Merry go round

Merry go round-

Spinning, faster, faster

a twirling metallic

merry go round

and when or where it


nobody knows.

Feeling caught.

Feeling trapped.

In the inner corner

of a blank page.

words left the station

so long ago

not much left to say.



silly nonsensical

rythmes to pass the



I just want


of this puking frenzy

of a Merry a go round.

My feet hit the grass lightly

linger upon pavement

making no sound.

feeling invisible-

like I did when I was

very little.

Just want off

of this



Merry go wheel.

Tire swing

Swaying in the breeze

swinging sometimes

in a tire swing.

Summertime memories,

are frozen in time.

Something akin to a snapshot,

of a childhood forgotten.

The wind in your hair.

A smile among freckles and a single moment,

where you did not care-

for anything more than the

Sun on your bare skin and

the feeling of freedom

in the wind.


when i was very young, perhaps 5 years old,
i made a fish-bowl out of tissue paper and black construction
papers. i do not know why but at the time,
it seemed to be my most valuable and prized
possession.Anyways this kindergarten masterpiece, i decided to entrust to my grandmother, my mother’s mother. She had fish tanks herself of guppies and things.I do not recalled if there were joy and pride in her eyes-but i do know they shone bright. i will always remember from that moment forward somethng inside me changed for the better. i was no longer just a small child or little girl, i was an ”artist” too.All because of the way she accepted my gift, my treasure,she showed respect and awe. i blushed and felt warm all over, like i did a “good”or “right” thing.i will never forget that precious moment, i wish somebody had saved that picture for me, but i was not from that sort of family-childrens drawings were not taken seriously-except of course for my grandmother, she was a rare gem.

Lonesome little me

Lonesome Little me,

All my long-timer friends, have gone-their own way,

me alone, with moments too few and far between,

of something strange called clarity.

Little Lonesome me,

hung up on memories,

of nouns: persons, places or things,

that once used to be.

It is something which divides us all-

this adult life, from the life of a child.

We have long ago put away our childish toys,

and gone home. Then we grew up and moved so far away.

We became someone “different” someone “new” someone”grown-up”.

We’ll some of us did and others obviously did not,

in certain rare cases.

Lonesome Little me…

remembers when the curfew was,

when the streetlights came on?

Little Lonesome me,

remembers all those friends, she thought, she knew,

she’d have forever…but then one day Life showed up & just

got right in the way, of all the jazz, all the song and dance, on my “forever friends”,

of youth, childhood, and teenager daydreams.

Lonesome little me,

she remembers sadly, that sometimes things

are their very best,

right before they end.

Oh, Lonesome me…