I’m Not An Italian Poetess


Typical Monday, it seems. Tried making lunch, while writing my feelings. Epic fail ensues, as thoughts continue to pursue my mind. Forcing me so easily to forget the time.

Poet’s are always lyrical, definitely this one, it seems. I can’t get past writing this as poetry. Stick a knife in my side. Please, won’t you abide? My friends, don’t write and bake, unless burned pizza is all you’re willing to take. My wishes sincere, once again, don’t do both while planning to eat, you won’t win.

Thankful I have a few other attributes that keep you coming around. Like maybe my smile or even my frowns. Tears shower plenty upon these walls, oh God, stop her before she continues to pitfall.

Laughter begins, oh look, a grin! Yep, tis possible, she’s drunk again. No, my friends, it isn’t so. I’m just handling a Monday, so far as this one goes…

Loyal followers, stay with me, please. This is only going to hurt for a minute. Slap happy grins is how I’ll spin it, you’ll see.

She’ll never be an Italian chef
and poetess, too
just look at what
wandering thoughts
can do…

Writer’s multitasking summer,
kitchen’s a wreck,
lovely ideas interrupt
baking, for endless possibilities,
if only I would’ve stopped to check…

This homemade pizza now crisp
and slightly burned, tis true
thankful, in the end
this treat,
is simply a vessel for brew…


I should go back into the Houston sun. It’s just delightfully hot and humid here. Yeah, I know, I’m almost done. The end is near…


Aurora’s Visit


Aurora whispered this morning
As golden water developed
Within a sunrise
Every moment is a blessing
She encouraged with her glow
Thankful for the wink, felt
Shining across fair skin
As a pelican soared by
Sealing my radiance, her gift
Salty air takes ownership of red hair
A curl wraps around my nose
And I inhale hope
Flutters of joy
Upon my breasts
While Aurora releases me
Back into reality, sensing
My desire to shine
Lapping of the gulf’s waves
Felt by both she and I

Wild West


For him, a place to sit,
Question the realities of life,
How to shape Texas into,
A dream, for he and his wife.
This step back in time,
Leaves me wondering,
Was this his perch for surveying,
The objects that were now rightfully his,
A new life, someday with kids.
Perhaps he offered this space to her,
Because he loved to watch her sew,
Soaked in a morning’s summer glow,
While he sat opposite the porch.
Upon that wooden stump,
Pondering her position, her post,
Maybe he had needs and wants.
Or did he have something else in mind,
Feeling fortunate having found,
A picture perfect setting,
To drive his senses wild.

A Way About Her


She has a way about her,
That’s what they’ve always said.
Blushes from the inside out,
Does it to herself, often, she dreads.
Others noticing, believing she naive,
What they’ve failed to catch,
All along, is her authenticity.
Along with the hints, and whisperings,
Just now being perceived.
Tips full of sunshine,
With a body full of hopes and dreams.