Sugar High

Giddy giggling,
near obscene reaction
to the events at hand.

We are lost.
GPS guides us home,
not without amusement.

"We are the arrow."
"We are Pac Man!
...walking backwards..."
"Moon walking!"
"Wakka wakka wakka"
"Wah-Keehee!"

Dead silence.

Pac Man has no hands,
no arms,
I am told.

Backwards munching,
our marker continues,
green lights feeding our play.

"We have it wrong."

Do we?
My curiosity is piqued again.

"Backwards walking,
we are playing in reverse!"
"We must rewind!"
"Akkaw Akkaw Akkaw"


If any others saw us
at the red light we approached,
they would swear we were high.

Maybe they would be right:
We were two long-time girlfriends
riding a sugar high.

A Spring Set

'Twas in a dream land
I awoke to Spring bird song,
wind chimes and sun shine.

In a field I lay,
happy laughs with smiling joy
filling the day's air.

Family and friends
through the green grasses did run,
picking pretty blooms.

Sunshine raining down,
creating me a warm mask
on my upturned face.

Inspiration struck,
but not a pen to be found!
No pencil, nothing!

I recited words,
over and over again,
chanting to myself.

I would remember,
write everything down later,
and it would be grand!

But then I awoke
snuggled in a warm blanket,
back in my bedroom.

An open window
filtered Spring into the room,
echoes of the dream.

Now I sit to write,
empty of the committed
words that were spoken.

It was truly real,
I recall all vividly:
touch and sight and sound...

And yet what I lost
was the one thing I wanted
to share with you all.

Anyone can write
of Spring and birds and sunshine,
but a dream of love?

A Realization Upon Meeting Poeticus Mundi

I met a man this past weekend.
He is an established poet,
Intimidating in pictures,
Published and locally known,
Intriguing and interesting,
And he made me feel so small.
There is an aura about him,
A power I cannot describe,
An internal glow so warm.
In his company I cowered,
Feared to mention any of my work;
I cannot consider myself a poet,
Nor a true writer or artist -
I am simply a vessel through which emotions gather,
Coalesce and whirlwind together,
Condense down around my soul,
And pour out in the form of written sound.
He is all that and more:
A daring soul with more courage than I,
One to take the stage,
Sharing what he has,
Giving all that he is;
While I, the coward that I am,
Sit at home,
A slave to my inner mind,
Hoarding the words that escaped,
The emotions that fled my internal cavern,
Keeping my works to myself.

A Night Reality

She awoke to a darkened room, her senses screaming. Something was wrong, she knew it deep in her core. Fractions of a second later, an eternity in the warm comfort of the bed, he began screaming beside her. It was another night terror, an unconscious occurrence he held no control over. Like the living dead, he moved and screamed as if awake, but was still fast asleep. Reflexes kicked in as he screamed, covers thrown aside, arms flailed about.

This time it was different, it was worse somehow. He did not jump and run out of the bedroom, his usual response, but instead lay propped up on one elbow, frozen. His sleep glazed green eyes transfixed on a point in space far beyond the wall across the room.

She had not seen this reaction before, but it did not jostle her. Her previous experience was nonexistent before she met him, but what she had learned was to let him remain asleep while getting his attention. She called his name, twice this time. His gaze remained unfocused to reality, but the screaming stopped. It was replaced by moaning half sobs and his body began to tremble. Murmuring soothingly, she wrapped her small body around his and rocked him gently as if he were a child.

Usually he would be docile enough to lay back down beside her, dreamlessly asleep before she could rub her hand across his shoulders for comfort. But tonight was different. She sat and rocked him the best she could, his head rested on her chest, his arms grasped her as if she were his last hold on Earth, and still the hoarse cries and trembling remained.

She loved him, she did everything to make him happy, but this one thing she could not cure. It pained her deep into her soul to see him suffer, but she did all that she could. She rocked him, loved him, soothed him, until he calmed and once again fell into a dreamless sleep beside her.

Cold Rain

Gloomy grey overcast and chill winds met everyone at daybreak. The arctic rain was not due for another twelve hours, but it had moved in overnight. Scattered winter showers of ice and freezing rain were predicted for the day, but the family gathered around the house did not care. The day was set to be a dreary affair, the weather only seemed to match the mood. Huddled inside the small living room, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, all dressed in Sunday's best, doing their best to break the tension to come with small talk and visiting with relatives living too far away. New babies and pregnant bellies were crowded around, white hair was pointed out, jokes were made, but no reference to the task to come slipped passed anyone's mouth.

This day sat heavy on everyone's hearts.

The time came for everyone to file out, carpool, and follow each other downtown, literally only a block away. Main Street was crowded, stores were closed, people milled about - quite unusual for a Monday morning. Two businesses stood out amid the bleak and empty storefronts; the flower shop's lights burned bright alongside the open doors of the funeral home.

The beautiful service seemed at odds with the gloomy weather, yet accentuated by it.

The small chapel inside the funeral home seemed too small and cramped with the mass of townspeople, family, and friends gathered around to honor the forever sleeping lady. With heads bowed, prayers spoken, and tears fallen, last respects were given one by one as the multitude of people filed out through the rear doors. One single cry could be heard above all the rest; the cry of a mother-in-law, too young to have to attend such an event for someone half her age. Heartbreakingly heard were sobs and hysterical shouts of "You're only sleeping, Baby Girl, tell me you're only sleeping! Wake up, Baby Girl, please wake up!"

The old woman, tiny and frail looking as she was, had to be forcibly carried out against her will, as she went into hysterics trying to wake her daughter-in-law. She was taken out into the cold, to be calmed by the mass of people and the chill wind. As the last few people hugged the family on their way out, the pall bearers led the casket through the crowd to the hearse.

Driving a funeral procession is slow business; the mournful mood of those in line was echoed by the clouds, who finally began dropping a very fine mist. Pin-needles pricked the skin only with the wind, which had calmed for the grave-side prayers.

A cold sprinkling rain fell as, one by one, the cars left the cemetery.