Poetry has always been our primary outlet throughout life.  This archive contains poetry we wrote while we were 24 years old

*RECENTLY FOUND AND ADDED: (as of February 2011)

*All She Ever Wanted

All she ever wanted was
To lie facing North with

The soft breeze tickling her
Feet, like white organza.

Dip her toes in the sands
Of the oceans and suspend

Time in a droplet, rolling with the tide
On the banks of a blue sunset.

All she ever wanted was her
Face in the stars, giddy on

The red dust of Mars.  Her head
Cradled in the lap Orion

Soul Desire

Forbidden passions come alive
and there is nowhere to
fall but inside myself.
All focus is out of control.

I am captivated by our transgression,
that our simple touches might flame
beauty and inspiration between artist souls.

Yet yearning for anything brings
uncertainty, tears of reality,
sending my mind and heart reeling, body aching.

Why do I cry but for
what transpires between our bodies,
our mouths, our minds. Delight.

*WORDS (unedited from the original)


I sit here on my non-ergonomically crafted chair staring at my invisible anti-glare screen trying to form a story that does not come off as being banal at best.
Seems that the Television has been stolen, a composition of Friends underlying my thoughts. Seeps and growls.pools

Almost There

Brilliant bellowing yesterday swept through the door and penetrated my skin,
oozed into my soul and averted my path.  Just when I think I am Almost There, I’m nowhere, with swirling madness gurgling black at my feet. 
I’d like to pull the darkness over my shoulder and bundle it all up into a paper ball.  
I can’t think of enough four letter words to ward off the evil soaking into my garments.
If I bleed a cup of perfume and pour it over my porcelain white body in a ceremonial-like ritual, if I gave birth to a farrow in which they could cast their pearls, would I appease the gods?
The answers never comes, I just stumble back and forth over trodden ground
waiting for divine intervention while my skin is jumping out of itself. There is always a capsule, a pipe, a bottle, somewhere to climb, to shelter myself from reality.  Lack of intuition pools in my mind while it leads me to the place I am going.

Looking For

I was looking for
A letter you wrote

Behind the recipe
Cards in my box

I forgot I threw it away

I Was Here

Three simple words etched in the sand “I WAS HERE”.  
The tide rises gently, falling and rising higher
until the white surf washes the words into the sea.  

Bona Fide

Sometimes I just want to tell you to get off my boat
Because you are putting holes in my sail
You’re setting me back, and convalescence is part of my penalty.
You’re turning my ocean into a wasteland
Making love, philosophizing, and beating a path apart.
I’ll let you go from my arms and I fear,
My soul will not fare the same.
Sooner than you think.
Your bosh blah blah blah and heartfelt feelings because your “bona fide”
Professed, you still talk too much,
Your afraid because the grass is only temporarily
Green and I am going to turn brown, because in your mind
That’s the way it will always be.