the Masterpainter

To touch you in words makes me wet,

however, less so than times we’ve met,

dancing on the edge of a circle.

I’ve held in tight, baby bundles of anxiety,

but you’ve coaxed me out,

one delicious finger at a time;

so high that reality is

2D and I am the Masterpainter.

word woman

Say what you mean;mean you what Say

Can words ever reclaim their ability to be uttered? To be something so needed to be said, a soliloquy sized burp forms in the amorphous ether? Can I translate to you the utmost desire, with the words that ride as sailboats on the ocean of sight? We cannot reclaim the words, I fear and I pray, because words are puzzles without edges, and they are the ashes from the fire, the skin that’s been shed. I am falling down a slippery slope of love; it’s too moist here to get up, too good to be true. Words have turned into Truth only as fingertips on flesh or breath on my neck. I feared the lessening distance between me and you. Feeling you in words was safer. I used to sing to you from the shore. But I fear I must express,

my deepest interest.

I don’t speak best with words, but when I use them, I want to touch you everywhere.


Awake and too full for sleeping on the night of the day we begin the Descent. I think of you, my Starhawk, my lover and creation who accepts so easily the status of flow and the gifts~ that we are magic, separated only by the thin veil of form. I’ve given you what I have~ I’m excited to know how much more you’ll get from me. I dream about the warmth in your escape, and worry you will leave. Will you wait for me? You’re a heavenly gift. Christ, my angel. I hope to see you again. I’ve dreamt of you for a long time. Can you handle my love? Only time will tell. Only fear keeps me fromJumping. But with you, at least the fall will be scenic and I have a chance at something I considered impossible before. I’ve thought about you as a father. I’ve thought about waking up with you, and our wedding. Above all, as I lie in bed awake on the night of the descent, I get back to what you represent~ the miraculous in seemingly mundane. I worry about leaving. Decisions make our future. This is my soul path. But I think maybe you hold the key to my life. Please stay.

bee goddess

A Manual

Keep my heart


let me love


as wind on

blades of grass.

Your devotion





Love me




“make it last”.

I will give to you

my sacred honey

to your bees,

’cause you only

want to please.

Give me everything

I need, and I will

give you everything

you never knew

you always wanted.



I feel like a baby
with a rattle and a pacifier
seeing symbols 
looking for signs to read to point me in the right direction…
when it’s actually my reflection,
the compass is inside of me.

Why I need a cuddle

Every time I am feeling bad, I need a cuddle.

I am sorry that I glared at you in the checkout. I needed a cuddle.

I am sorry that I yelled at you for not paying attention. I needed a cuddle.

I am sorry that I didn’t offer you the world today,

I needed a cuddle.

I am sick.

I needed to release.

Tears on your sweater, let me collapse on your heart.

Cry into fetal position,

let them see you beneath the tears, shed your fears~

Why did I not just ask?

Because I did not know.


There are a Million

Despite the number of stars in the sky,

the grains of sand on the beach,

bilocation, synchronicity,


the feeling of Truth,

there are a million~

a million, incomprehensible to someone like me,

a million possibilities,

of what now could be,

you are where you are.

Can you look around?

Describe the quality.

An empty plate with an ooze of peanut butter,

piles of books and a dirty old speaker,

a couch with a fuzzy blanket~

patches of light adorning half,

messiness reflecting back the

assurance that you have lived,

a face full of concentration or a smile,

psychic energy infused spaces~

merely to ask,

what is your relationship

with yourself?

I’m feeling fine,

finally getting mine,

being fed,

going to bed tired,

waking up when I want,

smoking on the front porch,

wild deer munch below,

wild deer hunch below,

squat low-low.

A million different possibilities,

where do your dreams and reality


Do you feel closer each day?

Does your truth take form

as you fall away?

Door blowing open~

the dream of a summer


Late sunsets,

an eastern breeze,

birds in the trees,

eagles flying high,

picnic in the park,

babies learning how to walk-

on an open beach,

water within reach,

trees touching the sky-

dirty, dirty feet,

minimal clothing,

beating the heat,


a breath of fresh air.

I am a tree,

pouring into me,

from down below,

I am rooted in the hollow

earth, pussy fed,

tingling with delight

between my legs.

The connection

in my dreams-

freshly pollinated




Once upon a time~

a little girl was upset.

She found out there were

people paying for sentiment,

so she took it upon herself

to offer friends her gratitude



She has not stopped writing since.

From fairy tales to journals to short stories to

poetry to short stories to lyrics

to poetry, to poetry, to poetry,

to note-taking, to note-taking,

to journals and note-taking,

to thoughts and ideas and

journals and poetry

and note-taking.

When is she a writer?

When will she be

officiated, ordained?

This is the seed growing,

for this is the crux of it all.

The magic, nay,

the hidden secret. Could

it possibly be, can’t you see,

it is her that decides?

And it comes deeper,

with the deeper truths

explored. For what

is the core

but what’s been before?

And it is you that must agree,

you see,

for neuroses to flee,

but don’t despair, for she

partakes in the ever-growing

face of potentiality, in which

nobody can decide but she.

And once decided,

she is a force of

determination, a storm

perhaps, a voice

calling from the centermost

point of the universe,

Will incarnate,

Better in flux~

the Happening.

She is a writer~

always will be, possibly,

but this is not all,

just merely a scratch,

for that cannot be all,

each speaker needs

a mouthpiece.

But electricity!

The source of me,

transformative energy,

comes from Her,

courses up and out,


pre-dominantly wet between my thighs,

bursting forth, she sees,


speaks through me,

so how I can be wrong?

Why not sing my song?

and laugh and cry

mesmerized all the while.

Nothing is as sturdy

as a life built on dreams”.

Or so it seems,

and so it goes,

in the depths and the hollows,

she follows

the darkness

with her knife

and her fortune,

on the warrior’s mission:

Visita interiora Terrae rectificando invenfies Occultum Lapidem.

So she dives back into the process,


take a bit of this,

some of that,

and integrate it,


she slips

like a serpent

in the sand of a desert,

back and forth,

and around,

up and down,

round and

round and

round she goes.

Where she





5.2.2015 {Always see it as making you stronger, no matter what it is}

Somebody is your mother,

loving, caring for you,

in a way, they all were,

loving you into being.

Maybe she was not

the one you thought

she would be.

Maybe she was dirt and trees,

or a grandmother on her knees,

your father

or brother,

maybe a hive of bees.

She is everywhere, around you,

the particulates in the air,

the dance of your wrist in

spiral rhythm, the fire

of desire in your stare.

Have you considered lately your ability to love?

Striving to reach the surface.

Where are you holding her in?

The Lady is free, let her be,

or reconvene 6 feet deep.

If you loved the land as your mother,

If we loved each other as our mother,

as much as you say,

how would it be different? In what kinds of ways?

It’s hard to see her, trapped in concrete,

sterile, cold, society~

uptight, depressive misery~

see the monotony, the mediocrity,

the travesty that’s become of




Oh, instinctual knowing,

from down deep,


I bow to you.