Tumbler of Forgotten Notes


How transcending…

Wonderful moments, historic and sweet.

Then emotions fell into retreat.

A repugnance…cast its shadow on me.

When I misplaced the lesson plan.

Love had learned to mis-handle all that I had believed.

An unmarked headstone.

As if, I were a character in an ancient mystery.

Crude bones.

An uninvited tombs became my destiny.

Confinement may not have killed me.

But strength was hard to find.

It is never far to travel…

When the last plan is to lose your mind.

Shy, as the memories we hide in our reflection.

Loveliness appeared as, hectic as a tumbler of forgotten notes.

A lover to the fears I had buried over the years.

And, as my fortunate teller, pressed a delicate finger to my parted lips.

Just a few words…

‘Love is a lesson that gives and gives.’


the Sweet Smell of Henna and Poison


Her tellin’ of, ‘baby, baby, it’s a wild world’

Seemed more akin to urban myth…

Almost like a shoe built for just me.

A shoe that does not quite fit.

She had been my first…

But by the hungry look in her eyes…I hadn’t been hers.

Neither of us looking for a white wedding.

Yet, to this day, none compare to the way she could…

hum and sing.

Painted on hot pink nails and ravenous smile,

I became just a babe in the woods…

Caught in the snare of all it’s wild.

While traveling around the edges of my nowadays…beaten down path.

In-spite of age, she comes back to me…

Cutting the moments in half.

Deep with in the thick set of trees.

In just particular tucked away spot.

Her aroma of Poison and Henna begs of me…

Pleads of me,

‘Hold on sweet talkin’ woman…

Hold on!’


Rehab made for Two



Had I held the hammer

rather than, pushing the coffin.

Had I held the last nail…

last rites would have sooner prevailed.

Randomly, I think of you…

Perhaps, just after sullen love songs.

And, incidentally, after a friend has done me wrong.

Scenes of dread from a winter that has gone on too long.

Photographs, images, of you and I.

Bridges that burned from the middle out.

Now, current day, I am reminded of you..and, of I…

when I cannot catch a high.

Our love had been a ghost town with all the souls heading south.

No matter our attempt to feed that stray dog…

He just wouldn’t stay.

In the end, neither one of us never knowing when to get out of our own way.

Like the time the bicycle made for two

rusted straight thru.

Melting the pedals…

Turning the whole affair from Folk to Heavy Metal.

The good in good-bye had never held any truth for us.

Yeah, I guess its been awhile …

since I have thought of hidden meanings from behind a smile.

Since loosing a race without running a mile.

There was nothing we could do

Nothing we could do…

there are no rehabs made for two.


What Becomes a Broken Heart: the Martha Beck story


broken heart.jpg

I once died of a lonely heart.

And, this is where my story starts.

Lacking in pity and social grace

I had a homely soul…

I wore it like a scar upon my face.

But this too is where my story ends

seeking the approval of men.

love 1

My story is a love story, but only those who are tortured by love can understand what I mean.  I was pictured as a fat, unfeeling woman.  True I am fat, but if that is a crime, how many of my sex are guilty?  I am not unfeeling, stupid or moronic.  My last words and my last thoughts are:

‘Let him who is without sin cast the first stone!’

Martha Beck had been part of the infamous duo, the Lonely Hearts Killers.  Along with Raymond Fernandez, the two lovers…pretending to sister and brother…killed three women by placing notices in the personal ads.  The fourth victim, a child of a lonely heart casualty.

And, though, Martha at the time of the trial weighed in at 223 pounds.  It appears it had not only been her fleshy lust for life, that drew media attention.  It had been her lurid and vulgar manner.  A manner that fed the frenzy…

Opening June 9, 1949, the trial produced a torrent of sensational testimony as both defendants, apparently eager to prove their lack of sanity, burned the jurors’ ears with lengthy streams of obscenity that described the intensity of their love life. What the court stenographers recorded could not be printed even by New York City’s most torrid press. But the news reporters could describe how, when called to the witness stand, Martha Beck strode forward in bright green shoes, her massive body swathed in bright silks, a double-strand necklace clinking brightly, and suddenly detoured across the courtroom to Fernandez. Catching his face in her hefty hands, she pulled it toward her, kissing him on the mouth and, as the guards pulled her away, leaving him with a grin of bright red lipstick.

Read more: Martha Beck Trial: 1949 – The Kiss In The Courtroom – Fernandez, York, Sing, and Insanity – JRank Articles http://law.jrank.org/pages/3021/Martha-Beck-Trial-1949-Kiss-in-Courtroom.html#ixzz40kOu3XLj

It seems we may have traveled far from the dating rituals of the past…we have not moved nearly as much…when it aiding and abetting the green eye monsters, commonly known as, jealousy, greed and lust!  A broken heart is a one size fits all situation!

Love at odds 1

at my Fingertips


write to wander 2

The anonymity of the life we’ve built

Purposes to hide behind the post of guilt.

It is the distance that remains unclear.

Blind faith in all that is neither here nor there.

A world becoming virtually…unaware.

We no longer feel the punish,

nor, the sin.

No further, does the spirit travel than idealistic begin…again.

Nothing penned for you that isn’t someone else’s truth.

No resolve in the lack of mystery behind our keys


our board, spaces.

No, I knew love before it became a four letter word.

No more, open the window to feel the cold.