Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Sunday, June 30, 2013


my beautiful daughter "Baby Mouse"

The day she started smiling
for pictures is when I knew
that she had finally begun to see
herself the way I see her


She started loving
her curly hair
her curves

She stopped avoiding mirrors
and started looking in them
Now she sees, not a collection of flaws,
but a bounty of treasures

I don’t know who showed her
the beauty of herself,
but I am forever grateful

Friday, June 28, 2013

Planting Rosemary

She spent years trying to forget
Looking for a place to bury the feelings
she didn't believe she should have
She didn't understand
why the ghosts kept haunting her

She tried to fill the empty space
with slogans
with battles
with righteousness
She didn't understand
why it grew larger
with every effort

She wasn't entitled to tears
Her loss was her doing
She didn't understand
how she could miss something
she never wanted

She didn't understand
why she dreamed
of counting fingers and toes
and woke with her heart pounding
in her aching chest

She didn't understand
why she felt compelled to apologize
or to whom
when she felt no regret

She didn't understand
why certain dates made her sad
and why her sadness
made her angry

She didn't understand
why she felt she had to scream
with her ears covered
so she didn't hear her own screaming

She didn't understand
that black and white
don't always make grey
There are hues that words can't describe
and that most eyes
can't see

And if she didn't understand,
how could anyone else?

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Fireblossom Friday, Loss
and for d'Verse Poets Pub, Listen To This: Anaphora

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Want Art???

Isaac is a friend of my daughter and an amazing artist. Please consider helping him raise money by commissioning a piece. I'm thinking of what I'd like now!

lolamouse (Sheri)

i am a dfab trans man entering college next year and i need top surgery before i move in with my cis male roommates - so, within the next SEVEN WEEKS. that’s not a lot of time. right now my family can’t afford the surgery alone, much less afford the surgery AND tuition for both me and my sister.

long story short, i need money. at this point #surgery is not only to make me feel better in my body (which is reason enough, and you should never shame a trans* person who wants surgery to help with #dysphoria) - it is practically a necessity.

so i am now taking commissions at a price YOU NAME. i do still reserve the right to refuse commissions that make me uncomfortable.

message me here if you are interested in buying a commission. if you would like to donate even without buying a commission, i would REALLY REALLY REALLY appreciate it. my paypal is livengoodisaac@gmail.com

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

DOMA Is Dead!

The Supreme Court gets it right!


By Robert John Thornton (1768-1837) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The taste of your lips
still lingers,
honey suckle sweet
I lick my own
to savor the memory

I smell the perfume in your hair
See you flush rose pink
under my fingertips

You are a cereus
blooming in the night
Your body opening,
petal by petal,
so soft
so delicate

You unfold
in darkness,
your truth witnessed
only by those who search
for beauty in the shadows

Come daylight
you close upon yourself
protecting the flower tucked tight 
within the bud.

submitted for mindlovemisery, Prompt 9, Free Share

Where There's Smoke

Stanley Kubrick for Look Magazine, 1949

Sweater tight in all the right places
Cherry red pout
She knew she was hot
Caught his attention
and drifted across the room
like a cloud of perfumed smoke
His smoldering eyes
betrayed his desire
She lit his fire
then roasted his heart over it,
licking her lips all the while.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Dear Mother

I know this was not in your plan
and I know that it's not what you hoped
but I met the most interesting man
and I must tell you that we've eloped!

I never had met him before
I saw him; my heart skipped a beat
Felt passion clear down to my core
He swept me right off of my feet!

He spoke to me nary a sound
but his feelings were easy to see
With a courtyard of people around
I knew he had his eye on me!

In dress he leans toward the eccentric
His hair often in disarray
but his nails are quite sharply authentic
for opening letters and prey.

He may come off as slightly gruff
and lacking in manners and tact
but to me, he's a prince in the rough
The beauty contained in the act.

So mother, please do say a prayer
for your daughter who's now a new wife
I've left for his underground lair
to begin my fantastical life!

inspired by the movie clip from Holy Motors

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Status: Deluge

You want to know my secrets,
to spill the words over you
like shimmering water to quench flowers in the park
But some secrets should stay secret
Some waters should remain still
for when they begin to trickle,
they may just spew on the page
and splash up in your face
Raging jets of hurt
that will not be curbed
Once the storm has begun,
you can't stop the thunder
So step carefully
in this yard
or you may find yourself 
knee deep in water.

submitted for the Sunday Whirl, Wordle 112

Monday, June 10, 2013


As daylight turns to dusk and night descends
I focus on a bright and distant star
and think about the people I've called friends

From underneath a pale and yellow moon
I wonder how we've scattered out so far,
how some of them have left me far too soon

But in my dreams, their faces I still see
and pondering their fates and where they are,
I wonder if they ever dream of me.

The Nonsense of Love

first page of my "black out" poem

Moving quickly,
promising sloppy getaways
Weekend intensity
Morning heavy
The threat somewhere inside, within
The risk
More time to linger
Damage done
I don’t know
I didn’t know the cost
Falling and breaking
The most vulnerable parts
wore away,
washed out
Washed out love

This is my attempt at Dada poetry, taking random words and making a poem. I used a news article about recent storms and used the "black out" technique to leave only the words I wanted for the poem. 

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Til Death


She lies beneath the dirt and stone
Her earthly body turns to bone
Upon her death she wears a ring
Her lover’s token on her finger, hers alone

That night after the midnight tone
Arrives a man, to her unknown
He hides under the night’s dark wing
And tries to steal  that precious thing, to be his own

Upon her finger it seems sewn
Will not slip off, he does bemoan
To take the purloined gold he brings
A knife to her cold, lifeless finger—then a groan

She rises from her sacred zone
With livid eyes, her hair windblown
Alive again, she tries to cling
Refusing to let go that ring; the man falls prone

In her white gown, a figure lone
She wanders back home to atone
To ease the loss and heal the sting
Of her beloved, now aching for she who’s gone. 

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Music with Marian, Hardcore Americana
inspired by Tim Erikson's "Leave Your Light On"  and the legend of Magorie McCall