Edge of fire

Your voice comes to me

sultry

soothing

I close my eyes drifting back in time

of days by the waterfalls

of sunny days

and of youth that would never end

can we go back

begin again

if in a dream

a time-lapse image

of the man in black and white

who sang just to me.

I sit here now

hair grayling nicely

knowing those days won’t be back

anytime soon,

they will not return

except in dreams

and voices from machines.

generations grow and move forward

childish whims left sometimes behind,

yet I sit here with the little box

and you croon to me

to light your fire

But I’ve a meeting to attend,

so fine sir you must wait

lord knows we can’t get much higher

just high on life,

’cause a random drug test would leave me home

watching your loveliness on you tube

while eating Bon bons on the couch

if I were to join you in the mire

of herbs and things taboo.

So sing to me Mr Morrison

and I shall make do

with memories of youth and days

that I wished didn’t have to end.

Back to the drudge

of another day in the concrete jungle

please send the crystal ship soon!!

 

I am a writer….um, yeah…..

I know as you read this, yes you, you phantom people out there,
I know you exist and what you look like,
I’ve seen your gravitar…pretty good looking crowd out there,
And I know You think some days that no one cares,
That no one understands the need you have
To be you, to talk to the world,
Or even to talk to yourself….I often feel this way myself, then I slap myself and say oh well, so what and pretend to be the awesome creature I am.
I care, I read you, I know your secrets…..want to know what mine are? Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine….well, not all of them,
After all you don’t give it all away on the first date, right? Oh, okay……I’ll plead ignorance on that matter.
I talk to my dogs and they often look at me like I’ve hopped on board the crazy train, well, my little inner four year old sticks out her tongue, a finger in each ear going nah nah….you’ve got cooties, so there!!!!
My husband has no desire to read what I write, maybe he takes a peek when he gets up at the butt-crack of dawn, while the queen, yep, that would be me, drools on her pillow in yummy sleep-dream filled bliss. If he does, he never says. But enough about him, back to me…..
A long time ago there was a mean mommy who told her child, you are going to college and that’s that!!!! Princess looks at her with the what the hell am I going to do there look and proceed to plead her case of She wants to take a year off and figure out what She wants to be when She grows up. if you knew me at all you would realize that the statement still applies. Any how back to the college dilemma, I picked one school three plus hours away from home, sent in an application and surprisingly was accepted. Hmmmm, now what. I signed up to major in journalism, then switched to advertising,nope, still not my niche, then interior design and then finally on liberal arts basic to free me from the prison of growing up. I quit five credits short of my degree and never went back. But I did come home with a jet black Mohawk hair style, a never ending wardrobe of black goth and a crucifix earring that listed on the back I was catholic and in case of death, deal with the rest accordingly. Except I wasn’t catholic. I hung out in cemeteries writing, that was my god connect, out in solitude spilling my words on paper. I had written since grade school. I filled the endless notebooks. I did not consider myself a writer, and my notebooks were my personal shrinks, not anything of worth.
Years go by, no more punk hair style and my club days are over.
I have a gravitar. It is a dog, snoopy on his house with the starry night backdrop. I still like art, and today I will watch a lot of advertisement, my interior design skills most days encompass scraping up cat puke off the carpet and dog boogers off the windows, and keeping up on the dishes.
Some days I even have time to read fine stories from other gravitars like me,
Delving into the world of other peoples ideas, their personal shrink vents and when I finally put something down I realize, as I am sure if you’ve made it this far and haven’t called those Nasty grammar police on me, I may just be an okay writer after all. The queen of all that is my world thanks you, if you don’t appreciate this article that escaped my brain this fine morning just know, you have cooties…..and you smell funny too. Ok, you really don’t, at least I don’t think you do? I don’t know, do you?