Uh Oh

I just realized tonight that some folks reading my poetry might take it seriously. A poet’s job is an interesting one – especially to me as an actor. I observe my own thoughts, having learned to do so as a character development method. So… what I write in poetry, whether good or bad poetry, whether positive or negative, are all just thoughts. I don’t always believe what I think, if that makes any sense.

“what are you thinking?” I think everyone thinks that is an invasive question. “It’s the thought that counts…” No, I disagree. Just as in playing a role on stage or in film, it’s the action that counts.

Thoughts are just that… thoughts… words that come into the mind to describe the current emotion. Fear, lust, love, longing, rage, disgust, wonder, awe, inspiration. These are, in general, the emotions I have from time to time. Sometimes it’s pure imagination.

I especially love those poetry prompts that challenge us to write a poem containing specific words. Those always develop into fun stories for me… like the woman at the bar in Colorado who meets the guy with the periwinkle pin. Gumboots was the hardest word to weave into that one, but I made it work.

Here lately, I’ve been examining emotions I’ve buried for three decades, trying to make sense of it all. My love for him. Real, genuine love. Why it’s still there after all these years. My treacherous emotional baggage. OMG! My own fear of rejection. Rationalizations that are most likely far removed from reality. Projections based upon past experiences. All that STUFF. Just stuff.

I realized something, though… I realized what motivates me most is love. It’s what motivates me to make a move, to make a change, to improve, and to create. Love doesn’t always mean stay. Sometimes love means run away. Caring about oneself and others sometimes leads to the need to escape.

I haven’t escaped entirely – and by that, I mean escaped my treacherous childhood. That needs fixing. It is my hope that everyone has grown up enough to stare the truth right in the face without quivering. I can.

I’m going to call that man from 30 years ago just to say hello. No expectations. He was dear to me, so, at my age, and his age, what is there to lose or gain by just seeing how he’s been all these years? I would rather risk rejection if he finds my call a bother, than regret not having made the call at all.

My instinct tells me not to call. Ok. I won’t call. It would be better if he called me, wouldn’t it.

Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts.

I never know what to believe!

Ok, so who was the guy from 30 years ago? I’ll drop a few hints. I refer to him as “the music man” obviously. But as far as I know, he never starred in the musical by the same name. He played guitar, and had a voice like Adam Duritz and like Robert Plant. And he kind of looks like this movie star I’ve seen but never met. Beautiful man, inside and out.

He definitely wasn’t one of the rich ones who demanded I marry them (how romantic). One of those said to me “when we get married, it’s going to be my way or the highway.” I took the I-10 east to New York. Poor guy, he otherwise was very sweet, but big mistake to announce a lack of a collaborative attitude on our third (and last) date. Funny in retrospect, though. Just think! I could have been a miserably rich Houston socialite! Aaaaannnnndddd… probably get caught having an affair with the music man. He was truly irresistible.

My music man had a good job. We met at a party at his house in 1989. Or was it 1990? I don’t recall the year – just that it was the only Superbowl party I’d ever attended. His wife to be approached me the same day, upset over my presence there. Hmmm… note to self – be possessive. NOT. Sorry, Can’t. Jealous, yes. But not possessive. On the other hand, isn’t that two sides of the same rusty penny? Whatever…

He married her. They had kids. So, what is up with my subconscious mind that I still have this giant torch for him? Is this the torture God has in mind for all poets? Unrequited love? I have to laugh, because it’s so unbearably ridiculous to blame it on God. Obviously, it’s my own fault. Ah, then again, he’s a little at fault, too. I have a feeling he still loves me.

So, what am I supposed to do in a situation like this one? What, exactly? What would any other normal human being do? Call him and say “hey, by the way, do you still love me, because I really can’t even begin to get you off my mind, and it is driving me crazy.” ? LOL! Sounds like something out of a movie. Like Sleepless In Seattle where they’re drawn together by their thoughts.

The day we met, I’d given my son a haircut, and accidentally sucked the wedding band part of my wedding ring up into the vacuum cleaner. It was before the party. The thought occurred to me at that moment “God is telling me I’m not married anymore.” I’ll never forget it. Serendipity.

Maybe I should go out and buy another wedding ring and a vacuum cleaner – recreate history. [That’s a joke, just in case someone wants to spin me crazy.]

Crazy… speaking of which… define it. What is crazy? Fatal attraction – that’s crazy. SO crazy, no matter what the gender of the offender. That movie, while very good, forever put women in a pickle. We can’t let men know we like them, much less love them lest they think we might make soup out of their cat! AND YET… statistically, it’s men who are more likely to go postal on a break up.

I wrote a poem about men once, claiming they don’t feel. I was mistaken. I never really liked that poem. I don’t know why I ever repeated it or read it out loud. “Hurt people hurt people.” That was me being hurt, and I am so very sorry if my words hurt anyone.

Men do feel. They feel very deeply. I think more deeply than I, as a woman, could ever fathom. I see them now as these beautiful candy shells hiding sweetness that I don’t know how to find. I think I grew up knowing only the ones that were hurt, who had that extra cracked shell leaking a bitter layer of resentment against those who had hurt them. Some with bitterness that spewed everywhere, covering the world in a black muck, making us all seem bitter.

Maybe I’ll cut my hair like my mother’s, and just not go platinum. Maybe we’ll cross paths at Costco. I’d come back to Texas if it meant being with you – but do we have to stay? It’s hot!! How about winter in Texas and summer in New England or Oregon? Or year round in the highlands of Panama?

For now, though, I’m headed to Thailand for the spring. I think my stalkers need a vacation someplace nice. Fella’s, you surely must be tired of sunny Oregon winters. My phone will be on as usual, so you won’t have any problems tracking me. I’m going to a lovely place, but can’t recall the name. It’s this city on the border of Laos. I’ll be the one with the long brown hair with the solid blue bathing suit and Fendi sunglasses sipping a MaiTai. LOVE those! See you in paradise!

How to Approach a Lady

I could probably wrap this simplicity
into a multitude of texts,

but as for me…

I might be vexed with a sharp tongue;
yet sweet lips await the smile of true love.

True love…

What is true love,
but a seed buried just deep enough

to bloom.

A lady doesn’t bite,
but we do nip nasty in the bud

following karma’s last act.

More Fame Than I Want

Listen, not gentlemen with more money than common sense…
I am not interested in your type.

What type is that?

The type that would pay web algorithm developers to send me smut
disguised as Amazon’s “Based upon your shopping interests.”

My Amazon shopping interests do not include cosmetics,
particularly not oddly shaped lipsticks.

I purchase all my cosmetics from Chanel.
Their lipsticks are all shaped quite normally.

I purchase these cosmetics with my own money,
earned through legal means

Via my intellect, not the advantage of my gender.

I know who you are, and I am not impressed by your bank accounts.
Never have been. Never will be. You’re not my type.

My type is a gentleman. My type has a soul.

So, please quit wasting your money.
Please quit wasting my time.

Please quit.

Just quit disturbing my peace and tranquility with your …
I’m sorry… there’s not a word for that in any language.

Just please go away.

Kind regards,


Update: immediately following this post, my phone and computer were suddenly and inexplicably free of ads for sex toys and crass purchase opportunities. Thank you. I am honored that you actually read my poetry, though these years of stalking have been annoying.

The world is changing, as I knew it would. We’ve been evolving as a culture of humans (collectively in all our separate cultures) toward a better understanding of truth vs propaganda. More and more, people view the mainstream with one eye closed, thinking of Hitler, of McCarthy, and of the 1960s. It won’t be long before 1962 and 1963 are straightened out. For heaven’s sake, my high school principal was the first to tell me she had always been suspicious of the events of August, 1962 — way back in 1978.

So… fellas. I’m taking my time because watching the process of change is so very interesting. That day will come when hate will not accompany truth. It’s not here yet. You have to evolve first. Leaving me alone is a step in the right direction.

I would next appreciate the return of my Facebook page, intact, exactly as it was when you hacked it nearly two years ago.

Meanwhile, have a wonderful holiday season! Happy Thanksgiving! Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukah! Happy everything related to the winter solstice. It’s a beautiful time of year, and I genuinely hope you enjoy it with those you love.

Kind regards,


Princess Piqueé

Once upon a time…

Here we go again with that trite line

Once upon a time in a land far…

Oh, please… seriously? For God’s sake, make it real.

Ok, fine… this chick in the good ol’ US of A…

I like “Princess” better… this priceless princess… that works.

May I get to the point please?

Yes. Go ahead.

Ok. This somewhat snobby princess with a laundry list of…

Now you have your audience thinking in terms of
dirty clothes and dirty laundry,
like you’re washing off the mud.

Well, maybe I am… may I please just be creative here?

Yes, of course. Go ahead.

Ok. A grown woman in Oregon who left Texas, New York, Florida, and California for many reasons, one of which was the flagging culture in all of them, decided to write a poem about all the reasons she has ended, or not even begun relationships with men…

Sounds interesting. Useful to the broken hearted.

Yes. Thank you. Anyway, she wrote down this list she’d planned to use to develop a script, and realized what a good poem it would make, but her busybody muse that day kept interrupting and she lost her train of thought.

Uh… sorry. Keep going. I’ll shut up.

Fine. Thank you.

I don’t think I want to hear this.

Then, don’t read it…

La la la la la… not listening.

Well, when you’re in a better mood, here’s the list. YOU write the damned poem!

Smoking anything! Wandering eyes An erection in public Wedding ring Wedding ring tan line Too much tanning Drunkenness Loud voice Too many “buddies” around Absurd pickup lines Too much cologne Bad teeth Dirty fingernails Foul language Poor taste in clothing Dirty shoes Lipstick on the collar A “too familiar” woman Pre-occupation with his phone Glancing in the mirror Slamming a shot glass down onto the bar Bathroom behavior in public Dirty bathroom Dirty kitchen Unmatched dishes Inability to cook Flashing expensive car keys Mentioning his expensive car / house / stock portfolio Mentioning his girlfriend Mentioning his wife Married, married, married Mentioning his cohabitating girlfriend Lack of interest in the arts Excessive interest in sports Lack of education Disdain for educated people Pre-occupation with net worth Messy house / car Personal hygiene issues Underwear showing Acting too familiar too soon Not calling enough Calling too much Waiting too long to call Annoying voice Self-absorption No creative outlet Couch potato Lack of ambition Discouraging commentary Armchair psychiatry Fear of dirt and natural living things (spiders, etc.) Doesn’t like music / movies / theater Too many prescriptions Poor dietary habits Manipulative behaviors Unkind behavior toward anyone

Dang Woman! Demanding much?


Loving the Rain

Rain, then sun came today.
It’s finally getting cold after weeks of sleepy heat.
Afternoon doldrums at eighty-five, despite the A/C.

Snow in the mountains, quenched the Cascade fire,
I hope… the smoke was pleasant, yet, well, smoky.

Austin calls to me, my baby boy, music, theater,
all that I am – except for the heat and floods.

Best Mexican food in the country, that’s for sure.
Austin, except scary people live nearby.
Will they leave me alone?

France – maybe Bordeaux, except I don’t speak the language.
Bilbao, perhaps? Spain is nice.
Spain is sane… so far as I can see.

I watch the rain, and wonder where to find peace.
But at least the forest isn’t burning anymore.

Strange as it Seems

The angst… painful lessons, all…
but so appreciated!

Demons and angels among you
all led me to this point of gratitude.

Strange as it seems.

And so, you are released with love
and blessings, those who came with love.

You are banished forever,
those who came with lies and deception;
yet banished with gratitude.

You were the road signs, the stop lights,
the warning signals, even when mixed.

You were the catalysts and the explosions.

You, precious ones, were the embodiment
of Christ – yes, that one… the divine masculine.

Strange as it seems.

The doors are closed, sealed, and dis-integrated.
Replaced with grace, and self-love.

As we move forward in space and time
with all of us as one,
my soul prepares for the next life,
though I hope for forty more of this…
this journey to find love…
not knowing all along that it is me!

My Bad

He did it on purpose…
driving me crazy to feed his ego.
Oh, how clear I see it now,
thirty years hence.

“Call me! I dare you!
Call me on that number
listed online. I’ll listen,
then remain proud
behind your back.”

Oh, love, it’s tempting.
We of the poetic bent
believe in love despite
our perceived insanity.

“She thinks she knows my soul.”

I know your soul,
precious son of…

“I won,” he’ll think.
“she hates me.”

Son of the universe,
I don’t hate you.
I resonated with you.

Like all of us,
I wanted it to be love.

So glad to finally see
this isn’t love.
No… just the physics
of human vibration.

Two soul bubbles intersected
on an identical wavelength,
amplifying the pattern in me
to the point that I felt it –
like electricity across my chest.

Strangest thing ever,
but it wasn’t love.

You’re right… I barely knew you,
but the vibrations were
something like that Brian Adams song –
the one in the snow that you told me about

the last time we saw us together.

Yes, you won, my love.
You win.

I’m gone. Finally! Really!

Took me forever to figure it out…


Oh brother! I was in a sad mood.

He’s not like that. I know he’s not like that. Sometimes I wish I could give myself a reason, as do all in this situation. I have to laugh at myself when I recall these moods. Like one part of my mind telling the part that guides my heart that it’s entirely wrong and irrational. Let it be. Observe it. All things are for one reason or another – none of which anyone will ever really know.




Ergo I might fall for some stupidity or another.
How my mind works to fool me into fantasy,
imagining what could have been, but isn’t.

Pretending for the sake of verse.
I feel it and think it’s real.
It’s not! It never was.
Well, maybe somewhat…
But… but… but…

Like a toy the child once
played with for a moment, I was.
I was the toy. He was the toy.
Games, games, games!
Am I not too old for this?

No, never…
mind games I play all alone
to convince myself of my value.
And the worst part of it all?
This isn’t even a good poem!!

Hour 4: A Hundred Years … A plea..

Oh how we have evolved you say.

We work while we sleep vacationing in the waking hours.

Out dreams have been sacrificed and exchanged for the only commodity we have left.


We pursue passions from the mind.

Physical activity is a way to connect with soul.

I’ll tell you more yet time is toorare to share this secret act.

We tap into our mental strength and hone in on the erogenous zones strictly within the mind.

Time is our currency.

All out homes are ergonomically sound.

We live in urban paradises that can not ever compare to the natural world.

Our would now consists of corporations that claim they are people too with more rights that the women who lost power of their body in 2022.


Has a nice ring 💍 to it don’t you thinks.

Guns still are protected over the wombs of women, but oh well they can farm life now with ease and hybrid us like exotic fruit.

Why should our rights or otherwise be protected or revered?

We are only seen as the product of pleasure seekers.

They would villainize us for such a divergent thought.

Although we have many. Thoughts. This like time is highly desired and the later is far from admired.

Theyeve retired retirement altogether.

We work past our price breaking all labor laws of the past they get us after age 10.

Our minds are the only fertile ground left to plunder and pursue. We’ve ravaged the land and greed now has no seed to breed.

So they hunt us while asleep and attack the youth each year earlier, yet we’ve halted them at nine and stoped them atten.

Fought to protect the innocence of youth, yet time they still try to regulate.
They’ve killed cash.

Credit like bitcoin seems imaginary all the same then do it in the name equality which is a word like diversity has taken the abuse and bore the burden of our discontent with self. They say we blame it on wealth when we too have been there to take the loss.


Where the elite have taken up every coast line and any every fmgtreen space as theirs all in the name of progress and industry.

We farm silicon chips in pools of white and Tiffany blue.

We  all pierce our tounges   Land ears to protect out identity.


Hour 5: 100 Years Ago

My grandparents were just being born. A few years back and now they are new to this world.

Hope and dreams tied together with bows of twine in pristine butcher paper.

They seek love and drink milk from cows that are rich and proud.

I know of both my grandfathers yet I know less of this line.

They do not know that both matriarchs would be consumed my a sickness not known to humankind… Cancer not the season that followed Gemini.

They would not believe in the stars or celestial foretelling of any sort.

Instead they would be gifted by the heavens and the word of God. Both were pious in their own way. Both loved church and this was passed down to me. Skipping a generation I would seek out Gof conventionally.

My mom on the other hand was enlightened  from within and my father too. He though books and other means while my mother was and is divine from within. She received her divination from the plants trees and stars all naturally like my brother who is a beautiful and deep as they vine. An Adonis that mentally and heart cannot be matched with someone as fickle as me. Intellectually I am strong with a mental fortitude a degree energy that too is unrivaled. Yet we both have different strengths and reach depth the other can often mistake for another strength.