Welsh Witch

His name escaped her lips between a whisper and a sigh,
Years pass in fragmented silence after friendship dies,
Her life still has no answers and she still wonders why
He slips into her dreams before the mourning dove cries.


I have two unfinished drafts waiting for me to click publish, one political and one personal, and both can wait. My mind has been on an old friend all day, with a soundtrack of Rhiannon playing in my head and I don’t know why. He was wearing a well-fitted black suit with the white artist shirt that he lost years ago, much younger than he is now, tall and slender, when I saw him in a dream a few nights ago. He smiled and nodded, didn’t say a word. I woke up feeling the deep ache that comes with lost friendship. It comes with the knowing that I will never hear his voice again. That I will never see his scrawl on an envelope tossed into my mailbox. In his mother’s words, “That’s Life.”

Then today. I spent the day online researching demolition debris. Yeah, for real. Don’t ask… will explain later as right now, I have too many questions without answers. But, that’s kind of what THIS is… it’s demolition debris from an old friendship that got demolished, smashed to smithereens, and occasionally a fragment washes to the surface. The soil of my life is contaminated with memory and emotions.

I need a Rhiannon, an old Welsh witch with three little birds… come sing me to sleep so I can wake up feeling whole again.


Wednesday Poem

Fate hangs by threads
caught in a catch-22.
A misunderstanding between
financial powers that be
are eliminating my dreams.
But, who am I? Just a client.

Fruity booty wild fruit,
cowboy the Wild Irish Rose.
I’m too broke a bee for Jack
My stress is jacked, forget that
Babe, you lost me a while ago.

I have a bulldog fighting
a knight on a white stead,
communication clarification
and finally, a maybe resolution.

I’m singing the doxology
thinking of beading the Rosary.
But, oh my, sweet my, goodbye.

Was that the end?
Praying for extension.

Come on old man,
Can we make amends?
I miss my friend.

I always, always
frickin f****** cared
Blame the voice translator
For the frickin stars.

Be who you are…
And I am me, always me.
Still the same old me,
Fallible as can be.
I miss you, RJD.

Sweet Mother of Rose,
Thursday morning brings
complications to everything.
So I talk to walls and dead cats.
Come on babe, relax…
before you give yourself a stroke.



Wet Wednesday waits
Drenched with sweat and lies,
Storm clouds gather to grumble
as they spread across the skies.

Shards of shattered friendship
Slice deeper with every gash,
The promise of rain is broken
When lightning refuses to flash.

Earth beckons her children
to suckle mountain breasts,
while rivers flow to oceans
and valleys are laid to rest.

Hardened by the passing of time,
She walks barefoot through fire
and vows as queen of her own mist
to nevermore relinquish desire.

No more
holding back
to stroke male egos.

No more
tamping herself down
to hide her core strength.

No more
dimming her own lamp
so others can light the night.

No more.
She vowed nevermore,
and then she laughed.