Escape Denial

with finger pointed
she lay blame at many doors
none of them her own

each day she drank but
bitter vetch, ate moldy bread
for none saw her worth

she became blind to
her own true reflection, his
leavings no true meal

take vile memory
in hand, put it in a box
sealed with cross or hex

bury it deep, let
earth disperse it all around
reborn green and clean

ritual frees us
walk away from the grave now
now free just to be


Crimson Chasm

crimson chasm’s charm
fades to sensual shadow
bespeak, be not lie


Reading ARC’s

For those that don’t know, an ARC is an advanced reading copy of a book that isn’t out yet to the general public; it’s free if you have the right contacts, which I do.

Worth reading is Moonbird by Phillip Hoose scheduled for 7-17-12.  Imagine a little bird barely 4ozs in weight that has lived for over 20 years and logged over 325,000 miles in his lifetime.  Every March he migrates from Argentina to his breeding grounds in the Canadian Acrtic – that’s 9000 miles one-way. A human’s marathon pales in comparison,

Told and imagined through the eyes of the people who study these birds and their migratory patterns while fighting to to preserve the fast disappearing feeding grounds that enable their lives.  In the words of my beloved Spock – ‘Fascinating’.

Other books await, but next up is the one I picked up at the library today, The Blood of Heroes – the 13-day struggle for the Alamo and the sacrifice that forged a Nation by James Donovan.  Hey, what can I say, wherever in the world I hang my hat, I’m a Texan.


I always fit in
but never belonged – no roots
each became a choice


Thoughts captured

fleeting thoughts only
ink anchors them on the page
if not, were they


Edge of Madness

I want to know what
madness is and where the edge
of its beginnings are

I’ve skirted its rim
felt its cold breath raise each hair
on back of my neck

cats’ whiskers sensing
what comes in stealth to rob me
of peace, mind – of me.



always startled by
my reflection, not quite sure
what I expect there

that exotic brown
eyed woman looking back
at me feels foreign

I cannot say what’s
missing, golden eyes, pointed
ears and fur seem right

(Perle Champion)



dawn, and the sun will
n’ere rise, ever just begins
with no end in sight

I’ve keys to all the
beginnings, but where are all
the happy endings



where night finds me, I
lay me down neath a star strewn
canopy of stars

and waken dew damp
embraced by verdant nature
tracing sun’s warm kiss


She Writes

pen in hand she writes
scenes that never were, true once
put upon the page

she writes for her life
words marching cadence across
every pale blue line


Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries