Song of the Thorn Bird

Song of the Thorn Bird

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Silent Man's Song

She found him, she loved him
She, his only dream,
She left him, she broke him
His heart torn at the seam.

Winter came…

He loved her, he hated her
No other would he find,
He damned her, he cursed her
Pushed her from his mind.

Not again…

Closed his heart, closed his soul
No one to come inside,
Kept them out, kept them back
His heart he’d always hide.

Locked away…

He grew up, he spread his wings
As his heart grew cold
He looks back, he looks in
Could he really be this old?

Deep inside…

He seeks more, he needs more
Will he ever believe?
But she quit him, she wrecked him
Long ago, he’d been deceived.

Then, one day,
one day,
one day,

She came back, she found him
Now he, her only want,
She needs him, she loves him
The memories, how they haunt.

Could it be?

He walks away, runs away
Won’t let her come back in,
Flees from her, turns from her
Love, his greatest sin.

Not a chance…

It burned him, it turned him
Out into life’s cold winds,
Opened him, revealed him
‘Twas pain without an end.

Still, today…

He keeps her out, keeps her back
Defends his heart ‘er well,
Stands aloof, and stands alone
The price, he’ll never tell.

But, what if?
What if?
What it?

She yearns for him, she waits for him
Her heart, here to stay,
Longs for him, calls out to him
"What’er the price, I’ll pay.”
“What’er the price, I’ll pay!”

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Mad Hatter's Choice

Once upon a time, women adored
a man in a top hat
donned in black tie and tails
sauntering with a gentleman’s cane
with a gentleman’s air.
      Good Evening!
      You look lovely this evening.
      May I have this dance?
      After you.
      You dance delightfully.
      May I call on you and your family later this week?
      I have your father’s permission to make you my wife.

Call me Mad as a Hatter, but I prefer the
man in faded jeans
dressed in white oxford, untucked
walking with confidence and contentment
with a gentle man’s heart.
      Hey, babe!
      So good to see you.
      You look amazing tonight.
      Let’s dance.
      Take my hand.
      It feels good with you in my arms.
      C’mon, love, let’s go on home.
      Will you share the rest of your life with me?

Yes, Mad Hatter that I am,
I much rather prefer the man in faded jeans…..

   Inspired by Magpie Tales.

Friday, April 23, 2010

From Within

She looks upon the reflection of silver streaks,
softened curves, fuller shape and time-kissed face.
No longer the dark-haired beauty of yesteryear,
basking in the glow of youth, secure in the lure of her splendor
to draw them in, to find her way.

No sadness found within the looking glass.
Smile dawns upon the contented likeness.
Today’s confidence no longer coupled with façade,
rather from life-lesson, realization, & heart.
She looks upon the reflection of one she’s grown to love.

Friday, April 16, 2010


If time were trapped in a pocket watch
     golden timepiece that could be rewound
     to a single defining moment
    changing the course of an entire lifetime,
Would I go back to that right turn just to go left?
     to that yes to shout “No!”?
     to that no to whisper “Yes.”?
     to take back the dream snatched from my grasp?
     to reject what was “just for the best”?

This time-catcher, caressed by patina of time
     remains just an ordinary pocket watch
     tick-tocking away the moments of my life
     metronome to each judgment made in the moment.
I would not go back to turn left simply to do so.
     to shout the unpredictable no.
     to whisper the unanswerable yes.
     to dream a forgotten reverie.
     to reject what I could not understand.

I stand in this moment with complete understanding
     where I have chosen to be
     with a golden pocket watch, lifetime companion,
     reminding me, “Make the most of what you are given.”

A piece inspired by Magpie Tales.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Neglected Garden

extraordinary in the ordinary
the garden oft' untended
   until the quiet, unplanned moments
when caretaker opens both eye and heart 
    to see the bloom of child's wonder
    to hear the buzz of love's laughter
    to gather blooming bounty

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Lipstick and Lies (Mag 9)

Marah peruses a Cosmo while her sister and the others set up for a Girl’s Night In. She knows she should probably help, but it’s so nice to have a minute to sit and to read something other than weekly reports and the Wall Street Journal. “Hey, Ladies,” she shouts towards the kitchen. “Did you know you can learn alot about a woman by the shape of her lipstick? Let’s see… a slanted tip, close to the original shape reveals a rule-follower. Um, a rounded tip to a point indicates a loveable, people-person. The easy-going, peacemaker will have an exceptionally rounded lipstick end, whereas the high-spirited, debater will have lipstick with a sharp, angled tip. Yep, I have proof now. You're all rule-following sheep!”

Magda, Marah’s sister, saunters over and teasingly snaps, “Which shape indicates a lazy ass who sits while her sister and friends do all the work?” Marah tosses the magazine to the side, opting to contribute to the night’s festivities. Besides, after the week, hell the decade, she has had, nothing sounds better than one of Deidre’s Mojitos with fresh mint from the window box. Off she goes to solve her problems with rum, lime, sugar, fresh mint and a night of debauchery with dear friends.

An hour and four Mojitos later, Marah and the others collapse onto the cream-colored leather of Magda’s oversized sectional. This is the type of evening all the girls long for. An evening without the demands of jobs, men and children, each sprawled out on the couch, somehow interlocked with the woman next to her. This is as close as it will ever get to the slumber parties and innocence of their youth. As much as she loves each woman on that couch and for as long as they have known each other, Marah cannot help but ruminate, “No one here knows me. They think they do, but really, it’s just an illusion. I will never again be that person they assume me to be.  Not since the day that he walked...”

Deidre, conjurer of liquid healing, startles Marah out of her private reverie. “Hey, McDreamy, snap out of it!” Tossing the daydreamer a $20 tube of Femme Fatale heisted from Marah’s own purse, Deidre demands, “So what’s your lipstick say about you, Mar-Mar?” Marah opens the tube, supposedly to reveal her innermost self. Magda leans over, bursts out loud with a horsey little laugh, “Geesh, Mar, you have the funkiest looking lipstick shape ever. Look at the weird curvey-pointy shape.  Here, hand me that magazine!” Magda rips the Cosmo out from underneath her sister's legs to continue the assessment.

“The sharp-angled boxed curve suggests that this person is extremely talkative, very creative, and falls in love easily. Mar, this is so you. You could talk the paint off the wall, you’re practically the poster child for Adult ADHD, and you change boyfriends with the price of gas!” This brings an onslaught of drunken giggles and a mocking that can only come from people who genuinely care. Marah laughs with them, but inside she carries on an entirely different conversation.

Ten years ago, I probably would have agreed. Most assuredly, I am quite the chatterbox with a million whirling dervishes frantically dancing in my mind, so wildly that most of what’s in there scatters and hides. However, the part about “she falls in love easily,” I highly doubt.

Does the sharp-angled boxed curve reveal the fear and trepidation that has frozen this heart that once pumped hope and faith through these veins? Can a tube of lipstick expose this soul’s invisible scars that cause the heart to atrophy? In the curve on that lipstick, will they all finally see the wall, overgrown with hesitation and self-preservation, fortress that protects the shattered spirit? Probably not. I am quite adept at deflecting any real assessment. If these ladies, whom I love dearly, don’t even see the truth, why shatter the illusion now? I can play along with the rest of the world to play the light-hearted lover they expect me to be.

After resetting the defenses of her heart, Marah smiles and lets out a forced laugh. “You’re right. My lipstick is crazy looking. So this curvy part here says I’m creative, enthusiastic, talkative, and fall wildly and madly in love at the drop of a hat, huh? Well, of course I do, you ding-dongs. I mean, ain’t love grand? Especially when love comes in the shape of a yummy lifeguard in Cabo or that lawyer, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Delicious. As a matter of fact, ladies, I have really should run. I met this very charming and very young college boy at Bookman’s Alley last week. I’m going to take the gamble that he’s there tonight, all alone, and perhaps in need of some ‘research assistance’. Pardon me while I go and ‘fall in love easily’ right this very moment. “

With the serenade of catcalls and bawdy words of wisdom, Marah finds her keys, throws the lipstick into the Gucci, and grabs the Cosmo, all with a bravado and swagger that is nothing more than an act. Hurriedly kissing each woman good night, she dashes off as if in a rush to have tryst with a new lover; in reality, she is fleeing before she breaks down and confesses the truth. Once in the shelter of the car, tears begin to flow as sobs escape from behind the fortress wall. In the light of the street lamp, she stumbles through the pages of the Cosmo desperate to read her fortune once more. Finding the page, she reads aloud through sobs in a hushed whisper, “...falls in love easily,” repeating it over and over again. After several minutes, Marah looks up, and to whom she is unsure, begging to know “When? “

A piece inspired by Magpie Tales.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Shattered (Mag 8)

Created from the Master’s loving hand, a painted shell of true beauty
Bestowed upon a head-strong daughter, endeavoring to break free
Given wings and granted freedom from the Father’s tower
Warned of lovely porcelain’s treasure and its enduring power
     freely shared with those who love and give, and it will be safely guarded
     foolishly shared with those who use and take, and its power will be thwarted
Lured into the life, the bed, of the unclaimed Adonis-arms
Fallen, twisted effortlessly by serpent’s whims and charms
Dreamt of happy forever’s, eternal bliss, and “death do us part”
Tumbled words of carelessness, crushed the young and tender heart
     blinded by rose-colored glasses, confessed a love pure and true
     tired by sweet dalliance, declared the flirtation’s end due
Shattered egg, much like the heart, at the feet in a thousand little pieces.
Taught the lesson of careless love-gifting, bringing pain that never ceases.

Inspired by Magpie Tales.  Go check it out!