The Dreamer

The Dreamer

We met in someone else’s dream,
bit players
in a dance through ever changing landscapes.
Our eyes met
when The Dreamer wasn’t looking.
I ran to you,
but The Dreamer woke
and I found myself
alone in a cold and empty room.

I searched for you
behind every stranger’s smile
the eyes were never yours.

The Dreamer slept
and I saw you through
I was a giraffe
you a dragon.
I knew you by your eyes.
We held hands by a lake
in the forest of someone else’s mind.
I leaned to kiss you
and The Dreamer woke.
I was alone in a room,
with a faint smell of perfume.

The Dreamer slept again
and you were astride my back.
My hooves plodding out a
syncopated rhythm.
You chatted with the queen
absently stroking my mane.
Then in an instant I was a falcon
perched on The Dreamer’s arm.
You were the prey.
As my talons began to sink
into your mousey flesh,
The Dreamer woke
and I was in that room
clutching a pillow,
afraid it would get away.

I search for you each day
when The Dreamer wakes.
Each night I swim with you
in an ocean lit by a spaghetti moon
and lie with you on sands
warmed by gumdrop suns.

One day I will find you
and hold you in dreams of my own.
Until then,
I pray The Dreamer never wakes.


Some Days I Wake Up,

Some Days I Wake Up,

and feel the World is mine.
It belongs only
to me,
and I may do with it
as I please.
I may keep it,
or throw it away.
I may bite into it
and savor the juices
as they stream down my arms,
sticky and sweet.
The World is mine,
and mine alone.

The World
is a friend.
We laugh and dance,
and play together,
children of the same
fertile Mother.
We use the Moon as a ball
and run like Wind,
toward the promise of

Some days I wake up
and feel the World is mine.

700 Light-Years from Home

Perseus' Stellar Neighbors

Perseus’ Stellar Neighbors (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

700 Light-Years from Home


700 light-years from Earth
a cosmic nursery births baby stars
like a stray cat giving birth
to a litter of kittens.
Suckling at the teat of the Universe
they feed on gas and matter,
clinging to Mother,
eager for life.


700 light-years from where
a newborn star explodes to life
an old man stumbles towards home.
He cannot hear the newborn cry
nor see the face of the proud mother,
as proud of this one as she is of
the countless billions that came before.


It will be 700 years before the infant’s Light
reaches where he stands now.
His liver will have drowned
in the whiskey he drinks
long before then.




Several months ago I had a dream. I don’t recall what the dream was about, but when I woke up one thing kept playing over in my mind and that was “700 light years from Earth”. I looked this up and found that there is a stellar nursery about 700 light years away in the constellation Perseus. The phrase has kept play over, and over in my mind. I knew from the start that it would be either a poem or a story (still time for both), but it looks like the poem came first. This one was a bit harder for me than most. It is a bit…disjointed(?), but it fits what I wanted, at least for me it does.


Between Two Worlds

I am stuck between two worlds. Between the world of who I was, and the world of who I may now become. Gone are childhood aspirations and dreams. Gone are the friends that would have traveled with me to the stars. Ahead of me the way is open to a thousand roads, each leading to a future I never envisioned. Yet I am stuck. I don’t know which road to take, nor even how to begin. Ahead of me there is everything, and nothing, my dreams and my nightmares. Time and life keep moving as I stand still, afraid to make the wrong choice, or perhaps more afraid to make the right one. Today the roads that lie ahead of me are what they are. Tomorrow they will be different. It is up to me to take the first step, but my feet will not obey. My heart sees me as I was when I was young, full of life and eager to tame the world. My mind sees me as old and afraid. My feet don’t know who to listen to, so I stand still waiting to make my choice.



I cut down the Oak
I planted for you.

Many were the birds that called it home
as it grew strong and tall.
It was a sight to rival your beauty.

It died when you left.
The birds moved out,
the branches drooped under the weight
of loneliness.
I could not bear to uproot it,
for the hope that you might return
and save us,
but the tree begged to be
released from its pain.

So I swung.

Each hit killed a memory,
a dream,
a promise unfulfilled.
The Oak fell with a sigh of
“Thank you”.

I fired the wood
in the hearth that should have been ours.
The stench of burning hope
clogs my nostrils.
The fire is cold, uncaring.
It burns because it knows
no other way.

Soon, it too will die.

On the Landing

On The Landing

She woke to the sound of the door closing lightly. He was trying to be quiet and get away before she woke. This was nothing new to her, after all, it was the fourth time in the last few months that she had fallen asleep with her arms around a man only to wake alone. It wasn’t that she was a loose woman, she just needed the attention. She craved it, fed on it, longed for it. It never lasted.

When she was a young girl she vied for the attention of men without even knowing why. As she grew older she realized that she had a way of getting men’s attention. When they gave it to her, she felt alive, like she mattered. It wasn’t as though she were a sad, depressed woman either. She laughed and joked. Her and her friends, and she had a lot of friends, were the life of the party. If there wasn’t a party they made one. She knew how to get into the best clubs and smile her way into back stage passes. She was rather happy with her life. Except for those dark, lonely times when she would wake at four in the morning wondering why her father had abandoned them. Her mother had never been much more than a provider to her. She was not neglected, but she was not nurtured either. By the time she was twelve her mother insisted on being called Ann and not mom. Ann never spoke about her father. One time she asked what had happened to him. “You were too much for him. He couldn’t handle being a father, so he left”. That was it, simple, short, and nothing for her to be concerned about. Yet…

Over the years many people had told her that all the men in her life were only shadows of her father. They said she was trying to find him in the men she brought home. She thought that was ridiculous. How could she find a man she had never met, nor knew anything about? Other people said she was, promiscuous, slutty, a tramp. Those were the jealous ones. She was none of those things. Those words described the whores at the clubs. She wasn’t one of those girls. “Those girls are just in it for the sex. I’m searching for Mr. Right, and who buys a car without taking it for test drive, right?”

She wanted nothing more than to have one man love her. One man that would be hers, and hers alone. This one had gotten her hopes up. He had taken her out for a very nice dinner on Friday. They had made love until the early morning. He held her close and told her things she wanted to hear. He told her things about himself that she thought he would not have told just anyone. They went for a picnic on Saturday and made love in the lake while the stars came out. Sunday they loved, and talked, and held each other until they were both exhausted and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

As the door latched and he began to walk down the hall she decided, “Not this time.” She sprang out of bed and threw on the lingerie that she had worn for him the night before. It was cold at 4 a.m. in September, so she threw on a coat that was lying on the back of the couch, and headed down the stairs to catch him. She made it to the second floor landing just in time to see the headlights of his car come on. He would be gone by the time she made it to the parking lot, so she stopped and watched him drive away. His left headlight was at an awkward angle and it shown up into the window covering her in a sickly, yellow light, and then was gone along with another hope. She leaned back against the wall for a moment and mumbled, “He’s out there. I will find him one day.”
She headed back to her apartment and climbed into bed. Just before she fell asleep a thought sprinted through her mind, “Did I mean Mr. Right, or…my father?” She fell asleep before the thought made a return trip.


*Note: This story was inspired by a photograph I saw on Deviant Art. The image is of a young woman in lingerie standing in the stairwell of a rundown building. The lighting and mood of the photograph just screamed this story at me. Unfortunately I cannot post the photo or link to it from here. If you go to and search for Hard Sell you should be able to figure out which one it was, that is if you feel like it. It is a great photo and it would be nice to know if anyone thought my story fit the image. Thanks all.

When Hope Dies

Where does one turn when hope has died? When faith has abandoned you?
What is there to do when what you have believed in all your life is gone? For years I knew what I believed in, what I stood for. I have given up jobs because they went against what I knew was right. I have ended relationships because I believed in something bigger than my happiness. I have ended friendships because I was asked to make a choice. I don’t claim to be a saint, over even a good man. Through the years I have failed more than I have ever succeeded. I fall short every day. Still, I always knew in my heart what was right. Now, after years of trying, I am not sure I know anymore. Where do I turn now? Where does one go when everything they have lived their lives believing in makes no sense anymore? Were all of these years a waste of time? I used to know, with all my heart, how things would end. I used to know that in the end everything would work out the way it was supposed to, right would win, evil would be locked away and all would be as it should be, not that I would make it to Heaven, but still, it was how it was supposed to be. Now, I am not sure which side will win. I am not even sure if there are sides. In the end, if there is an end, will either side have won? I would end my life now if it were not for a very small part of me. A part that holds on, however loosely, however shakily, to the dying hope that my faith was not misplaced. The hope that it will all be alright. I know it won’t be alright for me, my day has come and gone. I will live out my time, however short or long, and pray that you, whoever you may be, will not lose faith as I have done.


**if anyone has an answer I am listening**