The Little Things

…and when I think real hard.

Of course, I can remember letting go.The Little Things

A cloud drifted right by.

I didn’t even smile.

That is the day that I decided.

I knew deep down what was needed of me.

To stop and marvel.

So abundantly glistens these little treasures.

Sultry aroma infused air from morning coffee brew.

Giddy at the sight of a boisterous toddler waddling.

I dare not free myself from all passersby.




Earth within its eternal being.
Deeply imprisoned at the wake of the hour.Pottery
Ethnic elixir. Indigenous.
Callous indifference to a barbaric creation of life.
Stonewashed blood.
Mirror’s reflection.
Secret’s chime.
A walk within me.
Molded bittersweet symphony.
Soft feet beyond wooden walls. Muse.
Innocence grasps at time.
Pure and honest exalting remedy.
Colosseums, vases and rudimentary tools.
Its texture is locked away almost forbidden.
Beautiful selfishness.


The date.


Money, power, fame and the respect.


A name heard over the masses.

Philip Seymour Hoffman

Philip Seymour Hoffman 07-23-67 — 02-02-14




Tongue and taste.

Rich decadent licorice flavor.

Grams or kilos?

Supply for the demand.

Plastic baggies.

Jagged rocks.


Teach me what is in there.

Push me outside.

Snort some powder.

Familiar. Cocaine still… Creamy, thick, brown.

Sharpens a knife edge.

The blade oh so true.

Blood in the syringe.


[ In loving memory and honor of the late great Philip Seymour Hoffman, the many triumphs, and perils of his celebrity. God bless you Philip, forever in our hearts and memories. ] The Treatment Center 24hr Helpline (1 877 821 8591)


Level out the treble, kick up the bass.
Louder, louder!
Zone out and catch onto the sonic waves.Volume
The beat of my heart and the music are one.
A collection of souls, the crowd makes the melody.
When the volume is loud we feel the vibe.
That tick tick boom.
In the crowd dwells the rhythm.
Music personified.
Left to rely on sense of sound.
Blaring, booming, roaring, thunderous, ear-piercing.
Fist pump, body rock, pop and bounce.
Don’t stop the music, let it shake my body and vibrate.

Chocolate Ice Cream

I hate having to pleasure myself.
I hate having to pleasure myself because I’m alone.
Imagining the hair on his chest.
Sliding my mouth around him.
Thinking about riding past his house late at night.Chocolate Ice Cream
Blasting some song by Bush.
Erotic fantasy.
He raped me but my mind still fantasizes about him.
I think of him stabbing inside me.
We don’t fit yet he only stabs harder.
I begged for him to stop.
And, I lay here fantasizing about him.
I SCREAMED as loud as my dignity could.
“No please stop!”
Only, his heart is greedy.
And, I lay there and cried, so small and weak.
So torn.
Alone and invaded.
He just wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop.
And, I am alone.
Passion turned ugly and cruel.
The chocolate ice cream is for my pride, my soul.
How could I let him rape me?
Peaceful tears and chocolate ice cream maybe…


National Sexual Violence Resource Center: Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network: 1-800-656-4673 (National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-HOPE) RACC — Rape and Abuse Crisis Center RAINN — Rape Abuse & Incest National Network

“If I had a Valentine…”

All the things that could and should be,
Swallowed up deep inside the void that was once my heart;
“If I had a Valentine…”
You will never be caught in the thunderstorm,Sad Valentine
The down pour of my sweet caress,
All the things that could and should be,
Dancing under the rain in celebration of love’s union
As we are serenaded by our favorite song;
“If I had a Valentine…”
Amidst thunder and lightning in the only embrace I ever cherished
Gazing into each others eyes for what seems an eternity,
All the things that could and should be,
Every year passes by with a lingering hope,
Waiting for the feeling that my heart once knew to return;
“If I had a Valentine…”
This day of all the days seems to cry out your name,
Whipping winds whisper I love you in response.
All the things that could and should be,
“If I had a Valentine…”


[ “If I Had A Valentine…” original poetry series; 10-23-12 ]

Red Lipstick

I can see the color.
Although we do not speak.Red Lipstick
She is proud, she is on his arm.
Bright red lipstick.
The kind that stains.
She is old, yet ancient.
Poor taste.
In the seat.
Grabbing my reigns.
Hold tighter, sure not to fall.
Return them when you are done.
The blood red on her lips is fake.
The blood pumping through the pain in my heart, real.
How can you sit there?
If only I could hear your sweet voice say my name again.
What happened to us, where is the truth in that?
Sitting beside her.
It’s almost summer.
Beginning of spring.
The edge is crooked and the page is blank.
It’s dark right now.
If I read louder? Explain.
Phony red lipstick, his kisses on them real.
I am just me.