Green Fairies

They stood at the boarding docks
watching their son wave farewell,
as his aunt held each shoulder
on the boat called Kris Kringle.

My brother, Russ, was only six now
As he clung to his Huygen book,
(Not a new obsession)
He had named the blue fairy.
“Jess”, he would whisper, he was afraid
to say my name too loudly.

Our mother, Sydney A. Plathe, stood
Pale with eyes sunk in, waving
as our father, Bruce Plathe, stood stern,
But the little boy sensed
Nothing of what was to come.

As I stood beside him I saw
Our aunt quench her tears
As she smiled down at Russ;
then the two began to run
onto the child’s deck filled
with games, sugar, and fun.

I continued to linger on,
I watched as mother grabbed
At her stomach and dad
Tried to catch her before she
Plummeted into the water.

I watched as he dove in to save
what little was left of her life.
And he clung to her sopping on
The rotting planks, as she held
A finger to his quivering lip.

“Let Russ know that I too will fly
With the fairies. That Jess and I
Will flutter our wings as pixies
In the gardens and the forests
Never forgetting about him.

And may you forever know the man
You forever were to me, was more
Than I could have hoped for.
I love you Bruce,
my eternal groom.”

She then saw me and her finger dropped,
“Oh my fairy godmother is here
to retrieve me,” she now struggled
for breath as she reached out her
hand and together we flew away.

San Fernando Cathedral Revised

The Sun’s heat peeked between green leaves.
Shadows swayed across our faces.
Daintily, water trickled down
a three-tier bisque Spanish fountain.
Together we ventured through the
cumbrous doors of San Fernando Cathedral.

The walls were coated in gold gloss.
Jesus hung before us, arms spread
upon his cross, his head, limp, rests
on his chest, appearing to hang
in a transcending devotion.

A zephyr of wind helps to urge
us in, and caused the flames of prayers
encompassing us, to cavort
like the violent seas of summer.

Faith is a virtue to which we
were strangers, but in our darkness
we sought answers; enlightenment.

Together we knelt striving to
light that candle without a wick.
You remember the one…

and we bowed our heads in silence;
I prayed for you my friend.
I prayed for us.
I prayed for Jordan,
although our love was still so young.
I prayed for anyone whom I held high.
I prayed for no more pain,
No more turmoil to disturb
our finally perfect waters
of friendship, after years of deceit.

I cry now to whatever God
in that sky that wishes to consistently
curse me with this eternal enimity.
Friendship and faith play hand in hand,
they both are things I question
and cannot be seen.

Sorority Reject

I am not a product of
this plastic institution.
Vermilion spanish roof tops,
with brown and orange,
spew out smoke and pollute the air
with superficial nonsense.

From Murray to Jones I lunge
back and forth and back and forth
across black stones and traffic.
I walk against the current
I'm the Coriolis breeze.

Girls follow concrete conveyor belts
heads high with greek inscriptions
across their chests; label them
to tell the world they have paid
the inflated cost for friends.

I prefer my life of solitude
over their lives of false intention.

Trapped Within This Open Grave

Isolated in this drawn out hell,
I find only despair.
I cry out but I am mute,
I cry to myself…but I am dead.

The wraith stands before me,
he calls to me to join him;
I look before him,
fearless.

Night has fallen and,
the light at the end of this,
open grave I have fallen into,
is not yet Visible,
but I know it is there,
I will discover myself again.

November 11, 2004

The Dawning

He sat high upon his throne of life’s experience and wisdom. His modest grin was surrounded by the prickly pear of his cheek and chin. He rubbed his hand against his face creating a sound that stung my ears, as he looked to the distance in deep mediation. I had traveled so far only to witness this magnificent figure of knowledge. I sought an answer to my life; a life lacking a cumbersome significance. I stood before him in silent awe, my mind so consumed in wonder that my mouth could not speak. For so long I had read his script, followed his words, worshiped his tongue. I often imagined what he could look like and fantasized exploring his mind. I pictured diving in and feeling his words consuming my soul; this idea alone made me shiver.

At once he caught my stare and opened his mouth to take a sigh. His warm brown eyes invited me in, I walked in a trance to his vicinity. His silver hair glistened so bright that a halo encircled his head. This angel of God had for so long spoke the words of perfection to my heart.

“Why do you hesitate,” he asked; his voice so deep and crisp that my heart began to flutter. His hands so callused from his pen was held out to my intended chair. I sat, as he spoke, “My child, do not hesitate, do not question or ponder your purpose or significance. What is life without life itself? Why do you waste your time seeking a humble life as my own instead of taking hold of your own? Carpe Diem, seize this day! You never know when it is your last. Do not wallow in the seas of ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’. Regret will not change the past it shall only deepen the wounds. “So far have you ventured my child only to sit in the Café Verone when outside life does persist. You listen to my meaningless babble, you lean on my own life values to measure your own. You are a creature so unique, created perfect for your own path, the path in which you pave. So what is your choice, rubble, rocks, bronze, or gold? Seek your own fulfillment. Take all the experience and life you possess and cherish it for it is your own. One chance is all you have been gifted live it wisely.

I sat for a moment again his words had sung to me their beautiful ballad. My heart did not pump blood; instead harmony pulsed through my veins. At that moment my world altered my mind widened my eyes opened. The suns warmth peered through the window beside me blanketing me with such warmth. The sun, the moon, the sky, to them I turn to now, for they gift me with Today.

Whispers of History

With dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares,
Screams and howls are heard from that darkness
presented this warm summer night.
The moon gives little of its beacon,
its comforting light; instead darkness blankets
the path mischief follows.

With giggles and ill-intention, they struggle
Against the wind, which whistles in such a
Way you can hear it’s whispered urges:
“Turn…turn…turn away!”
But mischief does not take time to hear the
Commands of nature.

Mischief is too ignorant in this world,
to understand the threats of another realm.
He is just common man, seeking excitement
In their humdrum life. Something about this path
Calls to them, almost as if by name, and they
Eagerly await the surprise of what it could be.

A mixture of emotion fills the small group as
mischief charges the rotting steps to the aging
wooden portal. With only a moments hesitation
an invisible force opens the door, revealing the
cobwebs, dust, and emptiness of this old mansion.
But through this emptiness, stories unfold.

The floral paper glued onto the walls years ago peels
away from the ceiling; trying to escape the cursed walls
of this manor. The screeching floor boards give evidence
of the past’s presence, and the shrilling whistles through
the cracks murmur warnings of lurking shadows infesting
the estate. But what awaits them as they step in…

what presents the entire tale of the tried and twisted
sole inhabitant of this dreary home waits at the top of
the stair well; a faint mist, a spectre in the dark;
her figure forms, her head tilts to her side,
her neck reveals the remains of her rope burns
her arms hang, lifeless, at either side of her black dress.

Her moans of the past send mischief into a fright.
With it’s breath, a tale of agony escapes the lonely
heart of this lone soul. She begins to glide down
the stairwell, eager to greet her visitors on this
cold winter night, but mischief turns away, escapes!

They run through the dark woods until the clearing.
Never again will they go to sleep at night with a
peace at mind. Those empty eye’s of the cursed
woman will always haunt them, lingering in their
minds. They will scratch at their face as they
can feel the sensation of her hair laying over
them. They shiver as they feel her cool breath.

Their dreams will be filled; not with dreams at all
but with the nightmare that her life provided. Sins;
sins of lust and hate, and the tragic price for such
err, the death of something evil. Suicide, generation
after generation of suicides, until they find themselves
in this world, almost possessed, and find her end, their own.

…mischief is no more.

San Fernando Cathedral

The Sun’s heat peeked between green leaves
as its shadows danced across our beaming faces
and we walked proud before the old stone fountain
across Main Plaza and into San Fernando Cathedral.

Beyond the cumbrous door we ventured into the
sanctuary of gold gloss. Jesus hung before us,
arms spread upon his cross, and head rested on his chest,
this Messiah appeared to hang in a silent prayer.

The breeze from outside caused the candles
surrounding us along the walls to cavort like a sea
of flames swaying to the rhythm of their own melody.
We lacked in faith, but a hopeful heart closes no doors.

Together we knelt and attempted to light that candle which
had no wick. You remember the one…and we made a prayer,
I prayed for you my friend. I prayed for us. I prayed for Jordan.
I prayed for anyone else whom I held high. I prayed for no more pain,

No more turmoil to disturb our finally perfect waters of friendship.
I cry now to whatever God in that sky that wishes to consistently
curse me with this eternity of permanent lack of affinity.
It is like a void that must constantly haunt me.

Creatures of the Night

What is in the night
that presents the whimsical
wonders not in the light?
Is there not a morning fog?
Ghosts consistently haunting your thoughts.
Do vampires not run our world?
Do witches not sit on their porch?
Frankenstein has been spotted
picking daisies with children.
What creatures swim in the lake?
What skeletons hang in your closets?
Can not the real demons
the demons of sin
only exsist in man's wake?

Numinous to Newton

The waters roar
and pipe the divine hymn
(every verse I know by heart)
and my mind begins luring
into the past.

I no longer stand the same
that figure of faith
no longer remains.
I once pranced in circles
on this monotonous path
which encloses Your power
in Your garden of creation.

Paths that led away
from your cradle
I was afraid to take.

I have bitten the apple
which gravity pulled
from this tree, and I'm now
ken to the prosperities
of those paths.
I find that my stride
has come to a halt
and I now hesitate
Between knowledge and faith.

Behind Dark Curtains

Our susurrus secrets only echo
in the ringing of our wineglass
on which we purse our lips
with eloquence and charm;
my soul is drawn into you.
Within your brimming heart
I find the joys of love deceiving
my name cannot be found.

What is this twisted tango that
I am entangled in?
Our legs
intertwined,
Our eyes
entranced,
Your lips
graze mine,
Your breath
dances on my neck.

You step out of turn
and our dance of passion
may have sought its end.

I fall to my knees
as tears cling to my cheek,
and desperately struggle
embracing my jaw
they dangle
Hoping for the lighter path
which takes refuge within my bosom.

As the icy wind of reality
caresses every scrap of my skin
the drops lose their grip
landing only in smither-ins.

Who I Was; Was Yesterday

Oh what ever happened to the days,
of youth’s tangible fantasies,
and the essence I once portrayed;
without my four allies these
are deadened by the ringing
of my sole loneliness and despair;
finding my gifts of empathy
and my loss of sanity to be
losing their consistency
and leaving me with nothing to
leave behind in my name,
unlike what with them I could be;
Keanue Reeves in Constantine
and his gifts from beyond
of which together we all portrayed.
What good is my single talent
without the focus on the beyond’s
voice and sound that they cry out,
all I know is what they create
me to feel, and now suffer.

Misplaced

It is the steam that rises
off of the Arctic Ocean
as a shining star
hangs in an afternoon sky.

It is a seagull that soars
over the blazing sandy seas
of the West Texas Desert.

It is the bright red blood that drains
from the strong tin soldier,
and stains the black tarp below him.

It’s a schizophrenic in his own mind.
It’s a ballerina, who twirls to silence,
in front of a blind audience.

It is an unpunishing God,
who damns his own angels to hell.

January 7, 2002

The tears that I pour out
Can not extinguish this flame of fury
That has grown to surround me.
The smoke fills my lungs,
As I sob and gasp,
The heat causes beads of sweat
To caress my face,
In just the way he no longer will.

Alone I sit and balance
On this point of limbo,
The happiness of yesterday,
That has lead to this misery of today.

My mouth tastes of vomit
My eyes scream of pain
My heart dead in my chest
Crushed.

As I stare down to the end of this
dark tunnel that is held here before me,
I cannot see the bullet but I find
Comfort in knowing it’s there.

On my knees I beg and plead,
Only to look upon his back,
so from these flames I conjure
The spirit of my father.
His gentle smile does not
Ease the pain.
I look him square in the eyes,
Resenting his ignorance
To this pain, and I wail,
“Go, be useful to me spirit,
Cause havoc and fear
In his safety net,
Create fear,
Fear towards me
Fear towards love
Fear of eternal dread.

Curse you,
You arrogant ass,
your songs of lies
have been discovered
by me,

I am the nightmare
That from this point
Will forever haunt
Your dreams,
your thoughts,
your heart.

Your deception,
No longer may run its course.
These padded white walls
Will confine you,
from lashing your venom
and poisoning the minds
of the innocents,
for I hold the key.

My Old Blue Raven

For so long
I was the cage of his entrapment.
After struggling years to clip
The coverts of his wings

I surrendered.
I began to understand
And see his undying strength
For the rare beautiful gift it was;

And I opened the door to freedom.

I stand in awe now
As I see the span of his wings
As he fly’s across the night sky.

I know
With the strength of his wings
will remain the strength of our love
even through our eternal separation to come.

As he flies
Overhead, across my zenith
I can hear those unrelenting words
Cried my old blue raven
Nevermore!

Withheld Confessions

Deep within I repressthe knowledge
that pride holds within
As I sit in confession
I cry of shame and hatred
To myself.
But from my lips
No such confession doth fall.
I am a woman,
Strong and proud
To sit and wail
will only waste today
There is no legend or mystery
That does not come from those
Who do not take some thought
to the grave...

Feigning Flurries

The snow flurries fiercely swirl through the air
against night's dark canvas, creating a mystical array
and stab at Maime’s face like icicles shot from a bow.

Stumbling in the night from the bar, filled up with booze
her fragile frame follows this path along the water’s edge.
She trusts it each night, to lead her to safety, to home.

Something strange was lingering tonight, it sang its song;
through branches, through leaves, through the harsh breeze.
The cold air stings at her lungs, creating a difficulty to breathe.

The wind blows as the old woman falls into the river’s flow.
She cries out, but distant from all life, no one can hear.
With all her strength she struggles to escape, in deep fear.

In breath’s last moments, all she has to cling to is memory;
but even that stings harsher than the cold of the waters,
All she could recall through life, love; it all was mimicry.

...truth is

I miss him! I do, I do
I cannot lie or if I try
You would see it

I love him! My heart
Cannot withstand
holding it, a deep secret

I am bare! Before you
I stand hollow for
You hold the mold

I love you! My heart
Sings your sweet ballad
Everyday in every way

But it beats! For both.
You seek comfort you
Won’t find in my mind.

September's Warnings

September’s light warm breeze
Swept against my cheek
Changing the course
Of my delicate tears
Which clung to my soft skin
As I still cling to yesterday.

But just as the physics of it’s crawl
I knew that all that could
Remain was the residue
of our memory in my heart.