Lost Brave


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a lost brave
leans against a building
(tho he is unwelcome)
beside a busy walk.
everything he owns
fills a pack
upon his back

he is far
from his fishing boat,
an ocean teeming with fish,
from the majestic forest,
from his children,
his clan

his eyes reveal
a story of hurt and pain –
the uncertainty of the city.
a sidewalk for a bed,
charity of strangers
his only grace

a challenge
every day –
a new beginning.
beyond the fire
that tames his demons
the only plan that matters
is to survive

far from home
he can scarce remember.
a lost brave, fighting back tears,
pride in the knowledge
of his ancestry,
his place –
his blood


Proceeds feed the homeless when you buy my book for $0.99:
Gotta Find a Home; Conversations with Street People


When She Starts in Walking


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When she starts in walking, guys they stop their talking.
Their minds are on just what they want to do.
They can dream, scheme and taste it coming true.

She’s got their attention, nothing left to mention.
She knows their minds; she’ll use that on them too.
She’ll lead the way and they will follow through.

She knows what she’s doin’, may lead some to ruin —
casualties, but what’s a girl to do.
Oh, my dear, such a pity, what to do.

Always calculating, lots of time for waiting;
a chump will come along, they always do.
I’m sure one’s coming now, maybe it’s you.

She knows to set her hook; she’ll do it with a look.
She knows he’ll take the bait and then he’s through.
He’s hooked now and squirming in the queue.

She has him on his knees, all he can say is please.
He’ll do her bidding, thinks he’s got her too,
but she’s casting her hook for someone new.

She’s got what she’s after; all that’s left is laughter.
She’s cruel and conniving through and through.
You watch out now, she’s coming straight for you.



Inspired by Bob Seger’s, “Her Strut”:


Image:  http://buff.ly/1MWqgoq

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Pileated Woodpecker


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Pileated Woodpecker


while sitting at a table,
enjoying afternoon tea,
in the shade of a cedar,
a Pileated Woodpecker
dropped from the sky
to land in front of us.

his red crest, jaunty,
black, military uniform
with white piping —
a Sargent Major
standing at attention,
inspecting us,
looking back at him.

he paused,
saw all there was to see,
found us wanting
then, flapped away,
leaving an after image
of black, white and red
against the pines.


Image:  http://buff.ly/1MWqgoq

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


To My Wife


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How do I articulate our two and a half decades together?
How do I calculate the trust accumulating each day?
How do I enumerate the hugs that send me off and welcome me home?
How do I evaluate the warmth of your smile
and the treasure of your company?

The special things that give me ultimate enjoyment are
meals that you so lovingly prepare,
dreams and plans we create,
support we share in times of disappointment and tragedy,
enjoying nature, walks without speaking a word.

These are things that seem to defy pretty words and phrases.
No rhythm, rhyme, consonance or assonance could improve on these.
No amount of wealth, position or power could equal what we have.
More important is knowing you are here for me
with love in your heart.


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


A Lifetime to Realize


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Divine intervention
(or some unfathomable intervention)
is the only way
I can explain our meeting,
our relationship,
our love.

I can’t imagine
my life without you.
I wait,
with eager anticipation
for your messages, your calls
my welcome home at night

Without these
my life wouldn’t be complete.

Every path I’ve taken,
every good or bad decision
has led me to this heavenly place.
It’s taken a lifetime to realize
that there is nothing
without LOVE


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS




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are dark, disjointed
as a dream.
a thread of thought
weaves through them all
as does the lull
of lavender


faces, places
things we’ve done
each morphed into another.
Where is truth
or, was it ever here?
Perhaps, the longing
made it so


woodland walks
and moonlit talks
count my drum beats flow.
Lies that echo
through the woods.
Pictures in the fog
of long ago


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


A Good Night



i have tried
to live this day
with courage, compassion,
love and understanding.
(i’ve not been successful
in all cases,
but i did my best.)

when i lay my head
on my pillow,
close my eyes,
set free my thoughts,
i have no assurance
that i will awake
next morning.

yet, still
i release all stress
and mortal attachment,
abandon myself
to the unknown,
the unexpected,
the uncontrollable.

if i should die before i wake
i pray the Lord
my soul to take.

it is, i think,
a good night to die.

Inspiration: “Hokahey!” war cry attributed to Lakota Chief, Crazy Horse, as he rode into the Battle of the Little Bighorn. Translation: “Today is a good day to die”.

Image: http://buff.ly/1O6JWEZ

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS




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A dove sits on a snowy bough,
her song cuts to my heart.
We both know how the lonely feels
when love is torn apart.

There never was an emptiness
the way I feel inside.
The ache is deep within my chest,
I have no place to hide.

Was once a time my heart was full
when spring was in the air,
but Frost has draped me with his cloak,
my tears fall in despair.

The midnight train is leaving soon.
My bags are packed to go.
I shiver on the platform,
a spectre, feeling low.

Image: http://buff.ly/1O5iabS

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Finding Home


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We come
from different latitudes
along barefoot pathways,
asphalt highways
(that burn the soles of our feet)
gravel roads
(leaves, grey with dust,
the only color,
stop signs and billboards).

Clouds from cars
visible for miles
as they approach,
as they leave us behind.

We seek direction
on the path
where we become
what we were meant to be.

Different stars
shine upon us
(some without names
or cardinal direction).
Unlearning is difficult;
simplicity, our goal.

Hearts opened
we will know
the actions to take.
The rewards will be ours.
We will find our home.



Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Dawn ‘Till Dusk


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Tender breaks the gentle dawn
as pink steals through the purple.
Crickets chirp and bullfrogs croak
while loons emit their warble.

Shafts of light illumine leaves —
paths of life I ponder —
sky is choreographed by clouds
from bliss, to peace, to somber.

Its prancing hooves, barely heard,
the curious fawn draws near.
Our eyes connect — mystically,
communication clear.

Spooked, it turns and scampers on —
nature’s cast, each plays it’s part.
Air is fresh with scent of pine.
Joy, overflows my heart.

A feather, from a blue jay,
snagged on sprig so feeble.
Was it loosened in its flight,
or ripped, by plunging eagle?

Nature cyclically evolves,
fall is prey to winter.
Life is born and then it dies —
there isn’t any victor.

From each death there sprouts new life;
moldering logs, maternal.
Passings, cause our hearts to break,
while new life springs eternal.

I’ll return — another month,
some other me — to this shrine,
imperfect in perfection,
befitting God’s design.


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


At Dusk



at dusk I walk
as night birds sing.
sky, the color of my soul.
stars begin to flicker,
petals start to fold.

in quiet times
between the notes,
the void between the stars,
is where I wait
(I’ll always wait)
for what is surely ours.

your presence
falls as softly
as whispering a prayer.
sure as dark
will soon descend
we’ll be together there —

a moment of forever
a lifetime
ours to share.


Image: http://buff.ly/1RsniaO

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS




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If you wander into the woods
stealthily peek behind the trees.
Fairies may be in hiding there;
they’ll vanish, quick as you please.

The fairies are a friendly folk,
at least, they may appear that way.
They’ll lure you with their fairy wiles;
siren like, they’ll lead you astray.

Timid, beautiful woodland nymphs
swathed in soft diaphanous gowns.
In subtle shades of nature’s hues
bright leafy greens and somber browns.

Whispers in the rustle of leaves
will lead you to their secret glade.
They’ll gently soothe away your cares.
Why would you need to be afraid?

Fairy maids will wine and dine you.
They’ll whisper that they love you so.
You’ll think that you’re in paradise.
They’ll never, ever let you go.

Weeks and months will pass unnoticed.
What seems a day may be a year.
The world outside continues on,
while you remain in limbo here.

Fairy mists will envelop you
so you can never see your way.
Memories are, but long lost dreams.
From Fairyland you cannot stray.



Image: http://ow.ly/U5zcU

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS




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Icarus (Photo credit: Jim Moran)


there is a space
between the mind
(that tends to seclude)
and the universe
i travel this space

there is a space
between musical notes
between words
between lines
(very important)

there is a space
between the breathing in
and the breathing out
between the fullness
and the emptiness

between ascending
to the sun with Icarus
and the inevitable
to earth


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


The Old Maple


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under the first
dusting of snow.
The old maple,
gnarled, naked,
emaciated limbs
(a crone)
reaches skyward,
the death of summer.

Short months past
billowing sleeves
of red and gold
(before that shades of green)
in jubilation —
young girls dancing.

Her canopy
screened lovers
from burning sun,
prying moon.

(They didn’t tell a soul.)

the lovers come
to relive precious moments,
hear crunching leaves,
inhale damp, earthy odors of decay,
hold hands,
embrace in heavy winter garments,
kiss cool cheeks,
savor the scent of fresh air
on chilled skin.

I embrace her
for the last time this year.
She settles in,
patiently awaiting the buds of spring.
For now,
I say goodbye.
I will return with the leaves.
She will be here

Image: http://ow.ly/TV4eg

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS




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It was a crisp, sunny
October afternoon
in the arboretum.
I was meditating.
My mittened hands
upturned on my thighs.

A chickadee hovered
in front of me.
Seeing a convenient perch,
it landed in my open palm,
then hopped upon my thumb.
She looked me up and down,
side to side.
Having seen
all there was to see,
she flew away.

She brought such joy,
this tiny feathered thing.
I valued her presence
as a gift of trust,
a gift of love,
a sign from nature
and the universe
that all was well.

Image: http://ow.ly/TL7MW

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First Snow Fall


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white flakes
(like eider-down)
flutter from heaven
collect on tree branches
hedges and shrubs

like your kisses
they caress my cheeks
brush my lips
burst on my tongue

they blanket all
leaving the path
an untouched virgin
a wonderland
of mystery

all traces
of my coming
have disappeared
making me question
am i here
at all?

Image: http://ow.ly/TD9D8

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Read about Bethany and me in Jail Bait.


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Dennis Cardiff:

I gave this book a Five Star review. Download for $2.99 to see if you enjoy it as much as I did.

My review: http://ow.ly/TxQiP

Originally posted on Rebecca Branch:

View original



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woman in a black dress 02


Saturday found me at the Shadrak,
a downstairs club that had it all.
A woman took the floor in glad rags.
I felt I was in for a fall.

She spied me lounging in the corner.
My eyes caressed her every move.
She beckoned me over to the dance floor,
sleazy blues had us in the groove.

She was a tall sleek woman with a class act,
slumming and feeling so high.
Knew this was wrong — her legs were so long,
dress was cut up to her thigh.
She had to be a wife or a girlfriend,
no man would let this woman slip by.

Soft fingers stole away my reason,
for her I’d do right or wrong.
Flash of a thigh, wink of an eye,
she played that dress just like a song.
Maybe her lips, or the sway of her hips,
she had my number all along.

The scene couldn’t have been sweeter,
‘till Johnny sauntered through that door.
Cursed us a while, said we were vile,
reputations trampled on the floor.
Should have walked away, that isn’t my way,
his accusations cut to my core.

No backing down for right or for wrong,
for her I had to settle the score.
Glint of a knife, the end of a life,
Johnny lay dying on the floor.

Built to tantalize, she knew she was a prize;
she was a tall sleek woman with a class act,
slumming and feeling so high.
Knew this was wrong — her legs were so long,
I couldn’t let this woman slip by.
I wouldn’t let this woman slip by.

The Hollies: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SwO0lNfc_h8
Image: http://ow.ly/TwlRS

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I’ve Always Wondered


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I’ve always wondered
what my 62 year old grandfather
was thinking
that Friday
at 1:30 in the afternoon,
when he decided to leave his office
in the courthouse,
where he was County Court Clerk,
to drive out of town,
park on a by-road,
walk to a nearby bush,
pull out his handgun
and shoot himself
through the head.

I’ve always wondered……why?

one day
he’ll tell me.


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Welcoming the End


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Visions of my crumpled, lifeless body,
haunt my aimless footsteps.
Spectres from the grave welcome,
this life-weary traveler.

Tomorrow, that will not come, denies
upturned eyes, the soft rains of hope.
Flames of sorrow and rage sear,
this tortured soul.

Ragged hell-cries of desperation rip,
and pierce my mind.
No sound is uttered,
since there is no ear to listen.

Grief rises and swells,
like the limitless ocean,
swallowing this helpless, solitary victim,
in tides of comfortless tears.

Mother earth, take this flesh, these bones
to your rocky bosom.
Pull a cover of earth
over this last weary day.


This poem represents a very bleak period in my life. After expressing my feelings on paper I sought psychological and medical help. I am now pleased to report that suicidal feelings have been abandoned. Depression will always be with me; however medication allows me to live a healthy, even happy life.


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Red Lips


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A motorcycle
pulled up beside me
as I walked along
the Pacific Coast Highway.

“Want a ride?”
cooed a sweet, sexy voice.
“Sure,” I said.
I swung my leg over
I don’t mind riding bitch.

I slid my fingers
over her perfect hips
and joined them
over warm, toned abs.

The ocean breeze
caressed our faces;
my fingers
caressed as well.

We stopped
to watch the sunset.
Foaming waves lapped
our naked feet.
Gulls swooped
and squawked.

Our hands met,
I grasped her hair.
Her red, expectant lips
found mine.
The rest of her body


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Memory in Blue


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A flicker
of cerulean
swoops beneath the boughs
of towering pines
against the sky.

Wings, a silent whisper.
Dream, not quite come true.
Shadow, on my mind.
in blue.


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Whisper and Moan


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Drunk Wine


Troubled blues with feeling
may ease my tortured mind;
free me from the clutches
of those I left behind.

These dirty hobo rags
hang on a wasted frame,
haunted by the memory
and rhythm of your name.

Walking through this alley
shrouded, dark with death.
Evil deeds will haunt me,
until my final breath.

Craving me some whisky,
a friendly word and smile.
You can spend my money,
just stay a little while.

Whisky clouds my thinking.
Your face is just a blur……
Few more drinks together
I may think you are her.

Guitar strings, whining steel,
a whisper and a moan.
Use me and abuse me;
don’t leave me here alone.


Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Rain Soaked Blues

Down and Out Blues

I walk the empty, rain soaked streets.
Footsteps echo against brick walls
formidable as a prison.
There’s no escape from loneliness
devouring my soul from within —
an endless cinema of despair.

Locked within this kaleidoscope,
distorted images from my past
haunt daydreams, nightmares;
there’s no room for reality.
Players in my mind pull the strings;
dance this mournful marionette.

I follow the cooling evening breeze
with no purpose or destination.
Feet lead me in a trance.
Mindfulness blocks my thoughts,
(destroyers of my self-esteem)
momentarily, held at bay.

Life, a never-ending battle,
one foot in front of the other,
seconds follow tedious seconds,
breaths counted entering and leaving,
heart beats it’s pounding rhythm
I walk these empty, rain soaked blues.


Image: http://ow.ly/SWRbL

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Jail Bait: Five Stars


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Buy here: http://ow.ly/SLo8V $2.99

My Five Star Review: The Best Yet!

I have read the three previous books by Rebecca Branch and loved them all. Jail Bait is about the May-December relationship between Beth, 26 and Griff, 43. Complications arise due to Beth’s four siblings and Griff’s two grown daughters. Sexual tension pervades the book. Beth uses her abundant powers of intellect, business acumen and seduction to tip the scales in her favor. Griff, although initially reluctant, doesn’t stand a chance.

Characters and events in this and preceding books are based on personal experience, experiences of friends, and imagination. There is a heart wrenching account by a Ground Zero observer of the World Trade Center disaster. He discusses his injuries and the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that haunted him long after.

Rebecca Branch has tremendous empathy and a great memory for conversation. Her characters come alive with all their flaws, virtues and compassion. This is one of my favorite books. I’ve read it twice and plan to read it again.


The Story

His wife was dead. The cerebral hemorrhage which finally claimed her after a terrible car accident had left him alone and feeling much older than his years displayed. He’d married young and half his life had been spent as a provider, a faithful husband and the father of two grown children. He felt he was far closer now at forty-four to his end, than to his beginning. He’d stopped living. His lawn untended, food of no importance, business in the dumps…only his dog, his constant companion, claimed his attention.

A walk in the park, his first in a month, finally got him out of his house. Kody, his bright white furry beast, always on display, always the most magnificent creature in the park, drew her to him. She did not see the pain or the suffering, the self-doubt and the resignation to a future alone. All she could see was the devilishly handsome guy…kind, gentle, cultured and intelligent. A man in need and yet a man who could give so much to those around him. It may have been his chick-magnet dog that brought her to him, but now it would be up to her to gain his attention and admiration before wrapping herself around him and never letting go.

He too, was stricken. How beautiful in face and figure she was…how kind and attentive. But while grateful to be brought back amongst the living, to feel masculine and drawn to her mystery, she was no more than a teen and a casual encounter in the park would be the limit of their meeting.
Trouble was, although an ingénue and half his age, there was no way in the world she would permit this man to get away. There was but one man like this in the world like him and she, with all her determination and charm, would never permit another to have him, for from the first moment her eyes had caught his…he would not be able to turn away and would be hers and no one else’s.

Jail Bait is Rebeca Branch’s first foray into the relationship between an older man and younger woman. A story of introspection and evaluation…of commitment and redemption, and of a burgeoning love which transcends age and experience to deliver these two people into a world of untold desire, fulfillment and happiness.

Unlike her previous books, Jail Bait is a quick read and does not delve into the art and history so familiar in her other work. This is a tale of family, self, and attraction, of need, desire and commitment. Come along for the journey.


About the Author

11947688_168783993455094_1262461147289558124_nI am 49 years old, a wife and a mother of two young women. I live near New York City. I am an architect by trade but an art historian by education having attended UC Berkeley as an undergraduate and Columbia for post graduate degrees. My father was an American archaeologist and my mother an Italian Lady. I worked as an assistant to the curator of Greco Roman arts at the Metropolitan Museum before leaving to take on my profession for need of income which the art world did not provide.

I began writing on a dare by friends who have encouraged me for years as I am a good storyteller and an avid reader. My first novel was Summer of 71, a story of romance and discovery set in Rome, a city with which I am very familiar and a place where I lecture on Roman history, architecture and culture bi-annually. My second book is Great Caesar’s Ghost which continues the story with my hero Maximillian DuPont and is a time travel romance skirting time periods from the first century BC through the modern day. My third work is titled A Roman Holiday and continues the series and has just been released. There will be at least two more books beyond these in this series. I also write short stories and a collection of these will be released shortly. They are about motherhood, romance and office affairs and escapades.

Although placed in the adult, and sometimes erotic category, my work is far more about self-awareness, relationships, coming of age, loss of innocence, personal development, reclamation, the culture of Italy, art and architectural history, an examination of the passage of time, food, and humor. I write as an adult to an adult audience and do not bury physical relationships behind closed doors. But what I write is loving and respectful of both genders, light and upbeat, fulfilling and satisfying. No one gets hurt, no one degraded. You should walk away from each of my books with a smile and an increased knowledge of the western world, Rome’s influence, politics, the social revolution, religion, and the inimitable wonder of a loving relationship between a good man and woman.

Concrete Box


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I work in a corporate, concrete box;
no windows, only a computer terminal
to link me to the outside world.
Only second-hand accounts
of weather, traffic,
whether it is day or night.

I sometimes go to work in darkness,
return in darkness.
I don’t know if the sun
remembered to rise at all.
Like the light in a refrigerator.
Does it really turn off
when I close the door?

At a keyboard, my fingers type numbers,
millions of numbers.
My mind wanders woodland paths.
I watch birds flitting from limb to limb,
chipmunks scurrying, stopping,
looking around, then scurrying again.

My mind plays tricks on me.
I imagine that just 26 floors down
I could exit on Beale or Bourbon Street.
Hear sounds of the South,
guitars, saxophones and raspy voices
that rule the rhythm of my body and soul.

Take me on a blues ride.
Let me wander with the lyrics
down Highway 61, “The Blues Highway”.
Let me smell the sweat and the booze,
the jostling at the bar,
the waitress who will smile for a tip.

Let me smell magnolia, bougainvillea,
where Spanish moss hangs below the branches,
see the darkest eyes and brightest smile,
hear that special whisper, “Come with me.”
We’ll walk for miles, be holding hands,
and never want for any more
than our window to a dream.

Image: http://www.neworleans.com/nightlife/bourbon-heat/

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS




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I  wandered into Lonely
about a week ago.
I don’t know how I got here.
I don’t know where to go.

I’m not alone in Lonely
we gather all together.
I look into their empty eyes;
I see they’re lost forever.

We sit in understanding,
I hear about their sorrow.
Death looks from their teary eyes;
they’ll not be here tomorrow.

My heart unfolded to them.
They look on me as friend.
I give to all, the love I have;
offer comfort ’till the end.

Image: http://toddproa.org/blog/

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The Morning After


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There’s a misty place between nightmare and dawn.
Moving shadows are frightening to look upon.
There’s another world where reality ends,
Friends become enemies; enemies — friends.

Reluctant to move or to open my eyes.
There’s a body beside me — that’s a surprise.
Hearing their breathing, an occasional whine;
Knowing they’re alive — that’s a positive sign.

Opening one eye, a little, just a peep.
Whoever they are, I think they’re asleep.
I sneak out of bed to take a look ’round —
Finding wallet and clothes, I don’t make a sound.

Tiptoeing quietly, on little mouse feet,
when a voice behind me, so soft and so sweet,
says, “Come back to bed, dear, you don’t have to work.”
I feel very sheepish, I feel like a jerk.

“It’s the weekend; we have two whole days to play,
so come back to bed and we’ll start right away.”
Now it makes sense, I’m home — I belong.
How could I have been so confused and so wrong?

Last evening’s a blur; I blame it on drink —
there were faces, places — it’s so hard to think.
Somehow I got here, so it must be okay.
I’ll figure things out, some other day.

Image: http://ow.ly/SqtPw

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS


Let Me Sleep Until the Dawn


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Now I lie beneath the covers, worldly thoughts I try to smother,
sleep, a pleasure like no other, eyes feel heavy, a yawn comes on.
Pray to the Lord my soul to keep, plump my pillow and snuggle deep,
sigh and settle, welcome sleep. Sandman, show me somnolent scenes,
dream me drowsy, dozeable dreams, grant me glories to gaze upon;
let me sleep until the dawn.

It doesn’t seem too much to ask, nightly nap after daily tasks.
Let me sip from a soothing flask, no further need to labor on;
tomorrow is another day — to fight the fray, to harvest hay,
maybe to while the time away. Never mind the resolutions,
problems having no solutions, the curtains of the day are drawn;
I want to sleep until the dawn.

Now, I begin to feel a twitch, a muscle spasm, now an itch.
I really hate to whine and bitch, but this condition can’t go on.
Turn on the light, read my book, squint, give the clock a second look,
wonder how many pills I took. Covers rumpled, twisted, tangled,
I’m annoyed, nerves are jangled. Maybe, turn the radio on;
I need some sleep before the dawn.

Think I’ll go down and watch TV, something relaxing — history,
maybe drama or mystery, don’t want anything that’s too long,
don’t want to think or contemplate, would be nice just to vegetate,
if it’s too slow I’ll ruminate. Jay is always good for a laugh,
just in time for the second half. Shopping channel has got a con;
I can’t believe I’ve got this on.

Hush sleepy papa don’t you cry, sleep will come — by and by.
Sing me a soothing lullaby or sweet and lowdown, bluesy song.
In the wee hours of the morning, thoughts arrive without a warning,
evil thoughts like hornets swarming, spoken by a voice inside,
meant to weaken and deride — I’m not worthy to carry on.
No time for sleep — here comes the dawn.

I often have a problem with Insomnia. The above represents a fairly typical night for me. The form of this poem is loosely based on Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” which is, I believe a Sapphic variant. The rhyming pattern is: aa/ab/cc/cd/db/b.



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Careful With That Axe, Eugene


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Eugene had a mind of his own,
not, as some would say, a sound mind,
but his own mind, nevertheless.

It’s awfully considerate of you
to think of me here.
And I’m most obliged to you
for making it clear
that I’m not here.

Eugene was a great musician,
taking music to the limit;
his songs will always survive.
Eugene took drugs to the limit;
he’s now in Interstellar Overdrive.

When we observed him with an axe,
you may understand our concern.
Was he in danger, or were we?

Eugene had already left us in spirit,
but he wandered away that day
and was lost to us forever.



This poem is dedicated to the memory of “Syd Barrett (born Roger Keith Barrett;
6 January 1946 – 7 July 2006) who was an English singer, songwriter, guitarist and artist. He is most remembered as a founding member of  band Pink Floyd, providing major musical and stylistic direction in their early work, although he left the group in 1968 amidst speculations of mental illness exacerbated by heavy drug use.”

Axe is also British slang for guitar. Pink Floyd’s use of the title Careful With That Axe, Eugene may refer to “Barrett’s behaviour (which) became increasingly unpredictable, partly as a consequence of frequent experimentation with psychedelic drugs such as LSD. Many report having seen him on stage with the group, strumming on one chord through the entire concert, or not playing at all. At a show at The Fillmore West in San Francisco, during a performance of “Interstellar Overdrive”, Barrett slowly detuned his guitar. The audience seemed to enjoy such antics, unaware of the rest of the band’s consternation.” (Source: Wikipedia)


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