Sunday, February 28, 2010

Rumi in the Grass

Underneath the oak I lay
on grandmother's patchwork
looking up through the limbs,
graceful architecture in silhouette
against the flawless blue
heaven above us.

You sit with your back
against the tree, reading softly
in a soothing cadence
that calms my soul
like only poetry can achieve
in elegant arrangement.

The sun warms my face
The wine drenches my heart

There is no past
nor future here to torment
my restless spirit's
imperfect reflections,
only this moment of
unconditional bliss,
lingers in conscious rapture.

Friday, February 26, 2010


The silver grass of
a moonlit field
sways in blue waves
from an unseen wind,
gleaming with ethereal light.

Out of the dark caves
the night birds fly
in black clouds,
circling the trees
before settling
in a shiver of dread.

The eyes of the beast
open slowly,
contemplating evil
with hungry amusement.
Clouds cover the moon
in nervous submission.
Fear erupts
and the night birds
take flight.

Saturday, February 20, 2010


it grows
like the fledgling spout
shivers on the scorched floor of the forest
after the great and savage fire
it soars
like the bird escaped
from its gilded cage a prisoner
long held captive and forgotten
it dreams
like the child asleep
sweetly in her mother's arms a haven
from fate's melancholy injuries
it shines
like the first full moon
brightly on the winter snow unblemished
by destiny's misguided course

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

The Invisible Man

The old man sits
with his back to the wall
collar pulled up and
cap pulled down
fighting for warmth

He holds a paper
cup in his trembling hand -
three quarters and a dime
as the people walk by
unaware of his predicament
they hurry to get out
of winter's way

He watches their feet
in shiny leather shoes
and high-heeled boots
always in a hurry to
get somewhere

Remembering that
distant life he swallows hard
against the sand in his throat
and the fear
in his heart

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Breakfast in Bed

Pull the covers over my head,
don't want to face this day.
I can smell the pancakes and
coffee downstairs
but the only sound I hear
is the melancholy tune
of my heart strings playing
please don't go.
Winter's cruel game sets
time on a crazy,
high-speed wheel only to
crawl when things get real.
Damn that clock.
Sip the sparkling slowly
and remember that I'm
here waiting for a wake
up call from this
lonely dream, singing
please don't go.

Winter Pane

I touched the window yesterday
the pane was cold beneath my hand
for winter dwelt beyond its plane
and dipped in frost the very land.

I thought if Spring would ever come
my window would again be warm
and tell of climbing Summer sun
and mirror flash of midnight storm.

And then again the wind would blow
and glaze the earth with solemn white
my window would of Winter know
a paler sun, a deeper quiet.
Written in my journal from 1983.
As I've gotten older, I've learned that life rarely rhymes,
and so rarely does my poetry, anymore.


Out on the field where daisies live
and elements of men remain
there stands a haunted carousel
silent now, and just as well.
The ponies still in frozen prance,
the wind and rain made colors pale
yet once their brightly painted hooves
fell softly to their merry dance.
And children's laughter echoes 'round
among the ponies' gilded heads,
or is the wind designed to mock
and conjure up that mournful sound?
The mirrors, cracked along the wheel,
and blinking lights no longer shine
the moon reflects in still, black eyes
the daydreams of a child to fill.
Now paled by sun they fade away,
the carousel, a silent tomb
some say that on a summer's eve
one still can hear the ponies play.

Friday, February 05, 2010

Sweet Nothing to Do Time

I'm on vacation until February 15th. I'll have my journal on my journey and hope to feel inspired to put pen to paper. I've been in a bit of a slump and believe a vacation just might be the thing I need to help me over the crevasse, a.k.a., get my groove back.

Thanks for reading.

-Itsa Mystery

Thursday, February 04, 2010


Stars above us
Blanket around us
Fire before us

I hear your heartbeat

Earth beneath us
Past behind us
Hope inside us

I hear your heartbeat

Night surrounds us
World below us
Love between us

I hear your heartbeat

You smell like smoke

Kiss me

Tuesday, February 02, 2010


I painted a picture
that wasn't real,
glossed over the truth
with rosy strokes,
altering reality
with Love's false media.

Honest rain came
and washed away
my revisionist design,
revealing the genuine
in unvarnished clarity.

And though the
art beneath
is regretful and bittersweet,
I must accept
its authenticity.

Monday, February 01, 2010

Journal Entry: March 15, 2009

Though years have passed,
I love you still.
The sun, the moon,
the universe, was ours.
Yet all that remains
is a blanket of stars
shaped like an arrow
through my soul.