the wee hours

In the wee hours, you see things that the Light won’t allow. There are shadows and sounds, whispers of another world. Spirits dance in the wee hours. Some hostile, some as gentle as doves…but all of them, they dance. Your heart calls to you in hours so late that they’ve become early. Revealing your secrets, long kept. Exposing the forgotten things…forcing you to witness their power. Then, they pull back, ever so gently, letting you know that they will return to that hidden place where they’re kept.

As dawn threatens the darkness, you find yourself anxious. Eyes probing the darkness, awaiting the slightest hint of blue, because your hope lives there, in the Light. The new day offers redemption from the rituals of the Night. Offerings are tucked away, and the challis, long since drunk dry, is carefully posed in its place of honor. Always within view, it reminds you of the yield, fed you by the willing. Just as you begin to realize the glory of what was, morning sun washes away the ceremony of it all and leaves you, a child of Darkness, to your redemption.


a monday evening sing-song


people gather ’round, like sheep

where bloody, broken bodies keep

laid to rest, beneath our feet…

tell me this, love

tell me true

are you happy now?

what say, you?

do you think  you’ve finally won your race?

did you run it well…keep the pace?

or is your peace tainted by regret?

my love, were you not ready yet?

did the Reaper catch you by surprise?

did he show Himself, or bear disguise?

you must answer, sweet love of mine

for, i fear, that i’ll not have the time

once my own clock starts ticking down

to make my peace ‘fore He comes around

there is much i have not finished yet

’tis too soon for me to go, my pet

but when the day comes that i do

i pray God keep me far from you

now answer my questions

tell me true

what have you to say, love?

what say, you?


i screamed

for the first time

i screamed as though something inside

was trying to get out

trying to get away

because it could not bear

to remain within

whatever it’s called that’s left of me

the depths of despair, too deep

the Darkness, all encompassing

and the stench of a rancid heart, beyond its ability to endure

finally, screams gave way to tears

that poured like rain

brave enough to endure the pain

i fell, limp, in my chair

unable to move

held in place by unseen weight

alone and no choice but to allow my soul to be ravaged

by this scathing emotion

hours passed, as did the storm

and when dawn broke on my shattered heart

i picked up the pieces

rose up

and went on my way

my bed of broken glass

flamesi lie down on a bed of broken glass
too hardened by life to notice
and i toss and turn during fituful sleep
no rest for the weary, no soul to keep
then you come along and lift me up
strong arms hold me close
you brush me off and tend my wounds
scratches and cuts and those unseen
in that moment, i trust you
hoping that it’s the beginning of a new day
the dawn on a new season of my life
even so, caution prevails
i wait until the time that you sleep
and i leave you lying peacefully in the night
amongst the pillows and comfort that you created for me
i start to run away
and i run and run, never looking back
when i become tired of it all, again
i find my bed of broken glass
i lie down and curl up
because i trust the shards and the slivers
more than i could ever really trust you
they are what they are, and that will not change
but you, with your love and care
your gentle sincerity
oh, please…
thank God i got away
before my wounds were refreshed
and bleeding again
because nothing changes
no thing can contort and so horribly twist
like the face of love

Grandmother’s Birthday


My grandmother would have been 87 years old today. Fortunately, she passed on the eve of my 30th birthday. Twenty five minutes prior, to be exact. I honestly believe that she was trying to hang on so that she could die on my birthday, just to make sure that I’d remember her. As though I could ever forget. Her.

I don’t feel good about saying bad things about my grandmother. But I don’t think this day can pass without some observation concerning the impact that her abuse had on my life. In my mind, even now, she is almost demonic. I have yet to meet another human being who is as treacherous and cruel as she was. Yet, in both of those things, she was brilliant, really. It takes a lot to manipulate so many people in the way that she did.

For reasons that I don’t want to think about, my grandparents ended up raising me from infancy. My mother was still in my life, and I knew that she was my mother, even though, as soon as I could speak, Grandmother had me calling my own mother ‘Lil Sister’. Still, I just knew that Lil Sister was my mommy and she was going to make things right and stop running off and leaving me the way she did. But, that wasn’t to be. I recall the day that I knew my mother was never going to take me home with her again…the day that I knew she’d no longer be my mother and that it was time to stop missing her. I was four years old. On that day, I stopped the silly fantasies of a small child and no longer allowed myself to dream that my mother could, or would, ever love me.

The available alternative to Mother was my grandmother. She was addicted to pills and her own ego. The woman was built like a brick shithouse, but she behaved like a blow-up doll that had come to life. She tormented my grandfather, who was my hero, and he, in turn, tormented her. Although I never saw him lay a hand on her, I’d beg him to kill her when they’d fight, which was often. Even at my earliest memory, I was aware that death would be the only thing to make her stop what she was doing to me. As it turned out, so many years later, that was still true.

In any case, I hope that I can someday remember something good about the woman. She was beautiful. I suppose that’s a good thing. Except that she used her beauty as a weapon, of sorts. And I know she rescued animals. There was always some strange creature being cared for at our house. And stray children. She did take in children that needed help. She’d shower them with love, but she withheld it from me. She beat me every chance she got. And she cursed me with these odd bits of mumbo jumbo. I found it comical even when I was little. (I was on to her bullshit from a very early age). I tend to think that it was because I looked so much like my mother or something…that she’d beat me. It had to be something like that. There had to be a reason. Who knows? I just always spend this day, year after year, trying to think of something really good in her…a memory to grab onto. I’ve yet to think of what that memory might be. Perhaps that makes me a bad person, too. I guess I’ll just have to live with that.

I won’t say that I suffer ill effects from the abuse she imposed upon me. It did not make me a monster. I did not visit that on the heads of my boys, and they are good people. The things she did have always served as a guideline as to what not to do…how not to live. Maybe I should be grateful for that. I am grateful that my mother and I have been able to, not only reconcile, but flourish as mother and daughter and best of friends. We share a pain that never quite leaves us, but has been rendered powerless in our lives. That’s a miracle. To me, anyway. And, in many ways, my grandmother made me stronger. To her immense disappointment, I was always stronger than her, even when I was small.

I found a letter many years ago that my grandmother had written to my uncle when he was in the Navy. I was two years old when it was written. She complained that, no matter how many times she’d say ‘no’, I’d say ‘yes’ that many times, and one more. She said I was the most cussid child she had ever known and that I was very difficult to love. I kept the letter. It’s in an old box, somewhere. Now and then I run across it and, for some reason, I always laugh. I’m laughing now, just thinking about it. Because I’m the type of person, so many decades later who, when she’s told ‘no’, she will say ‘yes’ that many times, and one more. Defiant? Maybe. Determined? Absolutely. Strong? Till the bitter end. So…thanks for that, Grandmother, and a very happy birthday to you!

hokus pokus, my love…my dear

20150729_010739blood by blood, i bind you

it is the will of the Fates that i find you

 because of the will of the Three

my spirit cannot leave you be

so i will concoct a gentle potion

of laughter and love and true devotion

with angel’s breath and silky twine

night by night, i’ll make you mine

the shadow of fear crosses your face

as your realize you can’t win this race

it’s alright, sweetness, run from me

just know that i’ll come back for thee

each and every single time

for i am yours and you are mine

it was written long ago

of the seeds of love that we shall sow

one to another and back again

eternity’s last day will not see our end

know this truth

blessed be

in time, my love, you’ll belong to me

God’s Gone Spot

2503 10176148_389516434531334_8992242331341066454_n

K Cyde  Lyrics & Vocals: Derrick Franklin


Derrick doing vocals on Makeshift Morgue. Youngest played guitar for the demo in studio. Love this song…

I miss Derrick today. Have been missing him for over a week now. When I last went down to the coast, I thought I saw him walking in the middle of the street, like he used to. I rolled down my window and stopped to tell him to hop in the truck. As I got right up to the man, he turned and looked…and, it wasn’t Derrick. Of course it wasn’t. Derrick’s been dead since last Halloween, when he died in a one vehicle auto accident. I just forgot about it. About him dying. Even now, I don’t feel as though he’s gone. He’s just not…with us, I suppose.

I guess that some deaths are more difficult to take than others, although I have no fear of death and mourn few who I know that have died. It’s just not an issue to me. I’m sure it would be…well…if I were someone else. I don’t know. Derrick, and the members of Youngest’s core group who went before him…they all sort of stick in my brain. Always young, Caught, forever in the last moment I saw them. Forgiven and cherished.


Love, Mom

brent in the rear-view

fear was a part of it

of you and i

our reason to exist


it pushed us together

in the night

the fear of losing

something that had already slipped away

we were just too preoccupied

with the technicalities

 of our particular brand of lust

to notice when we lost it

now, at the last

a stranger will fill your spot

play your part

but will never replace


Love Hate Sex Pain/You Gonna Burn For This, Girl

One man’s sin is another man’s pleasure. The Bible says that if your heart does not condemn you, you stand not condemned. As I sit here this morning, I feel as though I stand condemned. Because I just can’t let go of someone who kills me inside, yet still has my heart in his hand.

I’m not formally divorced, nor am I legally separated from my husband of almost thirty years. Almost five years ago, I got my things together and left. I had to. I could not take another moment caught up in the pain machine. During the time I was gone, many things happened, one in particular, that demanded my immediate return. And, so, like the faithful do-gooder that I am, I went home.

Throughout these last years, we’ve had separate bedrooms, as I have held fast to my initial proclamation that we are separated. As many times as I have made that proclamation, Exish has proclaimed the exact opposite. In his world, it’s cut and dry…you are married until the lawyer cashes his check. It is also a given that, if you are married, you are owned. Like a cow or a horse. Chattel.

Here’s the rub: Lately, I’ve been very lonely out here in the woods. There are no distractions. Initially, I thought I would enjoy being alone and that I’d get on with the decorating and whatsuch of the house we moved into almost two months ago. Then, that little thing happened with the man I met on that dating site. The site I went on just to see what a cyber relationship might be like. That led to phone conversations…phone sex…then a very abrupt ending that left me feeling very off kilter. The emotional exchange, however brief, that technology affords us, in the way it exists today, is something that we’re not all prepared for, I suppose. I mean…who didn’t experiment when the net first came to be? I did. It was fun. It was just new and fun to talk about sex/have cyber sex with strangers. It was a novelty that lost its shine for me when I ended up with a stalker who, oddly enough, did not pursue me as a sexual partner until right at the last of it, four years later.

Even though I deleted, or tried to, my account from the dating site, and two others, I am still getting messages and alerts from them. In the last week or so, I’ve been chatting with this one and that one and having a good time. Until I met someone who seriously got to me. By that, I mean that I feel an extreme emotional connection with this person. I checked him out…he’s who he says he is, etc. He’s a very nice man, and we just clicked. He lives in Dallas, which is about ninety miles away. He works and I haven’t agreed to go there to meet him. I told him I’d be gone for the weekend, so he can’t come here. But I want him to. I didn’t expect that I’d actually want that. Or that I could truly see a future with anyone but Exish. I’m not so naive that I believe this particular guy is Mr. Wonderful and there is some forever type thing going on between us. However, I do feel as though we are moving in a direction that will lead us to meet, at the very least. Once that happens, everything changes.

When I woke up this morning, I felt sick inside. I mean…guilt like I haven’t felt in my lifetime. I felt disgusting and dirty and low and I just wanted it to go away. I think that, for the first time, I felt like I was cheating on Exish. I’m a lot of things, but I’m no liar and I’m no cheater. That’s Exish’s department. I’m the one who can resist anything, and will go to any length, to protect what I hold dear.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do about this situation. Exish will be home from the job in a few weeks. I did tell him I was talking to someone, but played it off like I was just messing with them. As if I need a reason to talk to anyone, for any reason. I didn’t want Exish’s permission, but I wanted him to know that I’m trying to put a toe in the water…to give him a head’s up. That’s something he never gave me. The flipside of that is that I now realize that I do have serious love for Exish. We’ve been together so long. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t care what he’s done, I can’t be the one to hurt him the way he’s hurt me. I think that when you know how something feels…something like betrayal…it has to be the last thing you’d want to make anyone else feel.

I think I’m going to turn off my phone and get busy around here. Lay low and let myself settle down. I don’t think it would be cheating if I had ten men in my bed, but…emotionally…if I felt connected to only one, I think it might be.



slumber escapes my tired mind

how it longs to replenish itself in the still of the night

only in dreams to occupy thought

and, even then, only if it so chooses

perhaps the bucolic solitude is too much for me

the peace, too foreign

no refineries roaring in the background

no sirens from the fire station a block over

no static anxiety from the collective masses

maybe i, alone, am the problem

possibly, in some wee tiny way i fear what may lie beyond the glow of the porch light

the monsters and the legends

wolves and coyotes

craven wildcats waiting to pounce

the son of Pillow Face, himself, waiting to drag me off into the woods

and make me his bloody bride forever and always

or…it is entirely possible…that