iamlizann

THE RED MOON I drove past the spot where I saw my first red moon. I remember its call as it lay in...

Fri, 31 May 2013 23:33:42 -0400

THE RED MOON

I drove past the spot
where I saw my first red moon.
I remember its
call as it lay
in the sky.
I remember.
You told me to
look at the moon.
And I looked up
on a night when my moon
was your moon.
It was the prelude,
the backdrop
to a tale of color
that bled from above
and landed on both
sides of a blank canvas.
It landed
in strokes that
pulsed with trepidation.
Deep breaths of need
dripped from the black
sky onto this porous canvas
called
Once Upon A Time.

©Lizann ‘2013

a different kind of the same. the same different kind. the same. different. the wall breaks....

Sat, 25 May 2013 18:28:02 -0400

a different kind of the same.
the same different kind.
the same.
different.
the wall breaks.
the mirror talks.
the same thing answers.

©Lizann ‘2013

“What if ” is like a broken capillary, a bounty of nothing in a caged fire pit. You...

Mon, 20 May 2013 22:39:13 -0400

“What if ” is like a
broken capillary,
a bounty of nothing
in a caged fire pit.
You can’t go back.
You can’t undo
what already
passed through
“the” portal.
Find it, if you dare,
and scratch away
the marks that
prove you
existed.
You must use
your bare hands
and the tools that
run through your veins
to gnaw away at
the proof.

Find it, if you dare.

©Lizann ‘2013

DUES Life doesn’t owe you anything. The deserving are deemed deserving by whom? You are...

Sat, 11 May 2013 23:32:51 -0400

DUES

Life doesn’t owe you
anything.

The deserving
are deemed deserving
by whom?
You are proud
of your willpower,
you wear it like
a war medal,
you flaunt it like the
antidote to weakness.
Throw away the cure,
for only
in that moment of weakness
you were most beautiful.
Your tales
of perseverance
will only feed those
who hunger for theirs.
And in their hunger
a false security you
will find.

Life doesn’t owe you
anything.

©Lizann ‘2013

It was all a prelude. Every single dot. The real story is unfolding. ©Lizann ‘2013

Tue, 07 May 2013 20:59:11 -0400

It was all a prelude.
Every single dot.
The real story
is unfolding.

©Lizann ‘2013

PLEASE a sign. give it to me, please in a way that will relieve me again. a gesture. show it to...

Fri, 03 May 2013 21:23:09 -0400

PLEASE

a sign.
give it to me, please
in a way that will
relieve me again.
a gesture.
show it to me, please
in your sincerity
and not in curiosity.
a word.
write it for me, please
in a color only
I could understand.

©Lizann ‘2013

PASSING BY In the barrel by the stairs, the one with splintered stains and a faded bottom, you...

Fri, 26 Apr 2013 19:02:13 -0400

PASSING BY

In the barrel
by the stairs,
the one with splintered
stains and a faded bottom,
you will find secrets.
Months ago
they fell into
a deep sleep.
Under the frozen
dirt
they drew a blanket
over dormant
dreams and logical words.
Deep breath in,
they all closed their eyes
and held on
to one another.
Over and
over again
day turned into
night
and night
turned into
day.
Now,
on the floor
next to the barrel
by the stairs,
the sun came to
leave its mark.
It shredded the
blanket and
melted all that
was hard.
From sleep
they all rose
naked and bare
as the dirt
overflowed
from the barrel
by the stairs.

©Lizann ‘2013

Intuition is that feeling that has no choice but to scream silently because you foolishly...

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 09:38:57 -0400

Intuition
is
that feeling that
has no choice but
to scream silently
because you foolishly
choose
to turn its ringer
off
so you don’t have
to hear reality
calling your name.

©Lizann ‘2013

AN ODE TO ABSENCE I will not measure your Absence in years, months, weeks or days. It is...

Sat, 13 Apr 2013 23:15:35 -0400

AN ODE TO ABSENCE

I will not
measure your
Absence
in years,
months,
weeks or days.
It is impossible.
The calendar cannot
pinpoint the
moments
when sadness shows
up like an anchor
that sinks
so deep
it hits a part
of your flesh
you didn’t even know
existed.
It makes itself comfortable.
It waits.
And it knows that
every day
a reminder will come along
and stir the waters.
And the anchor
will settle in deeper.
This will never end.
It becomes its own entity
with its own heartbeat
with its own date of birth
with its own cutting board
that leaves its own scars.
The anchor becomes
the marrow in your
bones.
It gives as it takes.

©Lizann ‘2013

MEMORIES When I go to that drawer in my mind, the one with your name on it, I remember . I pull...

Sat, 23 Mar 2013 22:28:45 -0400

MEMORIES

When I go
to that drawer
in my mind,
the one with
your name
on it,
I remember .
I pull it open
and pick up
moments
with my hands.
And it’s like I was there,
back to when each
moment first
came to be.
They
will always exist.
They will remain independent
of what
came after.
Or before.
They will have
their own molecular
structure,
custom made for only
me
to understand.
And you.
I will feel
what I felt at that
moment because
the joy went deep.
And when it lingers
and it stays
in spite of everything,
it means something.
Regrets are bitter
on the tongue.
I taste nothing
but sweetness
when I place these
moments
on my lips.
I keep them
in my hands,
warm and needed,
until
I put them back
in their
temporary place.
I close the drawer
and smile.
They rest
in the safety
of my keeping.

©Lizann ‘2013

I prefer the Truth. Even if it hits me so hard that it stops my ability to breathe, I want to feel...

Fri, 22 Mar 2013 06:15:25 -0400

I prefer the Truth.
Even if it hits me so
hard that it
stops my ability
to breathe,
I want to feel
it on me
like an avalanche
of cold.
Truth jump starts
the heart
lets everything in
and erases alone.
It rips open
the coward
hiding behind
daily walls of bravado
dripping with Fear.
I prefer the Truth.

©Lizann ‘2013

Seek Joy, not Happiness. It does not dwell in a glass of liquid hope that tiptoes onto lips and in...

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 22:22:30 -0400

Seek Joy,
not Happiness.

It does not dwell
in a glass of liquid hope
that tiptoes onto lips
and in a second is gone.
It can’t be found
in a puff of
rolled up fragments
promising
fleeting bliss.

Seek Joy,
not Happiness.

©Lizann ‘2013

Time, you have no sympathy. You sit in your throne draped in an invisible cloak made from the rarest...

Sat, 16 Mar 2013 18:09:01 -0400

Time,
you have no sympathy.
You sit in your throne
draped in an
invisible cloak
made from
the rarest of
jewels.
Each color tells
a tale whose
beginning and end
only you know.
You do not bleed.
You are vain,
for you are the
Omnipotent one
to whom we
have enslaved that
part of us that
was innocent
and curious.
Helpless in your
grasp, we are
for there is nothing
we can put our hands on
that can move you
back or forward.

©Lizann ‘2013

RELIEF It comes when you least expect it. It bedded me last night, held me close, sang me a...

Sat, 09 Feb 2013 11:47:52 -0500

RELIEF

It comes when you least
expect it.
It bedded me last night,
held me close,
sang me a lullaby
like never before.
In the form of sadness
it kissed me
that morn.
Throughout the day
it came
in waves
that swept me
off my feet.
I let it be
and it washed me clean.
So I took it into
the night
and I listened
some more
to the Truth
it revealed
in words shared
back and forth.
Sweet relief
I feel you,
you are warmth
in my bones,
you found me
at last
and now I know.

©Lizann ‘2013

SOMETHING LOST Light seeps in gently through an opening beneath the blind. It hits a spot that...

Sun, 27 Jan 2013 17:48:43 -0500

SOMETHING LOST

Light seeps in
gently
through an opening
beneath the blind.
It hits a spot
that prompts me
to look at the time.
Before I had a cell phone
I had a watch.
And it reminded me
in a traditional way
of where
I was supposed
to be.
That was a long
while ago.
Tradition has fallen.
In the sultry hands of
technology,
it has fallen.
Pity that the most
important thing of
all is left on
the floor,
trampled on
and needed
no more.

©Lizann ‘2013

realizations. they come in bits. and then we forget and we move on. and the bits break away from...

Sun, 27 Jan 2013 14:32:27 -0500

realizations.
they come in bits.
and then we forget
and we move on.
and the bits break
away from the whole.
and they search
again.

©Lizann ‘2013

UNDER YOUR SKIN Does your hand tell a tale? Did it speak without the grace of touch. Did it land...

Tue, 15 Jan 2013 19:43:33 -0500

UNDER YOUR SKIN

Does your hand
tell a tale?
Did it speak
without the
grace of touch.
Did it land on the
glass surface
of a beating heart
and leave its
fingerprints
breathless in a
permanent
mark.
Did it soften
hardness.
Did it open
the first door
of many.
Did it reach out
take another’s
and make them
feel.
Did it forget?
Did it ever feel?
Did it open up
the box and
hold mystery
for the first
time.
Did it choose
to turn away
or stay.
Did it hurt?

©Lizann ‘2013

WAITING It’s the fractures you can’t see that take longer to heal. The ones masked...

Wed, 09 Jan 2013 22:07:24 -0500

WAITING

It’s the fractures
you can’t see
that take longer to heal.
The ones masked by
normalcy
forced smiles
and painted
fingernails.
It’s the polite greeting
and the “how are you ?”
that doesn’t really
wait for the reply
that tells you
what’s
really broken.

©Lizann ‘2013

IN THE MEANTIME Someone told me the future is long. In that case the word never should never be...

Tue, 08 Jan 2013 09:47:07 -0500

IN THE MEANTIME

Someone told me
the future is long.
In that case the
word never should
never be used.
It doesn’t exist
really.
The future is full
of clean slates.
And possibilities.
They will be stepped upon
eventually.
And they will be clean
no more.

©Lizann ‘2013

IN FIVE I don’t need pictures to see. A revolving door with a lost key is lodged in my...

Wed, 02 Jan 2013 12:31:08 -0500

IN FIVE

I don’t need pictures to
see.
A revolving door
with
a lost key
is lodged
in my mind.
It leaves no place
for the dullness
of black
and white.
I don’t have time
for the mundane
I don’t have time
to waste.

I don’t need food
to remember
flavor.
Some things stay
on the tip of your tongue
long after they are gone.
Tastebuds are for
the logical kind
that forget quickly
once you leave their sight.
I don’t have time
for the mundane
I don’t have time
to waste.

I don’t need touch
to remember how
it feels.
Underneath my skin
there’s a map of
where I’ve been.
It will stay there
till my eyes close
for good
in another place.
I don’t have time
for the mundane
I don’t have time
to waste.

I don’t need a ringer
to hear the call.
It crawls up my
spine like an
unexpected
knock at the door
that takes
you by surprise.
It chimes
like the whirlwind
of a beautiful
fall.
I don’t have time
for the mundane
I don’t have time
to waste.

I don’t need
you here
to remember
your scent.
In a crowded room
of mingled thoughts
I can stream you
in with a single
breath.
Up and away
you are forever in.
I don’t have time
for the mundane
I don’t have time
to waste.