The Tightrope

Big topped circus, red and white and gold striping
canvas tents, hot and heavy, circles
surrounding the excitement inside.

People like cattle ushered inside of the corral
filling the wooden planks, popcorn flying
from little paper buckets.

Ringmaster takes the stage, hat tall, looming
over a red jacket. Clowns with peeping red
noses and smiles, colors of the rainbow.

Giant gray elephants, stomping in circles,
playing follow the leader. Horses chasing
in a game of simon says and tag you're it.

But then the acrobats begin to fly through the sky,
challenging the top of the canvas, making the ceiling
limitless, walking the tightrope.

The acrobats know more about life than I.
They trust the net underneath them, know their center
of balance, believe in those surrounding them, ready to catch.

They work as a team, connect as a family,
become blurs through the air, flashing
sequins and shine. They are my finale.

The clowns may laugh. The animals may chase.
The lions may roar and the juggles juggle.
But the acrobats are where life comes alive.

The After-Christmas

After the gifts have been unwrapped,
the stockings emptied,
the ham torn off the bone and
the cookies frosted and bit,
family have left with all their toys and
the world is silent.

Too silent and too weird,
 I'm missing you.

I had some laughs, giggling at my cousin
as he tried to open a box filled with toilet paper
instead of packing peanuts.
My heels clicked on the tile floor
as we served up a delicious meal,
but I only wished to share it with you.

Too lonely under the blinking holiday lights,
I'm missing you.

I know it will be soon, once the clock strikes 7
when after the sun sets again,
a knock will come and I will answer,
an eager puppy wagging her tail,
ready to pounce on
you alone.

As I snuggle into bed,
I am ready for you.

All I Want for Christmas is You

Oh I don't want a lot for Christmas 
This is all I'm asking for 
I just want to see my baby 
Standing right outside my door 
Oh I just want you for my own 
More than you could ever know 
Make my wish come true 
Baby all I want for Christmas is... 
You 

Hit The Floor- A Dramatic Monologue

The world isn't as mysterious as some claim.
It may have its dark holes and its gloom,
but it has the sun and the moon.
There is magic in waking up in the morning,
there is a sparkle when it comes to facing a new day.
Even when days seem tough, seem so impossible,
all it takes is finding a groove.
Settle into that beat and rock the world.
Never be afraid to show the real person
hidden under those warm safe covers.
I knew the darkness, I knew the sure fire.
But one day it wasn't enough.

I no longer wanted to be comfortable.
I didn't want to hide under my blankets.
I just wanted to dance and burst,
explode with the addictive beat that hit my body.
That was when the shell broke off, when I stopped
hiding behind the brick wall.
Contagious, infectious and sexy,
make up glittering in the sweat of confidence,
I was me when I hit the floor.

Drift Away

When a part drifts away, it is more than just a leaf in the wind.
It is not only a twig snapped from a weakened branch or
a small pocket knife just nicking the corner of a hard oak table.

When a part of the heart leaves, it is more than the small sting of a needle.
It jabs more than the padded protected tip of a jousting sword.
It bleeds more than a paper cut slashed into a finger pad.

When a piece of the heart is torn away, it is the gun shot wound.
It is the aftermath of a nuclear bomb sitting in your chest.
It is opening up your eyes to see a serial killer posed with an axe.

When a piece disappears from sight, you only want to fight as a samurai warrior.
It is the desire to embody William Wallace and die, just to find the piece again.
It is the stirring of the colonists against the British to die for hope.

It is the faith that the piece will drift back one day.

Procrastination

open laptop
sign in
stare at screen

open word document
type five words
stare at screen

drift to tumblr
sign onto facebook
stare at screen

play solitaire
check email
stare at screen

noon then midnight
stumble on pages
stare at screen

ten minutes before class
freak out
stare at screen

Birth of a Poet

Between the rattling shelves of library books
cross legged on the ratty blue carpet
stained with the wheel skids of the returns cart
peacefully sat a tiny girl, surrounded in books

of adventures and fantasies, of pirates and treasure
but the real gem was really gold, a delicate
gracefully bound book of poetry by the mystical
poets of the century woven with the silver lace

of the moon and the stars. As she sat so quietly
her mind drifted into the daydreams, began forming
words where they were not before as a new poem created
itself, ready to set fire to the wick and begin

the birth of a poet.

Living Room: A Love Story

white walls tinged beige
green automan
brown table
black futon,
red rug.

clanking pots,
boiling water
pasta
tomato sauce
plates
and cups.

DVD player hidden under wires,
26 inch television
a copy of the Princess Bride.

fluffy blankets,
open window
jeans
and belts,
little socks.

comfy t-shirts,
a black headband,
a baseball cap.

arms wrapped tight
a delicate kiss
turned into 2.

lights flicker off.

Anniversary

You don’t remember that night in Hawk Hall 439,
all settled around the room,
uou jumping in and out of the door, but I do.

You might not think back to the night
on the Ferris wheel when my eyes
were on you, not my date’s, but I do.

You somewhat know of the day you taught
me to drive, leaving your hand over mine
on the steering wheel, teaching me, but I do.

You know more of that drunken night at the
bowling alley, where you first took
me by your hands and held me, but I do.

You remember the night, that by moonlight
you held me close and our lips
met for the first time, we do.

Your Portrait through the Eyes of Another

You study intensely, those papers before you
the lines, the details, every inch changes the game plan.
A simple dot could be a door, a window.
Clank falls the ruler and your eyes dart away from the table.
I have distracted you as you reach over for a silent kiss.

A chastised child as I order you back to work.
The scribbling of the eraser, long lanky fingers
graceful with pencil and paper. You are unaware
of my attention. My silent scribble is much like your own.
Deeply absorbed, studying, concentrating,
eyes dart from drawing to reading words to calculator.

Another distraction, but not myself.
A forgotten acquaintance, once maybe friend.
But now is not the time for socialization.
It is time to work as you delve back down to the drawings,
head bowed to work. A scratch of the head,
a bounce of the foot, it is early in a night filled with work.

But you know, as well as I, that it will end,
it will come to a close,
as you will bring me home,
wrap me up in blankets
and slowly, but surely,
rock to sleep.