Verse
And here I dwell

Verse

Catharsis

The dance

Photographia

Making contact

What turns me on

Astrology

Leave Your Mark

What's my motivation?
This particular page is dedicated entirely to poetry and prose.
The pieces currently featured here are works of my own. Highly personal works of my own at that. Even now, as I edit and re-edit, I wonder if I should be including the pieces I have. Will they leave me overly naked -- stripped of my modesty -- and my pride? And the shame, are my garments threadbare of such a primal fabric? Or is my flesh newly awash in it?

Juan Carlos Alom
Solo tu cabes en la palma de mi mano
  Red Tears

you were there for me
holding my bleeding wrists close to your beating heart
so scared for me
so afraid you might lose me
when no one else had the courage to even look
you found the courage in me
the courage I needed to be strong and make it through
to live my life
to its fullest
to its greatest
to its end

you stood in front of me
holding my bleeding wrists
letting me paint my sorrow on your face with crimson fingertips
letting the pain run when you cried becuase I couldn't
smiling when you knew I had to
laughing at my laugh
not at me

and I love you for it
because you love me
without question
and without doubt
for all the stars we made wishes on
to be nearer
and for all the stars we made wishes on
that made us closer

you stand beside me
blind to my healing wrists
you hold my hand instead
and we walk into forever
just knowing
with no mention of our spotted past
of the traces of too many red tears
as silence becomes our liazon
we move together as one
joined at the soul
just knowing

The Weight of Being a Woman

Sometimes the heaviness of my uterus is unbearable
Like a boulder in a Saran wrap hammock
We hope it holds

Let's pray that it holds.

I feel my cradle ripping apart
Tendons are popping
-They burn
But I flex the floor of my womanhood
and unbeknownst to you-

I heal.

Sometimes the heaviness of my uterus is suffered in silence
I grit my teeth
I swallow my pride
and my pain
amd my past
And it sits on top of that boulder
sitting on top of that recycled Saran wrap
and it pulls
and it tears

It's the weight of being a woman.

Tomboy

from each of my pores
falls a slight little girl
she dangles by pigtails
and tall softball socks with blue stripes and red-brown dirt stains
she screams for her daddy
as he turns to face his sun and line him up at the plate

and comes Mommy to the rescue
as she tangles her toes in dark, curly bangs
but there is no substitute for her daddy's pitch waves
and she cries once again for the maleness that has alluded her
for the pieces that she was not given

a flood of acidic tears
severs her cord
and away she is washed in the darkness of it all

rid of her I am
as I realize Mother Nature
made a promise she cannot take back
and I thank her for my womaness
as I pray to the God of curves
and delicacies
and strength
to further give me gifts
and annunciate my womanhood

Charles Gilcrest
Mother and Child


Sally Mann
from 'At Twelve'


If you would like your work posted, or if you would like to just say a few words, please contact me.