Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Wednesday, December 31, 2008


Reader Robert demands pictures of the dogs! Indeed, they are more interesting than I shall ever be, and are worshiped as deities around here! So, without further ado, Bosco the border collie and Queen Molly the sheltie mix!

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Winter Rose

Wild roses grew untended by the old churchyard wall

I would steal there by evening

And give names to them all

Their petals, to my hands, were soft as her face

And the moon, like your love, dear

Lent everything grace

There were angels of stone, the churchyard their keep

I would steal there alone

Just to sit silently

Their wings were of stone, and that's why they wept

And still like the angels

My vigil I kept

My mother lamented the loss of her child

While I, like the roses,

Untended grew wild

My love came too late to the old churchyard wall

Not I nor the angels

Can hear my love call

My love is an angel in form and in face

She weeps in the churchyard,

Our trysting place

The winter's white beauty can smother and kill

And I, like the churchyard,

Am silent and still.


Sunday, December 21, 2008

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Honest Crapola, Baby!

Mama Zen

has tagged me to spout more true junk about myself! Woohoo!

1. I was sixth grade spelling champion. (but a little girl from fifth grade beat me in the school bee. The word that tripped me up? "Marriage.") I won a dictionary. I believe i still have it someplace. It probably contains neither "meme" nor "blog."

2. The house I grew up in had a spirit. As in ghost, though it never made itself visible, it certainly made itself known, but only to me, no one else seemed to sense it. I thought I was all alone until my nieces confessed, years later, that they hated to stay over at my mother's house cos it creeped them out. I asked them why, and it turns out, they felt the spirit, too. He lived in the basement, near the water softener, but he came upstairs sometimes. I have to stop writing about this, it is making me remember it too well. *shivers*

3. The best dream I ever had which was not a spiritual thing, was a dream I had some years ago that i was pregnant. (I can't get pregnant.) I was so SO happy about it, just over the moon. I have never felt quite like that ever before or since, it was just....lovely. I was making all my plans and just loving every second of it, til I woke up. When I realized it hadn't been real, I felt such grief and loss.

4. I am prone to receive spiritual messages in dreams. In one, at a difficult time in my 20s when i was pretty much going no place, I dreamt that a female angel started walking beside me on a scrubby little hill where i was walking, We crested the hill and I saw a place i still believe was a glimpse of Heaven. It was a natural scene, but the colors were all far more intense, more "there" than they ever could be on earth, and there was light coming from no place and every place. I was dumbfounded, and looked over at the angel. She smiled as if to say, now you know what I already knew...that this place exists. I felt she had wanted me to realize that there is so much more than I had believed in up til then. In another dream, I met another angel, and in that dream I recognized her instantly, and thought to myself, how could I ever have forgotten HER!? (awake, i don't know who she was, though there remained a feeling of familiarity) She told me, stop trying so hard. You don't need to look for love because you already have it. Not only that, but you have always had it and can never lose it. How cool is that?

5. In tenth grade English, we were supposed to write in our journals, and I decided to start writing a story in mine. My teacher took a look at what I had written the first day and told me that after that I was to forget about what the rest of the class was doing and just write my story. I finished it and had it for years until the paper went wacky (it wasn't acid-free) and the writing disappeared.

6. I cry at the end of "It's A Wonderful Life", no matter how many times I have seen it, and even though I know what's coming. I always cry.

7. The first book of poems that made me love poetry was something called "I'll Be There In The Morning If I Live" by a man named Grover Lewis. I bought it at the Little Professor bookstore and took it to the lawn of the local library, where i read it cover to cover. It was supposed to be "beat" style poetry, but I found much of it hilarious. A friend walked up and asked me what was so funny and I read one of the poems out loud, but she just looked at me like I'd just flown in from Mars. (I get that a lot) In retrospect, I just think that I had discovered a world in words which was so different from anything I had encountered up til then (I was 18) that it made me a little giddy. From then on, I was in love with poetry.

8. I wrote poems like a fiend from 18 to 26, then took a snooze until two years ago when I woke up again. I hope to stay awake for the rest of my life. The poems here labelled "early poems" are from that 18-26 period.

9. About the same time I fell in love with poetry, I also fell in love with alcohol. I drank like a fish for ten years, tried to stop for two, then did stop, to the present day. What enabled me to quit for good? I asked God to help me, and She did.

10. Under hypnosis and in dreams I have remembered past lives to varying degrees. I was a Venetian monk, who loved to sing and bake bread. I was a Dutch servant girl. I was a Pacific island girl for whom childbirth went terribly wrong. I was a Scottish landowner whose adored wife died young. I never remarried and would go on long walks with my favorite dog. At a particularly low ebb in my life, my wife from that life spoke to me. She said it meant something to her that I had never stopped loving her. She sent me my dog back, in this life, to help me. He does, and is still my favorite.


Friday, December 19, 2008

Meme Thingggggggggg!

Sings: it mussst be Christmas la la la la

Jannie Funster has tagged me by way of Mama Zen, and I make it my business never to go against the wishes of two such august personages. So, without further ado--


1. Putting up the home-made Santa on my front door. When I was with my partner, L., she had a friend who was into crafts and all of that, and she made this perfectly delightful Santa face and gave him to us. L never seemed to like it all that much, but I did, and when we split, I nabbed Santa and he has been with me ever since! He's my mannnnnn! *giggles*

2. I love the Patrick Stewart version of "A Christmas Carol" and try to watch it every year. I have two such movie traditions: "Dark Night of the Scarecrow" every Halloween, and this one every Christmas. I think Mr. Stewart ("Captain Picard"!) does a marvelous job as Scrooge, and the entire thing just makes me happy!

3. My Charlie Brown snow globe, given to me by earth's number one boy, Joe. My Joe, he's the apple of his Shaymom's eye, and he knew I cry every time I watch Charlie Brown Christmas and so he went and dug up this wonderful little snow globe with Charlie Brown, Snoopy (I love you, Snoopy!!!) and their Christmas tree. The little draggly tree in the cartoon always makes me want to take care of it. And when Linus gives his little Christmas speech, I always lose it. Sniff. Smile.

4. Television jewelry store ads. They are always so sweet and romantic, and some gal is always being given something wonderful and gee, who doesn't want to be THAT gal? I sure do! The Cat Powers version of "How Can I Tell You" on the music player here is from a jewelry store ad. If only I had some wonderful handsome boyfriend who would give me some expensive beautiful gift for Christmas, and then go away and leave me alone and not expect sex, ever. How cool would that be! Sighhhhhh.

5. Slow, wistful versions of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas." The gay girl's family hasn't invited her for years now, and I love the idea of having some loving base to return to. maybe someone will adopt me, some year. Until then, I'll have to muddle through somehowwwww. And anyway, it's such a pretty song, it makes me sad/happy every time I hear it.

I am turning over the next tag to my dog--strike that, make that WONDERDOG Bosco! Bosco, take it away!

Dis ish Bosco! I tag my frend Sharkbutt the cat!!! Me wonders if there ish a cat santa who brinks fitch!?

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Blue Cat

Little blue and white cat

Like a summer sky

Are you the only one?

Are you all alone?

See the flowering trees

Every bloom a twin of all the rest--

When they land in my hair like wandering stars,

Then I become the night sky.

Little blue and white cat

Asleep on my bed in the early morn,

At times I have felt like the only one

At times I have been so alone.

See the paintings and sculptures

Piled in the halls as numerous as magpies--

My uncle lives here.

He is as rich as he is untidy

And he has let me come to stay.

Across the courtyard

Lives my friend the zen.

She says every day is your own work of art

And her company is as warm as a kiln.

Towards noon, the blue and white cat sits on the sill and watches my rose bushes--

He is as blue as the years gone by.

He is as white as a wedding dress.

He is as unexpected and marvelous as an Italian dream.


Sunday, December 14, 2008

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas from The Word Garden to

Helen T.
Sheena and Sharkbutt
Jannie Funster
Mama Zen
Kelly Dickson
Grace Dewitt
David McMahon
Vodka Mom

my brilliant and beautiful sister Nikki

and all of my wonderful readers!

Thank you all, and have a wonderful Christmas season.




(David, at authorblog, has nagged and harried me (at least that's how I remember it! Ha!) to write a rhyming poem for the Word Garden. Here it is.)

The water lies so still

Where I tossed my heart like flowers--

Long have I lived in chill

Of so many solitary hours.

This motherless girl, me

Never meant to be a bride--

By the bank everlastingly

With only mist to sit beside.

The mermaids sing--

Sing, and tear my heart;

My flowers kiss the wet, then turn,

And slowly drift apart.

Let me go, Love--

Never more to haunt the fen;

Take my flowers, Sweet, and then

Set me free to love again.


Thursday, December 11, 2008


The mixer lost its attachment.

"Without my mixer, I am paralyzed," said the heartbroken little attachment.

"I am not beautiful enough to be ornamental,

And without my mixer,

I am so sad that I cannot even stand up."

The cookie dough said,

"I will support you, until you feel stronger."

The bowl said,

"I will hold you, until you are not so sad."

Just then, a voice said,

"Where do you think you're going, you little rascal?" and clicked the attachment back into place.

Reunited with its beloved mixer,

It began spinning happily again,

Doing what it was always meant to do--

Stirring up sweet things.


Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Concrete Heartbeat

Someone thieved the life from this day--

Like a museum of the flu,

An exhibit of the exhausting...

Today is

a failed photo

a blind statue

a bust.

Ugh. I'm ill.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Matt Dillon Enters The Dream-Time

Marshall Dillon thinks,

Fuck this.

How did everybody's problem become my problem?

His trigger finger hurts

And he's out of Alleve.

He gets in his Toyota and heads out of town,

Leaving Dodge City to the alley cats.

As he drives through the desert,

There are three coyotes watching from a ridge.

One is Freedom,

The second is Sorrow.

The third may have been a cactus, or a bird.

Oh, fold me in your great dark wings, thinks Marshall Dillon.

I am sick of dust

And this stupid leather vest.

After several hours, as the morning rises behind him,

The Marshall pulls over to stretch his back.

He takes off his silver star and tosses it into the lightening sky;

On its descent, it intersects perfectly with the yellow face of the sun.

"Just like Little Sure Shot," runs through his melting mind like a one-off hit by The Music Explosion.

No one ever sees Marshall Dillon again.


(image by david son of lone wolf wagner)

Saturday, December 6, 2008

10 Honest Truths

Dear Readers--do you all know my friend Mama Zen? Women want to be her and men want to be with her; yep, that's the one! She has tagged me to participate in telling 10 honest truths about myself. Here goes:

1. I was raised a Methodist. Clearly, it didn't "take." I don't think they're allowed to wear red or say "crap." And crap like that. My apologies to any Methodist readers I may have. To this day I can spout bible-themed double talk, all of it wrong. Hey, that stuff's not the bi--...oh,never mind!

2. The thing I am most proud of having done is my part in raising my son Joe. And no, I am not bi one get one free; the stork brought him, honest injun. Joe is obviously the most handsome, brilliant, charming two-legged fellow on the planet, though I may be biased. Nah!

3. After Joe, I've got another guy. Oh yeah! What a catch, I was lucky to find him! It was a real pick up joint where we met, but I knew right away he was the one for me. I even sing "My Guy" to him! Five years of true love and going strong. I am talking about, of course, Bosco the border collie! Hands off, ladies, he only loves ME! Darn right.

4. My car has bumper stickers. They are: "Born OK The First Time", "Girls Kick Ass", "Sorry I missed church but I was busy practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian", and "FEMME." "Girls Rule" fell off.

5. My name is Shay and I am a chocoholic. I don't need a LOT, but if I don't have SOME on hand every day, I go absolutely batshit. And if I am hormonal, goodnight, fuggeddaboudit. Just shut up and pass the Oreos. My nickname is "Cookie" for a reason!

6. My favorite movie is "When Night Is Falling", a Canadian movie, recently reissued, about a female professor at a religious college who falls in love with a dazzling gal who works with a traveling circus. She shoots an arrow through the professor's window with her telephone number attached. If someone did that to me, that would be it, register us at Kohl's and send out the invitations.

7. I own a cowgirl hat. It's brown and it's a "crusher" hat, you can smoosh it up and pack it in a bag, though I've never had the heart to actually do so, cos I love my cowgirl hat. It's brown. It keeps raindrops off me. It is my friend.

8. I detest, absolutely loathe (American) football. I am probably the only Lesbian in history to feel this way.

9. I collect stuffed toys, though not like I used to. I favor raccoons and coyotes in particular. I have a huge Felix the Cat.

10. At this very moment, I am wearing Scottie dog pajama bottoms and ancient slippers which were once pink. Grey tee shirt, and a sweater the color of brown sugar. When I was a child, I would agree to do anything, no matter what, if promised a little brown sugar as bounty.

I am tagging Shrinky, at Shrink-Wrapped Scream, and Marty at Dark Star Discovery. Break the chain and you will be forever cursed with combination skin and embarrassing age spots. And an evil midget will follow you around spouting ShamWow commercials. Don't risk it.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Perfect Butterfly

Perfect butterfly

Your wings are wet

I can't look away

I can't forget

Your beauty utter

As you softly flutter

Perfect butterfly.


Monday, December 1, 2008

Morning Glory

See the vine, brittle and brown,

How december has changed this place!

The harsh winds unsettle and mar--

So recent the mornings I hurried down

The barefoot path to see your face!

A fool, I sighed, "how enchanting you are!"


Sunday, November 30, 2008


Every night, Tristessa howls at the moon.

"Oooooo, Oooooo, Oooo..."

Trailing off like the curling ends of her long black hair.

Her mother is mortified.

The neighbors, annoyed.

Finally, Enrique, the night watchman, takes a walk up the side of the little hill that she has reclaimed from the night and considers her own.

"Senorita, why do you howl?" he asks.

With her back still to him, she lifts her head and replies,

"Oooo, Enrique, it is because no one touches me.

It is because to no one am I the woman without whom there is no light."

Enrique looks down, absently digging the heel of his scuffed brown shoe into the blank dirt.

"You could marry.

Raise a child.

Go shopping.

Sleep each night beside your husband instead of out here in the cold."

She turns and raises her chocolate-brown eyes with their crescent moons to him and replies,

"I would go mad from the confinement.

They would have to call the constabulary to come and put me down."

The night watchman looks up at the sky, rubs the back of his neck with his good honest fingers and admits,

"I've already called them."

He gestures at the little dark houses nearby.

"The waking of dreamers is a serious thing."

Tristessa gives her head an unconscious shake.

Her hair is like a great dark bird folding its wings.

"Ooo, Enrique," she says in her hoarse, mournful, wounded voice.

"Do not be afraid, Senorita."

His voice is kind.

"They are fine men in handsome uniforms,

And the bullets they carry on their belts

Are filled with mercy."

"Oooooooooo,Ooooooooo,Ooooooooooooooooo," comes the heartbroken howling.

With her face turned up to the indifferent sky and her black hair reflecting every star,

She whispers,

"La muerte es la unica misericordia."


Last line: "Death is the only mercy."


Saturday was

Roses, heavy with sensual vanity,

The same red as the flush across her breasts, or your blush when she praised you.

It was

A delicious apple sliced with a good silver knife,

And the lazy knowledge of the white china bowl containing its seven sisters.

Sunday is

Cave flowers, grey as an old dusty book,

Falling apart like brittle pages of bad poetry best forgotten.

It is

Bone fruit so dry it shrivels the tongue,

So un-nourishing that each bite brings emptiness, starvation.

It is skull candy, dream-rot, sick-music.

It is all that's left.


Saturday, November 29, 2008


No matter what happens down here on the ground,

The moon and stars take their place above;

And no matter my foolish imperfections,

My heart has always been yours,

My Love.

The ground is frozen tonight,

And clouds cover the moon.

My bed,

So white, like lilies and death;

And your absence,

Everywhere, like some cold god.

Never mind, sweetheart,

The moon will be back, even if my heart should die;

And the stars will shine in a silver multitude,

Even the same as my tears.


Friday, November 28, 2008

The Park

The cement company shows up at the city's largest park and goes to work.

First, a cement river full of cement goldfish and cement turtles;

Some mistake the river for a sidewalk and drown.

Next, cement pigeons and other birds...

Branches fall everywhere--

Lines are down.

Across the city, cement birds fly out of telephones and crash heavily into framed landscapes which fall from the wall.

At the park, work continues.

Cement children appear, presenting cement bouquets.

Cement adults are charmed.

The sun, also cement now, shines down, strangely cheerful.

Look at the city we have made, say the workmen.

Come and live with us

Among the statues.


Thursday, November 27, 2008


I was just minding my business.

Simple washerwoman, that's me.

How could I have known



What was to be?

Brassy, brassy,

That's you.

With the boardinghouse reach to pick off stuff you see.

Grab off

Sweep off

Their feet little gals like me.


I know,

I could holler lemme lemme lemme lemme go!

Could shout it

Scream it

But you'd think I

Didn't mean it.

Now listen, you,

Hear me when I'm talking to you, Ma'am--

When I say stop



I'm whispering just as loudly as I can!


Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Free To A Good Home

At the request of one of my faithful readers, I've decided to post this picture. See if you can guess who it is!

A) Eleanor Roosevelt

B) Mary, Queen of (practical) Scots

C) Angelina Jolie

D) Olive Oyl


E) Fireblossom

Monday, November 24, 2008


Red the passion that won't be denied, red the desire, the flame inside for the curve of breasts, for silky hair on soft skin, red the thoughts that deny sleep at night, red the anger of others if they knew, red the wanting her anyway.

Orange the light filtering through a window shade, orange the love you made, orange the exhilaration of a new erotic explorer, set free and invited, pulled close rather than pushed away, orange the words of the song you discovered together, orange like a dawn when you wake up laughing.

Yellow when you finally know you aren't alone and that a whole world is lit up like a stage before you, yellow the irrepressible joy that, yes, this is possible and every girl you see is a possibility if only in your secret heart, yellow the falling in love, yellow the hope, yellow the reality of a sweet flesh world that was there all the time but has now opened up to you like the wings of a butterfly.

Green the full summer sweetness of the love of two women in the lushness of themselves, green love's bird whose colors become a dream of flying, whose feathers catch you in her arms all night, green the shelter of knowing who you are, what you want, and having it, in excess of anything you ever believed possible.

Blue when she's gone, when the bed's too wide and the night's too long, blue when you're alone again and you've forgotten how, blue the water you stare into trying to understand why it ended, blue the too-silent night, blue the heartbroken sky when all the stars are tears.

Indigo when life turns brittle and pasty dry, when you long to call her but never do, indigo when you see her in every crowd, and the ache in your heart has gone beyond blue, indigo when you wonder if anything will ever seem bright again and all the memories only mock you and make dawn seem like some impossible joke, indigo when the world goes on without you.

Violet just before dawn when you remember that all you have bought so dearly in the dark has made you royal, a queen's daughter worthy of another's hand, another chance and most of all made you able to be yourself in any kind of light, you are the rainbow woman, ready for red again, and knowing that all that gorgeous gold of the fairy tale is real, is in you, and will always be there, right next to your heart, for the right woman, or yourself, to find.


Saturday, November 22, 2008


A chocolate cupcake joins the army,

But there are problems from the start.

The cupcake has no arms,

And so cannot take bayonet practice--

He is in fact repulsed by the very idea.

"I am a sweet baked treat;

Little children love me,

And I bring cheer to everyone."

The cupcake's sergeant is displeased--

The cupcake's uniform is waxed but not starched;

And to add to his troubles,

He has no mouth with which to cry "Sir! Yes Sir!"

But just when everything looks most bleak,

An army wife says, "Hello, Lonesome."

She looks right and left, but her husband is off doing manly things.

She runs an O.P.I.-painted nail across his little paper ribs, and says

"Come to Mama."

As he is lifted closer to her Max Factored lips,

His little chocolate heart expands with joy.


Thinks the cupcake,

"A military career is not really my destiny."

Shivering with satisfaction, the army wife closes her Covergirl eyes and sighs,

"God bless America!"


Thursday, November 20, 2008

Snow On Branches

When I'm feeling cold and bare,

She's like snow on branches--

She covers me in soft protection,

Turning what was stark, pretty

Every time I hold out my arms.


Bread On The Bottom

It had been a long day.

Two guys waiting to buy beer were behind me in line,

Having a loud conversation about football.

While I was paying, the bagger put my bread on the bottom--

Harder objects claimed its space,

And though, when I got it home, the loaf still smelled wonderful,

There was no removing the dents each sturdy can and object

Had made.


Thieving Varmint

Oh, you thieving varmint.

You blew into town on the noon stage,

And don't think that I don't know

You're a woman with a past;

Back east, you scandalized the one-room schoolroom

When you wouldn't recite "My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose"

And all that other rote sh*t they tried to cram down your throat.

Oh don't think that I don't know

That there's some poor dumb sodbuster someplace

Wondering where his little woman went.

Don't think that I don't know

That dance-hall girls from Topeka to Santa Fe

Keep your picture tucked in their garters.

I'm well aware

That you keep a few extra aces

Tucked up your sleeve,

And a derringer in your boot.

But what I can't understand

Is why, when I look at anything from Boot Hill to Old Blind Bob

I see your smile instead.

My heart was right here a minute ago

Until I bumped into you,

And now it's scarcer than those quarter horses from the Circle Bar Tee.

Oh, you beautiful blond-haired

Thieving varmint!


Sunday, November 16, 2008

My Window

My window was broken.

The rain came in.

The things on my pantry shelves were ruined--

The sugar

The flour

The salt

And my kitchen grew so quiet and still.

I hadn't the heart to fix it.

I thought, I have somehow invited this rain,

This destruction;

So I became the rain

And wept.

Only my dreams still brought fine aromas

And comforting warmth.

In the dark, a woman said to me,

There is still honey

And peppermint candies,

There is still a morning

Dusted on my skin.

When I opened my eyes,

I put on the morning mist as if it were a silken robe.

I cleaned my stove until it shone,

And then went to lean in my window

Looking for the woman who needs my kiss,

Wants some breakfast,

And knows how to fix broken windows.



(Do you believe that you may have lived before, in another body and another time? I wrote this some while back, about a "memory" I had been struck with rather powerfully, in my 20s, and then had it confirmed, even more vividly, under hypnosis many years later.)

I remember this...

Making our mad way through a forest of legs

To see what boomed off the buildings;

The bombast of the drums coming back off the bricks behind us,

The Black Watch with their pipes playing Scotland the Brave

And little us,

Tiny us,

Ragamuffins from no place,

A brother and sister holding hands to keep from being separated by the crowd

As drums beat into our hearts a music so strong and loud that i can feel the pavement-shaking dazzlement of it all

Lifetimes later

In a body that was never even there.


Thursday, November 13, 2008


What strange gospel

Condemns your sons' happiness?

Reviles your daughters' joy?

How sacred the heart

Which partakes but will not share

Because the fare is different?

How righteous the hand

Which sows judgement and exclusion,

Reaping disconnection and the misery of others?

Behold these holy,

And see them for what they are--

Ravening lions

Devouring their own childrens' hearts.


Wednesday, November 12, 2008

English Morning

(I am a day late. Someone waylaid me! Happy Anniversary, my love. This is for you.)

Sometimes I am too much in the world--

My limbs knock together like stones, I am so protected.

Then, time spent with you changes everything--

Every place you touch turns to honey and jasmine.

Because of you, I remember who I am--

Under your touch, and in the light of your love,

Your woman opens,

She flows,

In brilliant soft blooms, she shapes your name before the jealous eyes of Heaven.