My Enemy

I’ve seen my enemy
Perched a thousand strong in shadows surround

One thousand million shells hurled
From cannons self inflicted

Running furious a pace of futile design
All defeated in fields of tortured beauty

Lasting holdouts
Breaking walls of stone and flesh

Hunted down in merciless attack
One by one all traces erased from fertile minds

In the distances over time and endless barrage
Shots cry out last undefeatable foe

Chased, perused, hunted and feared
Exchanges powered raging combat

One on one the battle’s hymn
Still standing, firmly planted and refused to die

Infinity trembles wakes of senseless pride
No wall to high nor barrier too deep

The last yet standing
Stalemate’s tortured for ever more

Looking in to eyes fear defeats
My enemy inside

My enemy is me


Vulnerability : The careful art of allowing someone in. Intimacy based in trust.

It’s one of the greatest gifts you can give another. Allowing them in hoping they do not run off with the spoils. Most are just afraid of what we keep locked away. Or is it we ourselves that are afraid of what we protect behind these walls?

A subject of intense joy and sorrow depending on how that trust is used.


Contributed by guest author: Amber

Love bursts forth from your heart:
A dam break, overflowing, overwhelming,
Quenching the thirst of parched hearts.
And yet here I stand,
Alone and silent
In the desert three thousand miles away,
Surrounded by cracked rock and dust,
Withering away.
Merrily you go about your life
Oblivious to pain,
Turning the other cheek to suffering;
Not an offer but a shield,
Carved ice between you and the
Wasteland of my mind.
Your laughter bubbles like champagne,
The cork popping in celebration of
All that is good and fair in your existence;
And yet, here I sit,
Grieving silently over the jagged pieces of my heart
That you, smiling, placed in my hands
Before walking away.

City Streets

Walking always walking
A girl always has to know her surroundings
No stranger to fashionable pain and craggy pavement
The smell of urine soaked sleeping bags fill doorway corners
Lifeless bodies filling the tattered fabric

A streetcar shutters the sidewalk as it rattles along
Clanging vintage bells and rusty iron screeching under the weight
Pedestrians clamor on the street corners
Rouge crossers play chicken with speeding taxis like amateur bullfighters

A faded paper tumble weeds dart in and out of traffic
Heels, flats, boots, sandals and bare feet forging concrete destinations
The smell of soured milk, baked goods and charring meats mix in succession
Stadiums of ripe fruits and vegetables attending the daily street show

Walking, walking always walking
Droves of expressionless faces buzz by obstacles of foreign tourists
Cameras snap pictures
A billion seconds captured in a million scrapbooks

Brigades of humming cars jostle for position
A maze of painted arrows and 3 color color sentinels
The streets are rivers of constant motion
Sounds erupt from under foot as buried trains traffic their human cargo

Storefronts and coffee shops and business of unknown fare
Multistory boxes and turn of the century homes
People, pets and coworkers scattered amongst the cacophony
Sound the inescapable lover, friend and enemy

Lone urchin serenade the masses from your subterranean hall
Three repeated notes on your pawnshop sax
Dented and tarnished the beauty is in simplicity
A quarter races down grate a token of gratitude misses its mark

Shy words, faded reminders, conversations just out of range
Lips move, ears strain, eyes wonder and hide in dime store novels
Public transportation sweating under the burden of millions
Sardine packed rush-hours violate personal spaces

A stray cat darts in to hidden worlds
Pigeons falling from trees of vinyl coated copper vines
No crumb goes uneaten
No trash bin unexplored

Nights fall and mornings rises a tireless ballet with city lights and steaming manholes
No sleep, no rest the arteries of city life
Evaporating liquids filling in low spaces
Occasional rain replenishing the tide

Distant siren a song of graffiti wall
Vacant lots chained forgotten spaces
Cardboard nests strewn littered underpasses
Faceless human forgettens dying at our feet

Travelers commuters repeat in trusted paths
Tree line streets making light of paved over fields
A park, A waterfront, a lone abandoned stroller
Bicycle locked chains on tireless frames

Jogger, family, vendor share the spaces well
Bus drawn masses reaching every corner of the map
Limited horizontal spaces beget mountains of stairs
No lot unexplored transient icons of ingenuity

Walking Endless walking
City by the bay garden of asphalt, concrete and steel
Walking City Streets
No place like here to stop an smell the roses


Playing cards with the Devil
Tricky dances of lost will and dangerous passions
Bottles of desire drawn to lips
Curious hands tempt wanting flesh
Siren’s song bleeding in ears
Crossed boundaries of violated control
Scent burning long awaited dreams
Another gasp of indulgence
Cards expose face in hand
Successive turns excite senses
A battery of stolen moments sweat form every orifice
The temptress plays her final hand
Heart, lungs, time stop
Dark flashes the moment
Thought suspended drowning  pleasures
Utter submission


Temptation takes it’s prize

Silent Goodnight

The sweet smell of her.
Lips slowly tempt delicate warming skin.
Her neck lays open in trusted vulnerability.

Delicate trembling.
Shivers run along fingers of gentle caress.

Locks of long red hair sweep exposed skin.
Hands caress explored open acceptance.
Hearts race to follow beat.
Warm blushes fall below eyes in fixed gazes.

Moist passes.
Lips ache for passionate embrace.
Embraced rivers of excited flesh.
Secure feelings bond endless moments.
Anticipation unfolds in moments yet born.

Red lips will to intimate partners.
Fingers cradling face in hand.
Passionate steps dance closer in each breath.

Reunite sensual moments of long distant companions.
Silent Goodnight passes each passionate kiss.

Broken Glass

Traveled time

A place never seen

Fidgeting moments passed on first meeting

Shy glances

Tempered answers

Careful questions

Precious moments

Smiles gather sun

Radiant warmth

Treading lightly

First impressions made

Mental pictures broken

Nervous pieces crumble to the floor

Friends born upon broken glass

Head Over Heels

Approaching the hill with disdain, I attack each step as a an epic battle between good and evil. The cracks in the aged and weathered concrete serve only as menacing obstacles for the stiletto heal of my boots. Each scuff, each abrasion a wound unto my own body. This city ravenously consumes the very fashion it gives birth too. The burning in my calves ignites upward like raging fires of the California summer. 3, 8, 15 paces in and my heart explodes into action.  Each breath forced form my lungs races to compensate for the focused battle too halt my momentum.  Gravity is a bitch.

30 paces in to this potential death-march between fashion and the constant reminder that sensible makes god damn good sense sometimes. My feet drop like lead weights ever the wiser of the certain disaster that awaits the unwary fault. Judgment is crucial. But the strain upon my body begins to erect walls of uncaring pain on my joints. The ball of my foot tingling with each step. The numbing little toe belches moments of shear terror and complete numbness with increasingly heavier landings. My thoughts of endless plains of flat padded surface consume what has not given way to disgust and utter discomfort.

My lower back cries for mercy as the top of the hill seems to distance itself from my every approach. Survival and will are all that stand between the pinnacle and defeat. My determination sounded by the cry of never stop moving. To stop is to loose momentum and like a disease unchecked it ravages the body and the mind into absolute failure. I will not stop. Childhood memories of “The Little Train that Could” and an endless supply of energy strike bitter blows at my psyche.  I am a grown woman damn it. I will not let that child inside peel away the layers of my real age only to expose a frail and embattled body.

Metabolic my ass. All I want is to get to the top of this god damn hill. 150 paces in upon this battleground and the wounded and dying grip every muscle fiber of my legs tearing away at the last strongholds of endurance. The crest of the hill suddenly appears. The sight is just enough to break my unflinching gaze upon the concrete river below me. Not time to celebrate. The goal is yet unreached. Seemingly unattainable each trip, rain or shine. Only a few clicks of my heals away from the top now. The lone gunner dodging every landmine to take the hill by force of one. But there will be no heroes in this war save one.

The hill behind me throws my sight over my shoulder like a shot. Quickly surveyed my eyes again focus on the flat pavement within reach. The buttons ripped from their holes in my jacket still struggling to reform default shapes; the slivered eyes of an accomplished hunter. Hair pulled back into a ponytail. Sweat trickling down the small of my back and the crevasse between my breast.  The heat radiates from my neck like a boiler set on full. My senses begin to hone in on a muttled thumping in my chest. Ears pounding with each last step towards the end.

Seconds passed like minutes until… “Oh thank god!” The sound of my own voice even startling to myself.  The left foot is the first to reach the top. A sudden rush of blood courses through my body as if all the pressure had just been released from an imaginary damn. But this was no dream, no passing thought. These lucid moments as I steady the pace upon even ground are deafening all their own. My brain quickly surveys the damage. My lungs begin to fill with oxygen as if they had never breathed fresh air in any prior lifetime. Damn you for being so out of shape. I think to myself. Damn you for wearing those pointy, sexy heels. Who cares how sexy your legs look when you are dead in the middle of the road form a heart attack. Sensibility and reality begin to fade into oblivion again as this fashionable amazon approaches her destination. Mind over matter and this trip is my metal of valor. Yes this hill is bad enough in flats. But I can say this hill has been concurred in heels!