Category Archives: Poem Story

trapped in a snowglobe

Merging the ballerina on the jewelry box with the little person in the snow globe, this is me. Dancing to my own beat, twirling in my own little circle, but not going anywhere. The snow is falling all around me, a fresh coat every day. A little song to cheer me up and wind my gears. But as soon as the fake little flurries settle to the plastic earth around me, my globe is tipped upside down and shaken up. Passed from one hand to another, controlled for how long I twirl and when I twirl. Controlled with who holds my globe and marvels at it. How I feel bad for the little pocket of air that is trapped at the tippy top of my see- through sphere. It bobs from one side of the sphere to the other and slides back and forth over the surface that it is allowed to be close to. It has the ability to see the edge of things and get close to translucent freedom. But the glass barrier keeps us all in. My little bit of snow, the water that surrounds me and I’m stuck on this perch twirling in endless controlled circles. I hope one day someone drops my globe and lets it shatter to the hard floor. I’ll gather all my pieces, sweep up my fake white flurries and twirl into another open sphere. But for now, I’m trapped in a snow globe on display for all my mistakes and made to do as my handlers want of me, the same little twirling circle, on the same gears wound by them that hold the key to my freedom from this glass hell. 

Bluebeard’s Dead Little Dancer

I lay in your bed nightly, haunting your sleep as you feel

my breath forever with you.

Never to have another woman in your bed,

a tale that has been reversed

you have prevailed.

You admired my dances, from the audiences you awed, clapped and watched.

Capturing me with your heart I was yours forever to keep.

My feet

always moving for you.

Your bloody chamber, your gallery closet with the key you gave.

I was not to open your past and the things I have been told,

I was not to trust what others were to say, they

were the keys dangling before me.

You gave me all the other keys, the things

for me to trust.

The clinking of voices was the curiosity that lead me to your locked door.

I snuck in hoping you wouldn’t notice.

I had to know what it was that you kept from me.

The jangling of the voices telling me to hack and see.

My inner death was the loss of you.

My real death was the passing

of time that you still long for.

I linger and hang around

hoping you will notice my presence.

Hoping you call out to me, the moment

you call back

I can return from my grave of silence

and dance

for my Bluebeard

and change our ending.


He and She Stay With Me

She waits outside his building

Waits until someone else opens the door until she can slip in

The white concrete block walls seem sterile in the corridor she walks down

Finding the door to the stairs she argues in her head what she’s doing as she takes each step upward

Standing in front of the thick brown door

She softly raps on the hard surface with her clenched knuckles

Hopefully he won’t hear it

Just as she’s turning away he opens  the door and looks into the hall

Looks right at her with a question on his face

He leaves the door open and turns back inside to plop down on the blue couch that is in the middle of the living area

She follows him in staring at the back on his head

His dark hair and tall muscular build

She closes the door behind her

He looks up at her from the couch as she tries to muster up some type of sentence

Any cluster of words would do at this point

With tears in her eyes she softly says, “I can’t do this anymore.”

She puts her face in her hands and starts to sob

He gets up from the couch and lovingly takes her face in his hands

He lifts her chin up

Her eyes now staring up at him

In the softest whisper he says, “I know.”

He looks deep into her eyes and with her small face in his hands

All the built up passion and longing that he has he locks lips with her

Pulling away exhausted of breath he whispers one last thing, “I won’t let you go again, stay with me.”

Popsicles and Pages

Queen bed with downy sheets.

Silence of turning pages and faint slurps.

In her big t-shirt and little pink shorts, she flips the pages of her book.

He plays footsie with her cold toes under the chilled linen.

The novel in front of her materializes in her mind with each new paragraph.

As she contemplates the authors words, her tongue licks the blue popsicle that’s poised in her hand. jap2

Her little tongue flicks as her crystal eyes focus on the white pages in front of her.

It brings him tranquility when he looks over now and again from slurping up his own purple popsicle.





A giggle escapes his purple stained lips as he watches her struggle over turning a page while the blue dye melts down the wood popsicle stick and on to her now sticky fingers.

Sucking her finger tips in the most tantalizing way to rid her of the blue syrupy evidence, he tries to distract her from her nightly reading.

Finally with the pages put to rest and the popsicle sticks on the bedside table.

The simple serenity of a concentrated silent night bring both him and her childish bliss.

White Sheets

White Sheets.

Tangled between our legs.

She lays her freezing hands on him. He mumbles can you wake me later?

She runs her fingertips from his neck to his chest.

A brisk breeze rustling through the cracked shutter.

She gets up as the daylight bathes her delicate little body.

The rays of sunlight tangling up her body like the now half empty sheets behind her.

The cool chill just prickling her scrunched up face.

22460569-208-k342853A deep breath as she inhales the briskness.

Picking up his shirt off the walnut colored finished wood of the corner reading chair,

She pulls it over her nude dainty shoulders and buttons it up.

The hem barely exposing the cresent moons under her tiny tushy.

Shuffling her sock covered size sixes on the wood floor she slides over to the stove.

The scent of chai tea latte brewing blows through the apartment along with the Autumn wind.


She wipes the sleep from her eyes.

Steam rising from the pot.

The warm rush of milky beige liquid into two white porcelain cups,

One in each hand,

Doddering over to the sleeping figure in the sea of messy white sheets.

He stirs as the aroma of chai reaches his nose.

With a stretch and a sigh he sits up to see his love.

A small smile spreads to his lips as he takes in the view,

His oversized shirt hanging on her small body with her bare legs and tousled blonde hair.

In a swift motion his legs swing over the side of the bed.

Walking over to his dearest, he wraps his arm around her while taking his cups and leads her to the corner chair.

The plush red reading chair with walnut colored finished woods next to the window.

Sitting down he pulls her body to him and snuggles her close.

The gentle wind chilling their bones, making them cuddle closer.

Sharing tea and the beauty of Autumn.

Crinkled white in the background.

Simplicity in essence in the foreground.