The First Poems

Dream Goddess

She is Mother Earth
with midnight raindrops
falling for sweet sorrow,
shining stars for the dreamers
of tomorrow’s misty paradise…
and she is hope and heartache
whispering softly
of beautiful innocence remembered…
She is Magic
Kissing the lips of broken strangers
beneath the glowing moonlight-
dancing laughter through the air
along streets of forgotten destinies-
Make Believe.
Eternal soul of wanderlust…
She is Hope
telling truths to crying shadows of regret
and they will cling to her
until the morning
when her sleepy spell has lifted…

-B. © 3.10.06

 

She Tells Me

She tells me there are no promises,
no fairy tales, no happy endings,
She mocks the tears
of broken innocence,
provoking them still more…
She whispers cruelness
from mirrors,
taunting my reflections
(how I hate her for my quiet face)
She is the voice that dreamers curse-
but I’m not listening anymore…
In a moment, she will hear me
chanting magic
in the language of believers
and the spell of beauty that I weave
will silence her
forever.

-B. © 3.16.06

 

Georgia Again

Now the nights are turning warm again…
She’ll close her eyes
beneath another
passing summer’s moon
to remember
his were hazel
and wise
and burning with a fire
she had thought to own alone
She’ll let that memory wash over
like forbidden religion
to cleanse her soul
and though she’s long since forgotten
the sound of his voice,
the summer knows that he will hold her
every night it lends them
and he’ll whisper,
“Georgia’s burning”
while she sleeps.

-B. © 5.03.06

 

Beautiful

He can tell you where the circle breaks-
I know him; he is truth.
He holds the reasons for these summer storms
that will not leave
and kisses harder than the thunder
that has shaken me before.
Now the stars have fallen with his words
to shame my quiet tongue…

the distance breaks me
and I whisper my confession,
certain he can hear me
through the silence
or the chaos
that separates our lips-
though I hold no expectations
for a promise he might answer with…
He can tell you where I’m broken
He knows me; my truth
is not so beautiful.

-B. © 5.07.06

 

Random Words

I own random words
and abstract dreams
that concrete hands
will never crush

I discover painted colors;
shades of poetry
and fantasy
while you’re deceived
by black on white

I confess with shameless ease
in a language only I can read
Holding to romantic notions
your lips could somehow learn my own…

-B. © 9.27.06

 

Stolen

Her lips sell magic
even still
and God,
do I believe them

She moves me toward religion
with every word
retraced
and knows that quiet song in seeking death’s embrace

somehow I hear her singing,
screaming. Somehow
I touch her face…

as I have watched her fall
in madness, cry tears of love
to blackest rain
Now she is left there
in those tortured hours
(she never meant to claim)

so I am guilty
as the others
breathing want into her ashes
in search of some new sanity
so selfishly we guard her pleas
craving how she searches

-B. © 10.13.06

 

Discovered

It was confusion,
twisted matter
that you suffered
from the beauty
they called madness-

the quiet shaming that followed

Forget them!
and their pretentious positions
Let them whisper how you echo
only fantasy, offended.

With your hands, confess
your sins, undress
for eyes that crave raw flesh
allow their piercing nails and teeth,
inviting hell if it should please them-

Shut them up!

be their discovery,
dissected-
hear them gasp unnerving pity
watch it tear them open, bleeding
soon the fading might take pleasure

Witness, guiltless for their ending
what you confess they should not listen-
it is sweet and coercive,
impassioned danger undeserving
to their soulless existence.

-B. © 11.01.06

 

Your Secret

Oh my! the sheer deliverance
no holding back, you’re bleeding
bloody poetry
you reek of pent up waste,
singed hair and teeth decaying

You hang from stars
and trees, you sway
in my backyard
Nightmare
scratching, clawing
My name in your great secret-
you have damned me from your grave

Sister-whore, same woman-child,
I think you cannot wait to take me
Black flowers in our caskets

open, waiting

-B. © 11.06