Elegance Twisted by Sherry Deanne

Alive

2011-07-17T17:47:00.002-04:00

So sorry I haven't updated. I'm going to spend some time writing asap.

Wow, that's mostly done

2010-10-15T21:22:00.001-04:00

I saved what I could. I'm still missing at least 15-20 poems but I'm thankful for what I have.

Always back up your work!!!!

Old Poems II

2010-10-15T21:21:00.000-04:00

Yes, there are more ;) Backing up is quite the job. Thanks for nothing ArteryPlanet!!!

Once Again

If fear is made tangible in its purest sense--
then trees must wail and shudder with
foreboding as their tender children fall.

More withered with each passing year--
made lifeless by directing all their strength
into faith that their precious buds will

once again sprout and spring forth life--
even Sarah and Abraham would be surprised
at life's bounty hidden in this barreness.

August 26, 2002

Perhaps

Perhaps if the snowstorm hadn’t fallen so
Painstakingly quietly last night.
Perhaps if I hadn’t watched you while you were
Painstakingly sleeping last night.

Then, perhaps this neverending lesson I've been
Painstakingly learning is true.
And, perhaps this tiny flower emerging has been
Painstakingly nurtured by you.

Perhaps if I hadn't found out the lies you had
Painstakingly hidden from me.
Perhaps if you hadn't fought all of my dreams
Painstakingly longing to be.

Then, perhaps the one ounce of love for you I was
Painstakingly saving would last.
And, perhaps I could fool myself into prolonging this
Painstakingly obvious last....

Perhaps

Pieces of Me

Churning, grinding, forcing
Through remnants,
Shreds of yesterday blistered by the sun.

Charring, melting, burning
Heart’s candle,
Both ends wickless and sealed by pain.

Choosing, barring, hiding
All pathways,
Leading nowhere but in twisted weaves.

Loving in tangent won’t get you anyone.
Walking in circles won’t get you anywhere.
Living in boxes won’t get you anything.

Pulse

It’s beating again,
or still
(does it really matter?)
but thankfully it is
warm and full
and very, very strong.

Though it’s pumping thru my veins
my own life–giving blood,
My heart and soul still contains
you in this mighty flood.

It’s raining again,
or still
(who am I to say?)
but regardless it is
wet and damp
and very, very warm.

Even while they mix with earth
to form the oozing mud,
These small drops will soon give birth
to the mightiest flood.

Puzzle

My puzzle box of words is blank
A 100,000 piece puzzle
With no finished picture as a guide.

It’s amazing anything gets written at all.

Lack of structure is not synonymous
With freedom. Lack of responsibility
Does not lead to imagination.

Today I struggle to find a corner piece.

Questioning

Minds grapple with unseen objects and events
questioning their plausibility or even
ability to exist.

Is that which we can not touch and hold in our hands
simply a figment of our overactive
imaginations?

Proof is rarely the way of the universe who shows
us the glimpses of truth it deems fit
For consumption.

“I’m not laughing at you” I reply. I grin at your audacity;
questioning my faith while the wind
tousles your hair.

Re

The idea of the sun god Re
making his trip across the sky
each day
due to a little push
from a scarab beetle
touches
and inspires far more respect
than earth-bound pyramids
ever could.
How much closer to truth
are we
when we can bow down and admit
the capricious faults and needs in
even the greatest creations?
Understanding is a cycle-
Comprehension a miracle.

Repel

Unheard
Rain taps against the window pane
Just as your words bounce against my shut heart

Windows
Are much easier to open than I
And besides, they don’t have feelings or needs.

Of course
I had almost forgotten I had them
And was content to remain sealed as molten glass

Tinted
But nonetheless translucent
To anyone brave enough to face my cold exterior.

Thank you
For making me feel so damn low
That I at least knew I could feel something again.

Prayers
Are often answered silently
But mine were answered with screams and insults.

Restraint

Restraint, the gravity of gravity, has achieved
Enslavement of a heart under an invisible yet obtrusive
Seige; has it tightly knotted and
Tethered,
Restricted physic-ally and men-tally, so
Arrest me but this current
Imprisionment by your ever-present
Non-intervention will never
Tie my heart to this earth.

Safe Sleep

If sleep's as close to heaven as it seems
Your arms are St. Peter guarding my dreams
For giving ones all is never enough
Until we have reached the ultimate trust.

Please take me with you, mind, body and soul
Guard my tender heart as nightmares unfold.
In return I'll show you all parts of me,
Both who I am and who I strive to be.

Forgetting the past and finding my light
Is my journey through the depths of the night.
I’ll let you come if it’s your hearts true desire
Just please don’t leave alone with this fire.

Engulfing and deep, pains' aim is true
Show me, don’t tell me, what I must do.
I’m engulfed by a void so cold and wide
Only shreds are left intact deep inside.

Safety Line

Hide away if you think it’ll save you
Seal your heart
And throw the empty bottle out to sea.

What’s to be lost when you have nothing?

Don’t complain to me when you’re drifting
Aimlessly
And making yourself sick with the wavering.

What’s to be found when you seek nothing?

It’s too easy to be thrown about and lie
Lifeless doll
In whatever set of arms you happen to fall in to.

What’s to be loved when you feel nothing?

Unwrap the cord you have tied around my heart
Safety line
Use it to find your way back to me someday.

Shadows

The sun overhead is angry
And forces me to find shadows
Where I can remain hidden
And cool deep inside.

But all I have left inside
Are caverns of rocks who are angry
Rocks which cast scary shadows
Upon the trails I keep hidden.

Knowing not what I keep hidden
Behind years of built-up angry
Words and actions and thoughts inside
All protected by the shadows.

Perhaps all I have left are shadows
Of nothing, hollow balls inside
With nothing left to keep hidden
And that’s why I’m so angry.

The dancing shadows look angry
Light stays hidden from the inside.

Shallow and Deep

Inside out all while it’s outside in
Finished before it’s begun to begin
Going so quickly that it’s at a stop
Look down below you and see through the top.

Turned downside up or is it upside down
Never was lost but it waits to be found,
Don’t leave it to chance but live and let be--
The intricate delicacies of me.

Shelter

She has
shelter but has no home,
love but has no desire,
comfort but has no care.

While he
listens but does not hear,
holds but does not embrace,
responds but does not reach.

The slow, agonizing faltering
nullifies the passionate unwinding
amongst the shiftless compressed nothingness.

Silver

Trinkets of all held dear
To the heart rest upon the wrist
Where they are easily cast away with a decisive shake
Like your head did when I kissed
Your lips earlier this year.

A tiny-winged butterfly
ready to take off and fly away
into a distant fairytale where prince charming waits
for fierce monsters and dragons to slay
and to your every wish comply.

An arrogant bass drum
Needs only a hammer to find the beat
Which screams with every thump of your faint pulse
Calling not for advance but for retreat
But only you know what from.

An unbreakable heart
Dangles gently by its silver thread
Reminding you not to let me close enough to see through
The act you show the world instead
So perfect at your part.

Pointed dancing shoes
Showing how beautifully far you’ve come
Since he scooped your beating heart out of your chest
Crushing all your hopes and then some
Extracting your dues.

A silver paintbrush
To make the final trinket: your own
By reducing your life into a solitary object or experience
As if all you are could be shown
By a single crush.

Sonnet 1: Heart Song

Becoming as dear to me as every breath
You should not be, and yet you are swiftly
Becoming as scarce to me as happiness
Which causes my heart to scream for you softly
And though you are far, I know you can hear
This silent longing which leaves my heart empty
And will continue to grow until you're near
Louder and stronger, and eventually
Cause us another dangerous chance to take
For to our own hearts alone we must be true
And find ourselves nestled alone by our lake
Brought together by bonds too strong to break though.
But this my heart screams: that our hearts are strong,
And together will sing a beautiful song.

Soul-Searching

I’ve searched for it my entire life. Looking here and there
With no map nor compass. Behind the trees the forest wide
So vast, should be easily reached, but truth hides somewhere
So guarded that one can reach it only from the inside.
Perhaps I’ll find you, and in you find me
Between Forever and Eternity.

So close and so far it seems. I know not where to begin
The purpose which is my life. Stumbling blindly in the night
Towards the emptiness. All I need is a partner and friend
To take my hand and walk with me towards the ultimate light.
Perhaps you’ll finally help complete me
Between Forever and Eternity.

I know not who you are nor where. I hope I’ll recognize
The answer given to me. Foolishly ignoring those
knocks upon my hearts’ door and disbelieving my own eyes
Has left me doubtful of my own ears, bereft of repose.
Some day I hope you will force me to see
Between Forever and Eternity.

My search has been fruitless. I’ve realized you will not be found
Until I come to know myself. That singular truth shakes
Me to my core, for I understand that those I surround
Myself with play parts in the play and there are no retakes.
Will you play lead and stand along with me
Between Forever and Eternity.

The answer will be found I know. Some painful decisions
Have thwarted my search. Long, empty nights have taken their toll
And cause me to reexamine life, for I envision
A cohesive union between my body, mind, and soul.
I will cherish this blessed unity
Between Forever and Eternity.

Space

Answers to unspoken questions
become the shadows of your dawn
as my suns' requisite deluge fills your sky.
Complacency is not the fruit of comfort
nor warmth that of heat.

Chaos is in perfect alignment
for this short, sweet moment.

Questions bereft of their answers
become the shadows of your dusk
as my planets lazily shift position in your sky.
Consistency is not synonymous with safety
nor distance with space.

Spring

Every fall we watch our own deaths,
Fearing not the winter, for the trees
During these cold months remember not
The leaves they’ve so recently shed.
Instead,
They wait, knowing spring will come.
We all sit, run and scream as our
Eyes and hearts look to the future,
Wondering what’s coming up to bloom.

Sublety

'Tween the branches, thru the leaves
around things better left unseen
lies the truth, and therein lies--
the truth obscured by alibis.

'Round the smooth rocks, churning down
floating gently to the ground
leaves the calm, and therein leaves--
the calm forgotten once it's seen.

The Drought

Lessons from a Picnic Table
Your kisses fall like rain drops
on the parched desert sand,
and the resulting
steam
reflects a need much deeper
than the cracks marring the
barren surface.
My senses, no longer
desperately conserving water
drawn from
a dry well are
flooded
by your ocean.
Drowning is a very
real
fear
and far more dangerous
than any drought.

The fight

Through the darkness, away from the light, nowhere to turn for I have no choice

Blindly crawling alone through my night, all I want to do is hear your voice.

Determined yet weak, forging my path, face to face with childhoods aftermath.

Battling myself, eternal fight, decisions are made without a choice.

Seeking control with all of my might, all I want to do is hear your voice.

Much better apart, wanting you near, distance better than living in fear.

The Inferno

Reflections of your warmth dance
across my skin, casting pale shadows
to illuminate your smile.

I watch while your aura burns, but have
realized too late that the flame
is never scorched by its' blistering heat.

Unlike suns which fuel themselves,
you're inhaling my soul as surely as
the fire consumes the log.

Aug. 2, 2002

The Lake

As eyelashes droop, heavier than the weight
upon my shoulders, forming stalactites,
silently preying to each other, I am
drawn into
desire
beckoning me to
fall into the placid lake
they’ve made fragrant with soothing
images and warm songs betrothed to light
just as you silently scream my name
with every caress and every
grin and faint whisper
of love.

May 22, 2002

Theoretical(l)

You know cringing never saved anyone--
nor did curling up into a tight ball
with chin on knees on elbows
but perhaps if you were to install
an electric barb-wire fence or hire
a mason to build a brick wall
you would finally be spared from
the crash. Unfortunately the fall
is mandatory, but the parachute,
per instructions, I'm sure you recall,
doubles as a blind-fold and it will
slow you down so that the small
pile of daily condescensions and
growing fear won't seem so tall
until you hit the ground, and pick up
your chin to see the point of it all.

The Path

An onslaught of individuals is becoming still.
One just slid down the window and came to rest on the sill.
Several are making their way into the neutral gutter,
surrendering quietly,
all while a few hopeless souls are bouncing off of the porch
railing
against gravity.

The Song

Hearts connected audibly
pulled together thru a song
passing thru a wall and door
as if you could do no wrong.

This private concert flutters,
beats upon a quiet heart
but as it slowly dwindles,
soul mates gently drift apart.

Thoughts

A blur they are
gone way too fast
to comprehend
make any sense
none of them do
make them I must
for only then
I realize
I'll understand
their true meanings
my true feelings
all scrambled up
they still remain
I'm still confused
I need them now
to unscramble
these tiny blurs
my unknown thoughts
they will remain
for their secrets
I do not know.

Thunder

After the
tumultuous
rainstorms,
the peace and
soft fulfillment
of the moist earth
sinking lusciously
between my toes
and the partial return
of my body
to the ground
hints at
the pure bliss
of silence
after the
thunderclap
of life.

Tomorrow

The world is stuffed full, clearly.
And what more could there be to need
anyway? It's all right here.

The world is shivering with me;
such a 'natural' reaction.
Anyway, it's damn cold out.

The world is hungry and thirsty.
Who emptied out her cabinets
anyway? They were full once.

The world has given up on me;
neither will meet our potential.
Anyway, I'm just human.

Torah Lesson

The rabbis wrote:
It is forbidden to
Touch a dying person.
But if the house
Catches fire
They must be removed
From the house.

What the fuck?
I say,
Then who can I touch
Aren’t we all
dying?

You smile
Your timeless smile
And ask:
But aren’t all our houses
Burning?

Under the Sheet

She Lies
Under the sheet, stiffly as
on an examining table.

She Tries
As patients will, to avoid
giving their grudging consent.

She Lies
Under oath, no one yet has
tried to hang her Cain and Abel.

She Tries
My patience, and even Freud
would be proud of his prize student.

Vegas

What an existence the Gods must have;
How painful the loss of mankind must be.
Or, perhaps, a long-awaited release.
Helpless to save a world so far gone
they rest, and watch, and laugh
and place bets, and make plans
and rules for their next game.

Shall they play roulette?

Shall they bet red?

Will they be happy
before we're all dead?

Villanelle

Welcome to my first villanelle. I plan on major revamping, but I do like the form... more to come

The world grows young while we procrastinate.
Mountains of stone are sinking to the blues,
although this feeling may not be innate.

For who of us is willing to berate
some one until they've nothing left to lose?
The world grows young while we procrastinate.

These statistics will never correlate.
Love can not be made out of ones and twos,
although this feeling may not be innate.

Our planet has too much upon her plate
and toiters about with a few loose screws.
The world grows young while we procrastinate.

The stars above us can still fascinate.
Within us terror-filled havoc ensues,
although this feeling may not be innate.

Impossibility may be our fate,
at least enough to confound and confuse.
The world grows young while we procrastinate,
although this feeling may not be innate.

Walls

Small boxes constrict so slowly,
yet firmly,
that we are oblivious
to their ever nearing walls until
trapped.

Windows disappear first,
then doors are lost effortlessly as the
spaces
they once created
are crushed by short-sightedness.

Our inability to cope increases as
proximity
lessens.
Crashing into glass
ceilings
just as flies into windows;
Watch them, buzzing endlessly,
uselessly
against obvious obstacles when they are so
close to the answers, so
close to freedom.

The problem is never so big as it seems;
all we need to learn is to step.
back.

Is this how God feels as she watches us
grapple
for the obvious?

Wandering

I see myself wandering
Too far from the shore
But can not, will not
Turn back yet; not before
I can see around and through
And peer into the core
Of what remains to be found
Behind that heavy wooden door
You’ve locked and chained to me
And the entire God-damned world.

I see myself wandering
Too far from the shore
And in your tears I’m swimming,
Through your barred windows
And over your walls I’m peeking
Into your cold, hardened heart
You don’t know exists I’m creeping
While in your gentle, iron arms
I’m Sleeping, dreaming, screaming, drowning,
Wandering too far from the shore.

Waste of Time

Reality has taken up residence
in my brains ez-chair.
Propped up its feet and grabbed the damn TV guide.

What’s on the TV today I ask myself?
CBS? Disney?
All that’s showing is the world getting older.

For all our aging what do we have to show
Absolutely nothing.
Power breeds arrogance which breeds destruction.

Age crawls effortlessly and treads quietly
Easy but not enough.
I want to become higher, deeper, truer.

Something to show for all these miles traveled
Isn’t too much to ask.
I paid my tolls now give me my damn ticket.

Water Works

Sipping from me
Like a fountain in a school hall
You cup your hands as I form a lake between your fingers.

I stream through
Forming a tiny oozing waterfall
As my refreshing pool quickly vanishes into thin air.

Your tongue tastes
The rain as it drip drops upon you
My river winds but never ends until it meets your ocean.

Days of summer
Reflect the storm my eyes once knew
Back when my body heat could keep at bay the bitter snow.

On a Whim
And now for something a bit more fun......

Flying’s always a much better view
Much more fun than just standing around
My two feet have never left the ground
Didn’t know they could till I met you.

“Look out before you leap” my friends quip
“Don’t fall in over your head and drown”
Of course I looked, I say with a frown
That’s how I knew that there was a cliff.

Willow

Grey clouds flood the lake blue sky
Rain drowns the grass while feeding trees
Leaves know to turn, birds cease to fly
Wind makes waves from a peaceful sea.
What a simple message to send:
All is broken which will not bend.

I force all thoughts of him aside
My screams heard not even by me
Thoughts and actions buried inside
Use my nightmares to become free.
Silence nor time will this pain mend:
All is broken which will not bend.

Yellow

The yellow light blinked --

who convinced you
one could think

he asked?

peering \=\ peer(ing)

that's what I thought
you would think.

Old poems I

2010-10-15T21:02:00.000-04:00

Many of these poems never made it to the main sherrydeanne.com site at all. Coming across some of these very old and mostly bad poetry is the most fun I've had at the computer in a long time :)

Afternoon Storm

The air is as heavy with moisture
As the ocean lying upon its shores,
Shifting unmercifully to expose
The long-lost secret treasure

Chest of broken dreams and
Unkept promises which go filtering
Through the safety net, hoping
To escape and settle in the sand.

Heaving for every gusty breath
The wind opens yet again the gate
Forcing water and air to separate,
Each blow bringing closer his own death.

For when his time to vent is done
And even the storm's lost her will to fight,
The air will finally become light
Drying beneath the patient sun.

Again

I'm going back to do it again.
There's no reason why I should and no reason why I shouldn't.
Funny how we run back to the same (wo)men.
I say we do although you say you didn't.
If you don't run, what do you do then?
When stillness surrounds you and you long for an incident?
Do you scurry away from kids and (wo)men?
Retreat from the world through a bic ink pen?

No, no, of course you wouldn't.

Albatross

No matter the temperature
it is always feverish inside and out
with my cold heart
fighting my burning skin
in the eternal battle
of heart and will and hope
over doubt and fear
and this albatross I keep tethered.

And though I am ready
to cut the cord,
I will always look back quickly,
glancing furtively
and wondering
what this weight was filled with
and if all I’ve truly left
is a piece of myself.

And, For, But, Why?

The wider my eyes, the larger the world, the smaller
I am
Quietly drowning in my own paranoia, and

The further I go, the faster it comes, the older
I get
Lazily sleeping in the worlds indifference, for

The brighter the day, the darker the night, the closer
It is
Gingerly fighting off the worlds obtrusiveness, but

No matter the view, no matter the size
I’ll be
Eagerly waiting for my own significance, why?.

Anniversary

Three wishes on each of a
hundred stars can not equal the
65 times during each of my
days that I am
enthralled by the mixing
of concrete and mortar;
such strength and similarity,
defying the laws of
exponential depreciation,
working in perfect unison
and made more lasting
by their union.

Ascent

Rain falls silently until it meets with resistance,
tapping against leaves,
churning in gutters
although the water may be quiet still, and
the tapping, rushing and churning is being
torn out of whatever stands
in the downpours tumultous path.

That must be it, for it makes no sound during its climb,
gently succombing to the clouds effortless embrace.

If only our ascent were so natural...

Attendre (to wait)

Impatient, early snowflakes melt before
reaching their soft resting place.
Only the trepidatious ones succeed
in feeding the soft embrace.

The early spring‘s suns warmth brings promises:
no fragile plants will be lost
but so often, Mother Nature’s whispers
fail to tame the bitter frost.

Painted leaves form a delicate collage
backdropped against skies of black.
Frigid wind howls as if beckoning, each
soldier in a moot attack.

Waving their swirling flag of surrender
while the ground steals their bright contrast.
Leaders are not always the truly brave:
Often the strongest go last.

May 30, 2002

Baby's Breath

The pendulum swings unfailingly
forcing us forward. If only
it were possible to look back
and alter the fulcrums beat by a
moment
just a baby's breath as the world
inhales
placidity could be restored.

I placate myself with the
thought of being just three steps
ahead or two minutes behind
myself and never meeting the
one
who would eventually steal the baby's
breath
from my dying wildflower bouquet.

Children

We were children
once--
staking ground and our claims,
smiling, flirting, asserting
our attraction at a party.

We were children
once--
when you first held me in your arms,
first knew the sweetness of my lips,
first saw the sweetness of my soul.

We were children
once--
opening to change,
opening to each other,
opening to the possibility.

We were children
once--
and even in this growing up
you and I will always be two
children who fell in love.

Dachau

Walking through the rocky
parking lot, the weight
of the world
gone mad
is tangible but unseen
through trees too brave
to not grow.
All at once the high
barb-wire
electric
fence is everywhere,
TALLER
than the pale building
weighed down
by its contents,
beckoning us.
I freeze at the gate just as
they did at the doors to the
showers, thinking:
I will come back out.
Inside, the foundations of
two dozen buildings,
forgotten before they were built,
overfilled with men, women
and children waiting to die.
I pass by the stone wall
nicked with thousands of
bullet indentations to the
cremetorium which still
reeks
of human flesh.
Unable to take any more I
plan my escape, walking
past trenches now filled
with blood red flowers,
choosing a stone from the ground
to keep, always,
as proof that it and I exist.

Outside the main gate I breathe
my first deep breath in hours
and then go to the corner for
ice cream.

Divine Comforter

An end of itself yet a beginning
Empty and still yet all encompassing
Gentle Fulfiller
Trusted Rescuer

Separates all things yet always joining
Satisfying all needs yet still yearning
Soothing Delayer
Blissful Forgiver

Losing the useless yet truth it’s keeping
The world pauses yet waits not while sleeping.

Drive

Thoughts of you resemble the cars racing by.
Though they blur together, losing their sense of self,
I am nonetheless affected by their speed and sense of purpose.
Perhaps one day, memories of you will slow down.

Or, maybe I will catch up. Move Move.

Personal construction is desperately needed.
Many of my lanes need are littered with potholes
And scream to be repaved, but more importantly
They all need their center lines repainted.

My own stillness is amplified. Zoom Zoom.

Echoes

Tiny letters splash
Upon the page
Echoing
into
Timeless
Eternity
So quietly you
Could mistake them
For paintings
Colors
Harboring
Secret meanings
In compilation

Emptiness

Emptiness has a way of making me succumb to it.
Today I laid upon my bed and let myself just 'be'.
I wonder if everyone feels this way sometimes.
I hope there are others, and not just me.

Today was no different than the one just before.
The sun rose, the sun set, and babies were born.
Up above, the stars shone bright, content people died.
And hurt, depressed people lived again with scorn.

But today emptiness devoured my mind.
And kicked my heart as it lay on the ground.
I could not breathe, I could not feel.
My world it spun quickly around.

There's only one answer and that is not to love.
To never trust or find oneself in anyone.
But I have not that leisure for I have fallen hard.
And today harsh reality to my door did come.

Empty Hands

No one understands,
except a little boy,
pressing his nose against
the candy store window,
how it feels to want.

He takes out his pennies.
Wait! What about me?
I press my nose
against your souls' window
offering all my pennies.

The boy holds his candy,
his hands sticky
with the rancid syrup.
You wave and
I bend over to catch my tears,
thinking of your empty hands
and how much
I want to fill them up.

Evaporation

Tiny marks thrown together become words
When placed one after another tell
Stories and books mirror real life
Stirred by imagination
Truth stranger than fiction
Becoming so real
It all melts
Into
One

Ever been?

Have you ever been
kidnapped
by a poets muse?
Broken in pieces
examined and then
resurrected in
almost
pure embodiment.
Almost?

Have you ever been
remapped
by travellers muse?
Tracked down mile by mile
driven and stamped
your heart-sent postcards
to the one you love.
Postcards?

Have you ever been
unwrapped
by a lovers muse?
Lured heart and meak soul
filled and guarded
mysteries of you
finding simple truth.
Of you?

Finger Painting

Colors are what’s needed now,
rather than these harsh, oblique
letters whose conglomeration
is at best, force fed,
and at worst, empty,
of the vivid picture of you
I have tucked in mind for safe-keeping.

Mine, not yours.

Yours would require the use of texture,
which is more simple and pure, even
in its infinite variety, than these:
the color in your eyes,
the letters of your name,
both of which are such small parts
of the greater whole which I hold dear.

First and Only

Sometimes I wonder what you think
in that mind of yours.
Sometimes I wonder what is there
back behind that door.

I'm the one who can set you free
for your lock I possess the key.
But you'd rather wear your crown
and rule the people and their town.

You control their mind and thoughts.
Your presence they never fought.
They welcomed you with open arms.
All you've done is bring them harm.

I see them worship at your feet
I watch them show you to your seat.
Don't dare think you're fooling me.
I will stay forever free.

Free like birds, so high they soar
like the seas who pound the shores.
Don't lock me behind your door
I won't take that anymore.

Deep down I know that you are king.
You lguth and dance, play and sing.
You say the truth is what this is
you tell me lies and then we kiss.

You I've never understood.
You said you could, I knew you would
take control of my warm heart.
Now you're tearing it apart.

I know the problems of the world
can't be solved by one small girl.
I also know that I must try
for if I don't I'll die inside.

Won't you tell me what you're thinking
in that mind of yours?
Won't you show me what is locked there
back behind that door?

12/1989

Flow

Spirit is hopeful
but a serpent more truthful;
slaves unto us supply our slightly ungrateful.

Beauty is weightless
but a burden nonetheless;
born unto us beneath our brazen faithlessness.

Color is lasting
but a contour more fitting;
cut unto us creates our conscious rewinding.

Flowchart

Abilities fade
so quietly that the memories
Are fond and free
of regret and missed
Chances.
Growing old
is not milestones
Leaped over but
rather bricks mortared
Slowly and delicately
over long miles
Of our life’s twisting
and meandering
Mission.

Perhaps the old have forgotten
all they could do
Just As I’ve grown flippant
about lacking the
Energy, stamina, and flexibility
of a child.

Forward

Franklin Socrates Edison Wright
Their inventions define a civilization
Of thinkers and dreamers who ask only when
Not how or why they will spark the next light.

Rockwell Arial Elephant Century
Their attributes define a civilization
Of readers and writers who need not a pen
To mark off pages in their own obituary.

Airplane Steam Engine Bicycle Feet
Their momentum define a civilization
Of movers and shakers who are destined
To live where the asphalt and cement meet.

Wonder Inquiry Religion Thought
Our intellect defines a civilization
Of adults and children who are in motion
And will not rest until forever is caught.

Half-life

Left undone or perhaps postponed
it’s already too little too late;
although a remnant of something
is always better than nothing
the half-life is almost over--
exponential depreciation--
and even if these single acts
show more than they should
and certainly more than they would
to the untrained,
you underestimate:
I’m a good listener--
my ears are trained for subtlety
and my vision is sharp, yet
I know not how to react.
These tiny thoughtless acts
BITE.

Hands

Your hands are so strong--

I quiver under their weight
but I am not afraid
of breaking or bending
because my skin answers your touch
with a certain gentleness
and your strong hands quiver
to desire my softness.
You are not afraid
of breaking or bending me
because the strength of your love
is more than enough
to protect me
from the capacity for harm
in a man's hands.

07/08/02

Head Game

Voices calling from the world of the dead
Fight and bicker as their anger’s fed.
I refuse to follow where they’ve led
But they never retreat, surging instead
And as time passes I’m filled with dread
For they’ve followed me each time I’ve fled
Coloring my black and white world with red
To the devils I shall be wed.
No matter who leads, they’re always here
And every moment becomes more clear
As they become more and more near
Standing face to face on this perilous tier
I gently balance the little I hold dear
And watch myself become a prisoner of fear.
The voices challenge my ability to steer.
While into the vast abyss I peer.

Here

Here the sound
A leaf makes
Falling to ground
Could deafen us.

Here the light
The sun makes
Winning its fight
Could brighten us.

Here the smell
That leaves make
After they fall
Could surround us.

Here the wind
The breeze makes
Against our skin
Could carry us.

Here the love
That we make
Soft as a dove
Could sustain us.

i

i am ineloquent
sharp, often too sharp
and ungraceful
and sometimes so lost
i don’t know what purpose
i serve when
i often feel so small
just a drop in the vast
sea of drops but
i am still wet.
i am motionless
but never still
especially when
i should be quiet
and i’m hollow but full
of energy and of this
force guiding my
hands which are
perfect for their job
just as I am
which is really more
than I could ask for
other than this:
i hope that i’ll
never break your spirit
and that i’ll forever
be me for you
but mainly for me.

Imposters

Questions are tiny fake imposters,
Drag queens masquerading as answers.
Glittering and shining in the night
Spells are broken in the mo(u)rning light.

Realization stings down to the core
Figments, poor replicas, nothing more.
He-Man is a Prince, Superman Clark,
Brought to life by our own insight.

July

July forces us out--
away from our generated cool which only makes it hotter outside
but keeps us comfortable--
momentarily--
out to watch the palpable heat in the sky explode.

July forces us away--
out from underneath our covers and nooks of comfort because
it's cooler the farther we go--
body heat and soul heat--
away resembles too closely the winter of life.

Kahlua

Kahlua makes the ice cubes pop and crack
while drizzling slowly into my glass.
It doesn't help me figure where I'm at
can't see the future when I'm looking back.

I look to others to measure my pace
knowing we're not all running the same race
No matter how fast, I'm always last place
Hunting myself in a twisted goose chase.

Mirrors and life reflect only what's seen
Hiding agendas found only in dreams
although the truth is bursting out my seams
no one else can understand what I need.

Afraid to let others see what I know
I know who I am, but not where to go
Feature attraction at my own freak show
Just faking it all with the truth in tow.

Brave enough to fight for what I hold true
Yet knowing certainties in life are few
Feet on the ground but arms reaching to blue
Settling for me when what I want is you.

Every morning I awake to a new day
Determined to move yet always I stay
Looking back, I've always been afraid
Now I realize what a mess I've made.

Lack

There is no room for
stillness in this rushing world
where even the wind can’t keep up
and the speed of light is but an
antiquated measure of time and space.
With so little quiet, paranoia
runs rampant and ruins the few
moments of solitude
we catch as they fly by
on the wings of insecurity and fear.

Lava

Tender kisses leave their mark, upon my frosty skin
Whispered wishes in the dark, know not where to begin.
Gentle touches soothe my soul, finding me where I hide
Warming every part of me, melting the fear inside.
Trembling fingers make me weak, throwing me in the pyre
Loving isn’t for the meek, tender hearts under fire.

Memories

The subtlety of your soft smiling gaze
gently passing over my weary eyes
draws me swiftly into your deadly maze
of hello's, welcome backs and good byes;
exactly where we
promised not to be
again.

Drowning in memories yet to begin
our futures as bright as stars in the skies
who cast glimpses of truth upon me when
listening to all of your blatant lies;
exactly where I
promised not to die
again.

Museum

I.

Where did I get my
muse?

Where else but from the very same
gift shop
where you found your
voice?

II.

When buying your ticket
Please pick up a map.

The greatest treasure
lies within me
but it’s a long journey

Find your way
before I bury myself,
please.

III.

Only time,
not stillness, can create
artifacts.

I’m not that old.
Neither are you.

IV.

Glass cases and velvet ropes
are gentle restraints,
but they still rub the wrong way
eventually.

Artery Planet

2010-10-15T20:39:00.000-04:00

Let's just say that artery planet and I no longer have a relationship. My login is cleared and all my poetry was wiped. Luckily, I had a lot of it over on an old angelfire page, so I'm going to copy and paste it all over here as a backup.
Enjoy!

Roadmap

2010-07-14T18:19:00.000-04:00

Very, very rough draft.

Roadmap

There was a time
I would have sworn on our life
I could identify each gentle valley,
every mountain, trace small
cracks and indentations
in your foundation
~~with my eyes closed and arm outstretched~~
~~grappling for your face.~~

~~But your words,~~
~~those I'd never heard and even in~~
~~nightmares of falling had not imagined.~~

Yesterday, my world was neatly bookended
in the atlas of your heart, layed open
on the roadmap of your face.

Then you cried.

My closet floor

2010-04-05T20:02:00.002-04:00

Revision 1:

Hidden, littered with shoes--
Some worn in and out,
others only briefly
leaving blisters
upon hearts and soles.

A solitary pair of well polished
army boots stand at parade rest;
salute indelible prints
left on personal battlefields
and the streets of D.C.

During these last warm days
of our autumn
soft leather sandals whisper
to gently fallen leaves.
My boots wait patiently.

Original:

Boots

My closet is full of shoes-

some worn in and out,
others only briefly, leaving
blisters upon hearts and soles.

Worn army boots stand at attention;
salute indelible prints
left on personal battlefields
and the streets of DC.

Now my soft leather sandals merely
whisper to the grass below.

My boots still fit.

During your shower

2010-03-01T19:46:00.003-05:00

this morning, your slick notes rose
and bloomed swiftly; the music
stretched every corner of the moistened sky.
I tried to counter, slinging silent lines and curves.
Exhaling as they withered and failed
to form words, I fiddled with my useless hands,
tucked my chin, and tried not to breathe you in,
even as the damp settled into my hair.

Published in This So Called Life AnthologyLittle Poem Press © SherryDeanne 2004

An oldie but goodie (if I do say so myself) that jumped under my skin earlier today. Enjoy.

2010-02-23T10:32:00.000-05:00

I'm tired of reading
Crap
disguised as poetry.
Throwing in a few
line breaks and
Extra
Capitals
makes whining
pointless shit
no more poetry
than a promise
and drunken attraction
makes one night
love.

My real site

2010-02-23T10:01:00.002-05:00

For those who want more:

http://www.sherrydeanne.com/

The crow beckoned

2010-02-23T09:58:00.000-05:00

announcing the oncoming storm.
I left the safety of barn
and fenced field, struck
out on well-worn paths
through unfamiliar forest.
Leaves turned, waited
for the onslaught which did
not come.
The air lifted, clouds parted
and still I walked on--
stumbled upon an old gypsy
wagon, half buried, missing
a wheel.
The waning moon will be
no help.

Windmill revised

2010-02-18T12:12:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I forget
you’re too good
to me and for me.
Then your subtle breeze
turns east
gathers strength
comes from the artic
blasting through
the facade of every day
I have hastily erected.
Yet again, I am
blown away by you.

Tomorrow I will begin
to rebuild --
today’s promise
yet another smooth stone
of my foundation.

My mortar weeps
But this I know:
I will continue to spin
as long as this storm blows.

Original:
You're too good to me,

and for me,
but sometimes I forget
for awhile.
Then your subtle breeze
turns north, gathers strength
and from the arctic you come.
You blast through
the facade of everyday
I have hastily erected
and I am yet again
blown away
by you.

Tomorrow, I will
lay another stone.

I have learned nothing but this;
it is all there is to know:
this storm will not blow through.

2010-01-27T08:16:00.000-05:00

Life is full of momentous moments that overshadow and render trivial daily existance. Those moments are fleeting and soon relegated to photo albums and 'remember when'. When they're packed away, we're left with today and tomorrow and a listlessness hard to overcome.

And one of my favorite quotes of all time. I don't remember who said it, but the fact that I remember it tells you how much I like it.
"TV is a medium because it is neither rare, nor well done."
Some days I think most writing suffers the same faults.

2010-01-15T13:15:00.005-05:00

If the moon had a bad day
didn't get out of bed
lied on its side
and sighed
would you notice?
There are benefits
to being a
round.

I always put new poems away overnight and then reread in the morning. I like this. A lot. Perhaps minor tweakage will follow but I'm very happy with it. I love all the double meanings.

Hmmm, maybe I'll try (Revision):

If the moon had a bad day
wouldn't get out of bed
lied on its side
and sighed
would anyone notice?
There are fringe benefits
to being
a
round.

Formatting

2010-01-15T09:53:00.002-05:00

I've been asked to post revisions as new posts instead of editing the old. Apparently you don't have time to read through the old stuff and you need instant gratification. I'm willing to compromise; if it's a final revision I'll do a new post. If you miss a revision and find it later, think of it as finding money in your coat pocket in the fall. Everyone loves that, right?

Love you all, thanks for reading. Feel free to put down your thoughts or send me an email anytime :)

Oh, and the italics were a suggestion as well. Apparently some of you are reading (drunk perhaps?) and have a hard time telling if it's a poem or me just rambling. I'm trying not to be offended and hope this helps.

Doubles

2010-01-15T08:36:00.005-05:00

Everyone lies during sex
she whispered
'Don't you?'

I'm getting to the point where I really need to go back and revamp some previous stuff, but hell, when the words come it's stupid to not write. So I guess this is a poor 'apology' for all the roughs but also a warning that it probably (hopefully) won't get better anytime soon.

2010-01-12T13:04:00.002-05:00

Don't waste today worrying about yesterday.

2010-01-07T19:25:00.004-05:00

Revision 1:

There isn't a craft
secured
bobbing
moored to my pier.

The hungry seagulls
circle
searching
before moving on.

Quiet evenings
are sparse --
the moon
is patient tonight.

______________________

There isn't a boat
secured
moored
cabled to my pier.
The hungry seagulls
circle
inspect --
before moving on.
Quiet evenings
are sparce --
the moon
is patient tonight.

Mortar

2010-01-06T14:52:00.004-05:00

Every now and then I'm hit with the absurdity and beauty of the English language. Is it any wonder I find it hard to put it away?

Mortar:
Cup or bowl, used with a pestle to grind things.
Mixture used to bind
And then, of course, mortar shells.

I'm sure I'm forgetting at least one definition. I think there's a poem in there, somewhere ;)

Windmill

2010-01-06T14:18:00.003-05:00

**Rough first draft**

You're too good to me,
and for me,
but sometimes I forget
for awhile.
Then your subtle breeze
turns north, gathers strength
and from the arctic you come.
You blast through
the facade of everyday
I have hastily erected
and I am yet again
blown away
by you.

Tomorrow, I will
lay another stone.

I have learned nothing but this;
it is all there is to know:
this storm will not blow through.

Main site

2010-01-06T13:21:00.001-05:00

http://www.sherrydeanne.com

Nuthatches

2010-01-06T13:02:00.005-05:00

Revision 1:

If you had been here
to see the birds
scatter
flee, fly
away in pure panic
this morning --
then, perhaps
you could envision
this weight in my chest
and you would know
that I could not
go
even if I had wings.

**Original**
If you had seen the birds
scatter
flee, fly
away
in pure panic
this morning--
then, only then
could you understand
this weight in my chest
and then, perhaps
you would understand
why I couldn't
go
even if I had wings.

For H.

2009-12-17T18:26:00.001-05:00

H.

A memory tsunami
knocked me over today
threatened
to pull me under
washing me in wonder.

I stormed downstairs, dinner
and children beckoning
willing
these encumbered days
to become precious.

Untitled

2009-11-18T10:35:00.004-05:00

Very rough first thoughts on this one:

Sunday
Afternoons belong to
football.
Yes, I'll get you a beer.
No, I don't need anything.

Monday
Your last minute early
morning flights
are a crappy way
to start the week.

Tuesday
Instead of moping around
the house
I went to the bookstore.
I met a woman.

Wednesday
How could dinner
be a problem?
We all eat,
afterall.

Thursday
Morning purgatory
with cigarettes and me
lingering on your lips.
No, I'm not busy today.

Friday
changes include the sheets,
my heart.
Welcome home honey.
Yes, dinner's ready.

Saturday
Early morning shopping.
Don't forget
chips and salsa.
Who are we playing this week?

Business Trips

2009-11-13T18:02:00.004-05:00

It's too easy for you to leave
to simply gather all
you hold
necessary and precious
fold them into orderly stacks
in a suitcase
marked with a red ribbon
for easy identification
as yours.

Vacuuming remnants of our life
from underneath our bed,
passing the timelessness,
I found a forgotten necktie.

I secured it through my beltloops
tied into a square knot
even a sailor would be proud of;
wondered if you'd recognize it
and whether you would claim me
when you came home.

Patchwork, revisited

2009-11-12T10:39:00.002-05:00

As a child I watched silently,
questioning how her fading eyes
could envision two hundred triangles.

An elaborate planned neighborhood
of harmony and contrast, held
together by highways of thread.

Her creased mouth parted
"Scraps of cloth are effortless
after piecing together 28,000 days."

Closets have a way of becoming full;
they alone laugh at entropy. Nestled
between photo albums and ticket stubs

The abandoned quilt waits patiently
for my young eyes to discern the pattern
and my rushing heart to find the days.

2009-11-12T10:37:00.002-05:00

**Putting down thoughts, hoping I'll be so ashamed this is public that I'll fix it :)

The clouds shed snow
all morning.
I ate lunch, flakes
large as nickels fell
unceasingly.
I looked out, saw bare
green grass,
tried to not write of
futility.

If raindrops rhymed

2009-01-15T09:23:00.002-05:00

Work in progress for this week.

1.
"If raindrops rhymed we would all be poets"
Instead, I pull mangled leaves of grass from muddy rivulets
smooth them dry upon blank paper
study the wet imprint;
my flesh prickles at the echo of distant thunder.

2.
"If raindrops rhymed, we would all be poets'.
Instead I pull mangled leaves from muddy rivulets
smooth them dry upon steaming asphalt
study the evaporating imprint.
My flesh prickles at the echo of distant thunder.

2009-01-14T19:48:00.006-05:00

The snow sits

The snow sits
Indian style, straight
backed against the
rock wall pews

No seat was reserved
for me; I watch
the silent service
through frosted windows.

Falls' funeral is closed casket.

Foundation

When the wind keens,
sneaking beneath attic rafters
to hide from the moon,
the house trembles.

This, and only this, remains,
now that we are spent:
I, too, am hollow
and my underpinnings quiver.

Grant us reprieve tonight.
Without you to inhabit us
we may blow
away.

Sycamore

Spring
came so long before the sycamore budded
I thought it had given up gracefully,
convinced of the old age
which its’ mottled skin portrayed.
More likely it fought last
fall
silently weeping above our backyard leaf pyre
while we rode wild horse branches,
taunting the same cold which shook us all
winter.
We ceremoniously chopped it down
last Saturday, promised to plant another
in memory. The neighbor's sycamore
unfurled its leaves today;
it will be a hot
summer.

During your shower

this morning, your slick notes rose
and bloomed swiftly; the music
stretched every corner of the moistened sky.
I tried to counter, slinging silent lines and curves.
Exhaling as they withered and failed
to form words, I fiddled with my useless hands,
tucked my chin, and tried not to breathe you in,
even as the damp settled into my hair.

Published in This So Called Life Anthology
Little Poem Press

The Museum

I.

Where did I get my
muse?

Where else but from the very same
gift shop
where you found your
voice?

II.

When buying your ticket
Please pick up a map.

The greatest treasure
lies within me
but it’s a long journey.

III.

Only time,
not stillness, can create
artifacts.

I’m not that old.
Neither are you.

IV.

Glass cases and velvet ropes
are gentle restraints,
but they still rub the wrong way
eventually.

V.

Do not touch.



Published in This So Called Life Anthology
Little Poem Press

Space

Answers to unspoken questions
become the shadows of your dawn
as my suns' requisite deluge fills your sky.
Complacency is not the fruit of comfort
nor warmth that of heat.

Chaos is in perfect alignment
for this short, sweet moment.

Questions bereft of their answers
become the shadows of your dusk
as my planets lazily shift position in your sky.
Consistency is not synonymous with safety
nor distance with space.

Water Works

Sipping from me
Like a fountain in a school hall
You cup your hands as I form a lake between your fingers.

I stream through
Forming a tiny oozing waterfall
As my refreshing pool quickly vanishes into thin air.

Your tongue tastes
The rain as it drip drops upon you
My river winds but never ends until it meets your ocean.

Days of summer
Reflect the storm my eyes once knew
Back when my body heat could keep at bay the bitter snow.

Thunder

After the
tumultuous
rainstorms,
the peace and
soft fulfillment
of the moist earth
sinking lusciously
between my toes
and the partial return
of my body
to the ground
hints at
the pure bliss
of silence
after the
thunderclap
of life.

Weak Gravity

Distances
grow
for even
earth
is losing
her
tenuous
grip
on sister
moon's
retreating
dance.

Spitefully
I
try holding
tight
these fragile
threads
skillfully
sewn
under my breath
and
around your
soul.



July
July forces us out--
away from our generated cool which only makes it hotter outside
but keeps us comfortable--
momentarily--
out to watch the palpable heat in the sky explode.

July forces us away--
out from underneath our covers and nooks of comfort because
it's cooler the farther we go--
body heat and soul heat--
away resembles too closely the winter of life.

The beginning

2009-01-14T19:44:00.000-05:00

I'm hoping to push myself to write a bit more and hold myself more accountable. I'm going to put up a ton of older stuff that I like, some that needs some work, and hopefully some new stuff :)