A Generation Of Fuck Ups

We may be of
A different blood line
We are sister friends
Of a similar kind
And as far as 
Fuck ups go
On a scale 
Of one to ten 
We are an odd 
Yet profound eleven 
...and while you 
Laugh at me 
We both know 
I bring a smile
To your mouth
And nothing else 
Truly matters
Our world 
Seems to be 
...a flat disc 
That has been
Shot bulls eye
Into another level 
An organic sphere
...at times
Dark hole 
Transparency 
Glistening light  
Penetrates 
With a pure abundance 
Of beauty
Blinded by
Our own delight
You glance away 
Eye contact 
...is painful 
Fear they can see 
Into your soul 
Truth be held high 
Truth be told 
Glimmering images
Reflect and shine
Close your eyes 
I will open mine
The thoughts 
You think 
...I can hear
Volumes of silence
There is a link
They hold a power 
And a strength 
So we will blow out the candles
Turn the music down low
We will dance...and sing
Hips swaying 
From side to side 
Fingers snap 
In the abstract
Lost in the absence 
Of logic or sound
We have no reason
To hoover or hide
We are Women
A Generation Of Fuck Ups 
And we wear our title 
With gallantry and pride!

© 2015 TrilbyYates 

It's Not How Many Notes You Play

It’s not how many notes
How many notes you play
It’s the spaces in between
Like lines between words 

Of woe or endearment
It's the silence 

That lingers in the air
Silence that lingers 

After making love
Spaces in between - lines, notes, words
Silence floats 

Peacefully above
Floats peacefully 

While lovers embrace
Quiet gentle embrace 

Where words
Like notes 

Are better left to linger
In the reverie 

Of perfection - unspoken
It’s not how many notes you play

It’s the spaces in between
It’s not how many words you say…

© 2014 TrilbyYates 

Grand Masquerade

Long beach walks, 
silent talks
thoughts and such
Wondering if there is
a chance, slight possibility
cosmic hotline
that you are aware,
that you can see or hear...me
Wondering if this is all
just some illusive grand masquerade
that is being spun
from the tip of wisdom filled tongues,
with a blank slate
to continually create
what ever
is in the moment;
an abyss of possibilities
and none  -
Void of all
nothing tangible
...an illusive grand masquerade
that is being spun
from the tip of wisdom filled tongues -

...dancing as if there is no tomorrow



© 2014 TrilbyYates