They were told it was a little while,
Maybe two weeks,at the most.
They believed, their child hearts filled with hope and love.
They waited.
Each day began to last a year, each hour a day.
The room was tiny,the room was small.
Four small children, locked away.
Left alone in a room, a room filled with dust.
The Attic was their garden, the yard they played in.
Beaten and starved, whipped and frightened,the children
Escaped to the Attic.
Slowly, the youngest one faded away.
His face grew pale, paler, until his last breath was silenced.
Three years had passed,
Three years and five months.
They had waited.
One found an old chalkboard in her Attic.
She could only think, in hatred and despair, of one thing to write.
"We lived in the Attic. Carrie, Cory, Christopher, and me.
Now there are only three."
They ran from the Attic,
Leaving the world of hatred and loathing behind.
The flowers still hang in the Attic, faded, covered with dust.
Their bright blues and purples fading to gray.
Hung with small children's hopes, a child's dream.
The window is still open.
The curtains blow in the breeze.
Left there is flowers, and handwriting on a chalkboard.
Maybe one day another will see it.
Maybe they will know the pain.
But until then,
The flowers wait.

"Based on the novel Flowers In the Attic By V.C. Andrews"

I'm crying.
No one listens.
I call out.
No one answers.
Does anyone hear me?
Am I invisible?
I listen.
I hear no one.
They all leave me in a rush of color.
I am alone.
I call again,hoping against hope.
I am alone.
Silence.
Only the sound of a tear falling penetrates.
Alone.

Who can kis the rain?
No one.
Who can embrace the wind?
No one.
Who can hear the trees as they sing?
No one.
The earth talks to us.
But we are deaf.
The earth tries to hug us.
But we pull away.
The earth shows us harmony.
But we are blind.
We see it in a dream.
But we are awake.
We're animals,lost from the world.
Trying to mold it into our image.
Watch us die in our efforts.
Come on humanity.
Try just once to kiss the rain.
Try,  just once,  to embrace the wind.

I sing a song
For the best day of my life
No pain, no fear
A simple day
A simple pleasure
No-one's hurt at this hour
Nothing's lost
I would hide this day
If I could
Release it tomorrow
And tomorrow

DO YOU SMELL?
What a way to go
when you don't know
if the feet have
done it
or the shoe.
Bless the day
you were born
with a tail
and howl at
the moon.
Catch up
with ya
sometime
anytime
ragged and sleek,
dustbins for
the city and mice
down south.
Dewy january mourning
all in black
with a white
tale to tell.
Sadly while you
where fishing
big truck went
BOOM
WINGED SMELLY CAT
sit up there
and disapprove
of all the
hubba hubba
and sour milk
that turns
because I still
feed you
even
though
you're gone.

You talk to a higher power
converse in languages unknown
guarantee a spot in an afterlife
yet remain totally sane

The scars outside
reveal my childhood
Yet your deceive everyone
by the damage inside

You play the game
and by yourself
you play it well
but what do you win?

I know the dark
secure in the unknown
a kindly excuse
but then the light blinds you

You see my thoughts
I tell you my feelings
You remain in the dark
and I travel to the light

Stretching across the distance
Reaching for the horizon
before the sun
Extinguishes them
Light is the enemy
Shadows
Always fail
They cannot succeed
Life depends on it
The sun will rise
We will survive
I can feel the beginning
Not the end
They recede
Acknowledging failure
They will come again
But success will not come easily
Luminous
Brilliant
Love will shine through the darkness

Who knows where it goes
Or what I'm doing here this late at night
I know I hear something
But I can barely breathe
Barely see
Barely hear
Or think. . .
Must be too many beers
What is fear?
Smells a little something like pain
And what the hell does that mean either?

All I know is
That destiny has puked somewhere
And it's bile is on the floor of being sane

Innocence immense
Eyes deep with love
Their chocolate sweetness
Sucks me in
I feel our connection
Each time your laughter
touches my heart.

Cry freedom
from the ache
of whispered words
shared with each
the other

careful steps
around pools
of tears
leave behind
the days of fear

forbidden heart song
soul's desire
a tongue of honey
forked with lies
holds me hostage

behind my eyes ...

I howl!!
and sob for
love's hard labour,
I am alive
but lifeless,
familiar light
fades
I feel him
before I see him,
always
I wait
for Boney's
howl
the call to me
alone
restless and hot
I pace wary ...
like the caged wolf
with a savage heart
of primal denial
and my ravaged art
cries to me
from parchment ..
our ancient song
makes me wild
makes me free,
alone
he howls for me

Farewell, my love, we now must part,
For death our bonds would sever
And still the song within my heart
That I would sing forever

My songs were meant to please your ear,
Like melodies ever sweet,
But now, my love, I weep my tears
And lay my harp at your feet

O would that my harp had broken
When my songs were sung for thee,
Than to have it pass as a token
Of the songs still mute in me

Yet say they were worth the giving,
That I might not weep for long,
Nor be last choice of the living
To die sweet singer of song

Farewell, my love, we now must part,
For death our bonds would sever
And still the song within my heart
That I would sing forever

 Sand glass sharp
 

 Shelter under these knuckled boles

 Watch cloud savaged open ______
 

 After the storm

 delicate red feet

 pick to the ocean's musselpools
 

 Wade

  Down

   into the  rubberbrown arms

      of sea plants
 

 Salt garments of the drowned

  Clutch rocks
 

 Eel

  stonegrey, a ribbon of gut

      Sees

 The latch of the gate is

  Hot to touch
 

 Come in

 Sticky fruit is falling
 

 On a jar of jam

 A wasp walks the sweet rim
 

 Black cat

  lavishes in sun
 

 Water gathers in one corner of the garden

 Stands   Smells  frog-green

 
 Brown veined leaves are burning

 Snakes hunger about the greenhouse
 

 and a      cold angel

  Thinks

 On the neat box hedge
 
 

 eyelashes dip on the open book

 She is reading

 will not look up
 

 The words are printing tall tales

 on the intricate lace

 of her feather hazel head

 
 Lean long wrist  bangles

   reach down

 Turn the page

   my page
 

 She rests

  then her eyes walk
 

 A scarlet moon is rising from

    the printed ink
 

 Her ankles bracelets shake softly

 
 This is for you to read
 

 Slice the baked clay

 
 Flints, chalk

 The blade works through

 marrow of roots

 fashions the six foot plot
 

 Cotton seals my mother's nose mouth
 

 ... Her rings  favourite dress
 

 I do not know you
 

 earth  sun-brown

 rills onto teak

   over final flowers
 

 I am standing farewell

 Then  Tonight

 Your lips still

 Your mask chalk

I form the ocean on the matrix of this perception.

Salt licks covering the face from her words of power
displayed in the waves,

this affinity in the rhythm of surf from a distant lullaby.

The sun as its crescent
undresses her worth behind the undertone
of an opalescent horizon.

Sharp chants from birds in raptured flight
embodies the total experience
of the senses
surfing to greater expectations,
 than ever before.

A reproduction from this very scene
may hang in suspended animation
transcending suggestions
of corporeal beauty
needing to awaken.

And through the window  I look from a passion I know.

This reservoir of inspiration that time
has not "tapered her hem"
to fit my observations
will be viewed through the portholes
of my mind, my eyes.

And, make known the edict
 of virgin brush-strokes
being nurtured in feelings of sensitivity.

I wait with expectation to look through the windows again.

At this iolite blue complexion
leaving me
to progress to a more perfect love, somehow.