A Room For Poetry

Struck...as My lips remain dumb I am in awe of myself Dancing in the rings of the full moon Working in the fields, harvesting time Remembering me yet Not knowing me In want of me Je suis tu es ils est elle est nous sommes ... No second chances Mark has butter sandwiches and you and Mimee Turn out ok Goo goo ga joob...

Before bed, she painted her face she wore her mask to bed so no one would know her                     in her dreams She dreamt of painting and dancing Of speaking to Jesus Of dating a woman And writing                 the truth All of these things made her happy As she slept

A wee look into my thought process... Mar 24/09 In search of wisdom and contentment, I start yet another journal - this one dedicated to truth and lies, poems and prose - me. I want My father died still in want It is spring and the land is wanting what lies beneath not wanting to be found I want In want to be larger than life Yet want to shrink away into nothingness In want of a child In want of Love To be Loved To Love I want Janet Jarrell

So, she paints her face white Looks deep in the mirror To see if there is anything there "Am I worthy?" "I am afraid." She blesses herself To prove she is clean Then drinks back the wine and takes the bread She finally admits who she is A mystery