Any Storm

Morning coffee steam rises 
I sleep alone… 
- another friday night 
Dream scape 
background track sea breeze  

My mind is like a wave 

Ocean tide draws back 
Captured vast seamless horizon 
helps calm unsettled nerves 
and swaying motion at bay 

Wrapped in a fog blanket 
There's warmth in the next line 
…words don't always fall 
so neatly into place 
There is never a plan for rhythm 
There is never a plan for rhyme 

Let the path lead where it may 
and the wind will surely fill my sails 
- and I will take on any storm… 

© 2015 TrilbyYates

Word Flow Vice

There is a sense 
of dread lingering
deep dark longing 
wrapped tightly 
suffocating 
to the point 
of paralysis 
I do not pause 
or hesitate 
Fear is not a driving force
Narcissistic identity bender,
insanity root of inspiration,
and subconscious driving force
...maybe 
I have my words,
my pen and paper;
sword of sorts 
And when I am alone 
in this place of anonymity 
it remains a surreal 
untouchable source of truth 
and provocative profanity - 
I do not hide 
behind my words 
Yet - I struggle to speak 
As each layer 
is painstakingly 
torn away,
tiny pieces of my soul 
are revealed 
And as the reader 
may skim over this page,
little does one know 
what turmoil lie beneath 
each dotting of an "i"
or crossing of a "t" - 
Searching for perfection 
in an imperfect way,
to translate thought,
mindful imagery 
to a more tangible form 
The written word
scratched on a piece of paper 
shreds of detail 
pieced together
Patterns scattered about;
brilliant creation 
Something to view 
Something to think about 
And thou it is never enough
and it is never completely complete 
Even as the words begin to move 
into a slow-go finality,
there remains an endless well 
of inspiration...word flow vice

© 2015 TrilbyYates   

Who I Have Become

The first line is the most difficult
the most important
pen to paper expression
paramount to first impression
succession of intent
my perspective
is self inflicted 
is self infected 
self rejected and I know all to well
I'm not blaming you or me
the high or low tides at sea 
that change at different times 
or whenever
but never -  never...
depending on the moon
ebb and flow letting go
of my safety net I cannot forget - you
I have lost all sense of direction 
my perception skewed 
by misunderstandings
emotions commanding
and envelopes left un-opened 
words left un-read 
thoughts left un-said 
but you - you remain 
you are still there in my thoughts, 
my heart, my dreams - nightmares...
shadows scare hopes and clear the scope 
of what is what and who I have become
I ask the question and wait with bated breath
without bated possibilities - anticipation
without speculation of a higher powers response...
yet there is none
again I ask - who have I become...
silence echos loudly - but I am not keeping score
not now, not anymore
I battle with my internal voices, concede to my choices
and struggle with a subconscious war
I do not know who I have become
or who I am anymore...

© 2014 TrilbyYates  

Rainy days and time change

Sailboat w/ lights Rowayton CT

Second Chance Second Wind

New moon, dark sky
and starlight
Search in silent reverie
for a moment
Grand plan in the scheme of things
A tidal wave of emotion
Filmstrip days move by
frame to frame
Floating images a seductive dance
Creative process takes its toll
There is no apparent wisdom
Precious territory wrapped neatly
In words that clutter
the mind
Yet life has been generous
Unpredictable
and trying at times

Second chance, second wind…

© 2011 Trilby

Notions...

Time Limit

Time speaks to everyone with
an imaginary marker
of when bereavement will pass
ebb and flow
tidal waves of emotion
we all know the pull of a full moon
with a logical place as the surge is rearranged
from high to low
like the precision of a well crafted watch
only sorrow doesn’t play by the same practical rules
friends may step away when life moves on
six months seems long enough
for the space between memories
that fade into an extended sequence
until it is no longer a day to day thought
but for me it’s not a matter of day to day
or hour to hour
it’s a constant stream
that has a beginning
but no end
like the obscurity of the cosmos
soaring to a place
with no perception of gravity
or direction…

Potential

Drawn out nights gently unfold
into sunrise, subtle glow
reaches up and beyond
the eastern horizon
potential of a new day
Long Island shore line
will not eclipse my view
unexpected moments
stretch beyond the usual
marvel is an amazing thing
when a small child looks up
smiles as if they could trust
every word or thought
that could occur between
the innocent and the corrupt~

© 2008 Pamela Viscomi Yates

The way I write...

Some have asked how I write and it's hard to explain...so I wrote a short poem of sorts that shines some light on my way...

My Process

Fingers on the key board,
let it flow from the mind
forming a thought
then a sound,
maybe a syllable or two
a word
perhaps string a few together
like the beads of a precious necklace
as they work their way down
face and neck,
chest, arms, elbow, and wrist,
fingers to tips
sacred writing instrument
the mind, the heart, the soul
as they touch a letter,
an image appears
and comes together
highlighting emotions
that at times
are too difficult to utter
out loud…

© 2008 Pamela Viscomi Yates