Hold Thy Tongue

I have decided that when we cannot hold our tongues,
We often give them over to someone who can:

Joy cannot hold it...
For Joy only holds
Lighthearted things like
Balloons and smiles.

Love cannot hold it...
For Love is silent in nature and
Hides in the echoless crevice
Of truth and longing.

So, there is only Anger left to hold it...
For Anger has strong arms from war,
A tight grip from grudges,
And eloquent penmanship from manipulation.

This is why when we do not hold our tongues,
We often quite quickly wish we could get them back.

For Anger will slice and dice
Joy and Love
With a speed of the 1st calvary,

And then turn the sword on you.

The Groom

Yesterday you were on my mantle

A little boy clutching a golden heart

But now a man stands before me

Away from me with another

A photograph made of words

No longer intended for me

The life is gone from this boy

Only a tiny wooden carving

It once meant love.

Sitting on a wondow sill

It once meant love.

The Rabbit Hole

Sometimes I have nightmares I'm still there,
Wearily running through a haze of confusion
Adorned in colorful flowers and poetic analogies,
Coughing from the fumes of forgetfulness
As I struggle to remember who I am and why I must leave.
Yet she finds me again and again
The innocent girl naively believing
That the queen of hearts should have one
Yet hysterical hilarity ensues in a ravenous rage
Shrieking "Off with their heads!"
Cackling "Aren't you a strange little thing?"
Weeping "Why would you wish to leave me?"
Manic majesty reigning over her wicked wonderland.
Then suddenly I've become her
Begging the next child who happened down the rabbit hole to stay
Was she once a girl?
Did she once have a name?
Or was she always painting her world
To match the hues of her delusions?
Will the next child be mine?
Will she stumble down into the nonsense
Because I didn't keep a better eye
Or because I didn't want to be here alone
In this world of nonsense and neglect?
When I stare into the looking glass next
Is it her I will see or the queen or myself?
Do I even know the difference anymore?



I am proud to announce that "The Rabbit Hole" was chosen for publication in the Austin International Poetry Festival's 2012 edition of the Di-verse-city Anthology. You may purchase this anthology, filled with works by many incredible poets along with myself, at www.aipf.org. Thank you for your support.

The Promise of Tomorrow

I look at my daughter
Adorned in a star-spangled dress,
Eleven months passed
Since her fight for freedom
From her mother's womb,
And I wonder
What is this "freedom"
She has been born into?
A recited pledge?
A knock-off replica of a banner
That once represented
The promise of tomorrow
So many yesterdays ago?
What does it represent today?
What do the words, etched in ink,
Signed onto parchment paper,
Hanging in museums,
Say to us now?
Do they even speak at all?
Or have we silenced their intent
With our political ambition,
Cutting and pasting history
To fit the poster boards of our desire?
Trading, like baseball cards,
The parts we approve of
For the parts we wish to leave behind?
Here, you can take "We the people..."
But only if you don't include "they".
I'll trade your "life and liberty"
For a little "happiness".
Oh no, you can keep your "pursuit of"
That part is too much work!
Our dream of freedom much fought for
Now fights for remembrance against
The dementia of our society.

My daughter fights for her freedom
Against the glass door between her
And the back yard.

This is her America.

My husband chooses to spend
Our day of independence pursuing
The freedom of work, to work
To better himself and his home
By mowing the land he owns.

This is his America.

And I,
I sit here in observance of
My promise of tomorrow
As she giggles and growls
At the puppy struggling for sleep,
Writing words of my own
Not for history or for future
But for freedom
Of a dream
I am grateful to attain.

What is America to you?