Tag Archives: puppy love

Strychnine Summer

Strychnine Summer

An oldie but a goodie…I always remember this poem this time of year.

Impending Summer causes

State dependent memories to invade my mind

Nostalgia triggered by a combination

Of the sun, STP’s “Creep”, and the linger of the sugar factory

Drifting around curves in a maroon ford tempo

Kisha hitting puddles, then American Beauty

Things that I had forgotten

like his brother’s birthday

Left like residual strychnine on my spine

Chlorine, boys and cigarettes

Morrison Hotel and the cliffs

Sheepherder bridge and you.

Oh, what a little wannabe Sylvia Plath I was….

Oh, what a little wannabe Sylvia Plath I was….

I was looking for something that I wrote many moons ago and I came across these dramatic tragedies. You are welcome. I was a very passionate 13 year old. hahahahaah


back in the day

back in the day

I would make mix tapes. I would call a radio station repeatedly and sit with my finger on the pause button (on the tape player that was already on record) just waiting for that first few notes of a song so I could record it asap….

That was special.

If you got a mix tape from me, you knew I was madly in love with you and I had been obsessively thinking of the perfect order, perfect songs, perfect everything….

Now you just make a lame playlist and click burn. It’s relatively easy if you have a nice collection of mp3s, which I do…..

I have made one just today (granted I had to purchase two songs to complete the theme…) but I did it.

I was proud of myself and yet, I missed my tape player. Especially when I saw the scotch tape I no longer needed to record over something and the pencil I no longer needed to rewind ever so lightly to use the tape length perfectly…

Kids today? Lazy. 😉

Mens et manus

Mens et manus

I was thinking, a little nostalgically I suppose today about people I have loved. And the oddest thing occurred to me, something I have briefly pondered before but really examined today: I remember hands.

Some people remember a lover’s eyes, lips, hair, voice, whatever.

Poets write of lips and hips.

“Eyes are the windows to the soul….”

Not for me. I had to really try to think of some people’s eye colors who I should just KNOW but their hands? I can instantly picture them:

How they looked.

How they felt.

If they had callouses or not, and where.

The shape of their nails.

Length of their nails.

Size of their hands.

Whether they chewed their nails or not.

Scars on their hands.

Tattoos on their hands.

Rings that they wore.

Whether their palms were smooth or always wrinkled.

How they held a cigarette.

How they played a guitar.

How they held onto a steering wheel or a gear shift.

Whether they were right-handed or left.

Just a casual thought that makes me smile, I wanted to share.


To be 15 again…

To be 15 again…

Summer breezes speak of puppy love,

boys on skateboards and innocent kisses.

Well meaning lies that drip from lips

like bodies on docks,

firm breasts and cherry chapstick…

Laying in grass, holding hands

counting clouds and freckles; skin constellations

Lemonheads and hair brushed behind ears by a fingertip

the first indications of ancient secrets to be discovered

pupil dilation and shivers of longing…

Wind ravaged hair from the back of a motorcycle

in the cool crisp musk of late night,

Camel filters and Dr. Pepper

your incoherent sleepy whispers

and promise.