The Video: A Poem

I saw you today for the

first time in months.

Felt like years to me.

The hollow spaces within

my skull flooded with

memories. The levees couldn’t

hold, and the water leaked

out onto my face. And

then it poured. What could

I do? Once the levees shatter

the water is unstoppable.

Gurgles and bubbles escaped

and rose from my mouth.


You were there; right in

front of me. Breathing in

life, singing your song,

heart beating like

the waves of the ocean.

You radiated your

sense of existence.


I reached out to

touch your face.

Too bad a glass screen separated



When Life Gives You Molasses, You Make Molasses Cookies- A poem

The rain falls down

upon the window. I

watch as each drop

travels vertically down

the glass curtain before

my eyes.  They were so

fixated on the sky’s

tears that it took

a moment to realize that

in the distance the

sky was on fire.  The

ball of light was fighting

her way out of the dense

cotton fluff made of water.


If the sun can break through

the heavy, molasses times

where it’s hard to move

and carry on,

then so can I.

The Muse and the Artist- A Poem

Reclining Nude by Frank Duveneck

Reclining Nude by Frank Duveneck

She was like a flower

laid upon a casket gently.

The artist painted her dainty;

as one would depict a rose.

Her eyes fixated to the side,

as if she was gazing at something

marvelous; maybe not since they

were laced with dejection.

Her naked body was sprawled out

in a chaste (but not seductive) way.

Her breasts were like tender

little hills, her legs like

vines, searching to latch

onto a sturdy wall.


I read the caption to the left;

“Reclining Nude

By: Frank Duveneck” it said.

I questioned,” Was she

his lover? How else could he

have painted her with such

wily passion?” I found myself

desperately daydreaming

that she was because, then,

the painting and I would be

united in the way that art

is meant to reach out to

its beholder.


I was once her.  Times ago I

was stretched out gracefully

anticipating your touch; I awaited

for you to consume me and

everything I was.  I was your muse;

and you were my artist.

Together we made the most

beguiling piece of art

ever known to man.

Your hands would roam the

hills like sheep, and my

vines would grasp onto you

in need for love, in need for



But, my beloved, unlike the painting, we

are not eternal.