my heart must be
As tough as the bones I'd
Wished so long to become.

He also said to me
That the shattering pain
Bone feels when it's broken
Comes not from the dead bone;
It comes instead from the
Live marrow trapped inside.

In Misery

The empty bottles
Watch from the corner
Silently, like some
Sneering demons, while
Shattered fine crystal
Spreads a sticky red
Stain on the carpet.

My hair, hanging like
A funeral veil
Over my damp face
As though to disguise
The shame of a skin
So easily bruised,
Lines my vision with
Great heavy iron bars
Preventing escape.

Your large caloused hand
Shoves the hair aside
With indifferent ease
To expose, naked,
Purpled downcast eyes
To your icy glare.


Lady Moon,
How bright, how sad!
Your waning cheeks like a crown
You so quickly, after a night
Or three,
Toss down in despair
Beneath the earth's sight.

Your faint beams,
Which you pour down
On even such a fool as me,
Are nothing but crystal teardrops,
Tears spun
And woven into
Mourning veils of white

To hide your
Poor grieving face,
Dusted with lifeless grey ash,
From the one you would call lover
And prince,
If he would but come
And rest at your side.

His grand eye
Rests not on you
But on a showier prize
Full of peacock feathers and jewels,
While you
Waste, hopeless, away
In your endless night.

He never
Even sees you,
Sick as you seem in his light,
Or, usually, blocked from his view
And you die, pining...
Such the same as I.