Catch me while I'm sleeping

Catch me while I'm sleeping
Whisper to my dreams
and hold me like you'll never see me again

Warm day
cold nights
like deserts missing rain
teardrops on the pillow

Forever lost in your
dark magic eyes
soothing heaven tones
with the bottoming of your voice

We must have been
soulmates
lifetimes ago
Grains of sand
helping build Egypt's great
monuments
Feathers in Pocahontas'
headband
Stars side by side
in a view only Galileo could see

There's some part of you
written into my DNA
like no lipstick needed
red stain on my lips
The way the brown of my eyes
matched your perfect complexion

Though you are light years away
not even part of this reality
I can still feel you move through me
Astral plane intertwined

So catch me while I'm sleeping
sing your song to my dreams
and hold my hand
as we dance through the cosmos
eternally

Bottled Messages

I'm in love with a world I have never met
Traitor to my city
and even my mistress golden state

Longing to get lost in foreign dialect
Travel to the places
that caused me to turn pages

There are hidden masterpieces
by artists well and little known
that my soul wishes to soak up

Music of other cultures
that cross universal divides
and make my body move

Streets that hold more history
than any classroom can teach
call for me to explore them

There are beaches with waves that have yet to lap at my ankles
and sand yet to burn my soles
Where I will wish for bottled messages in romance languages

My knees have yet to bruise
on temple floors
while I have a private conversation with God

I was born into a city
housing samples of the world within its streets
A prerequisite to my ultimate dream
of finding who I am
by being lost in the world

Sad Clouds

I see pain painted
As clouds on the azure sky
I hear mothers sob
As bombs drop and sons die
And the worst deaths aren't physical
It's when your boy returns home
And you know he's no longer whole
He left part of his soul
On the battle field
In desert sands
Or in the bullet
In the body
Of another mothers son
Who sobs into her hands
Hands she once used for safe return prayers
Are only good now for catching tears
They fall like raindrops
From sad clouds

C-O-N-spiracy

I'm tired of theories
About conspiracy theories
Twisted truths
Turned lies
That lie on the tongues of those
Willing to spread the word
When they are still unclear of the language

Repetitive regurgitation
Of the secrets of organizations
When your knowledge has no fact or any more basis
Than what you read in a passing blog or
Off the lips of a stranger
Get the facts to back
Your false ideals
Instead of kicking around
The grown up version of he said/she said

But then you gotta throw in the good book
Still unable to separate church and state
Still passing judgment
About being judged
By a jury that could care less
I'm tired of hearing about the man
'Cause we haven't seen him in ages
And I must apologize before I say this
But if life's such a bitch
You should be looking for a she
Not a he
To blame for your ass backward
twisted 'can't believe it's not true' theories

And if the system is so flawed
Follow Gandhi’s lead
And be the change you wish to see
Stop flapping gums
and do something
Don't tell me how the system is too big to fight
when I bet you don't even do so much as pray at night

You manifest what you talk about
And you talk about how nothings right
But you live the same cycle from day to day
And at the end of it all wonder how it got this way

8 years of BS
And how soon we forget
His replacement is far from heaven sent
Not understanding why you claim your independence
But let others run your life
He said 'We are the change we have been waiting for'
Yet you're still waiting on opportunity and change
To come a'knockin at your front door

I'm almost amused by these false prophets
Who claim they refused to be led like sheep
To slaughter
But refuse to use their eyes
Being blindfolded by lies

And under all their talking
You can almost hear their collective
Baaahhh

Sheep, pigs, and wolves - oh my!
Endangered bald eagle on standby
Right wing
Left wing
Then those sitting in the middle
Yet we still lack the ability to take flight
To rise above and not lose sight
But I forgot - you all stand collectively alone

Talking too much to help those less fortunate than you
I'm not even talking about monetary donation
'Cause your theories say you're just paying the devil some due
But when was the last time you donated a helping hand
Rolled up your sleeves and fed your fellow man
Or planted a tree to help save mother earth
Or took the time to educate our youth
Actions that speak so much louder that all your spoken 'truth'

Actions activity activism
I'd almost respect you more
if you kicked ass instead of just taking names
So who's really to blame
They make moves
While you're all talk
But you plan to win the battle
Without even taking a walk
Like your grandparents, parents, and even brothers and sisters have
Willing to stand for what they believed was right
You sit on your couch
Idiot box brainwashed
Read blogs from your bed
Becoming obese with false knowledge
Force feeding any ear who's brain’s half dead

But I bet you'll take these words
Tell me how I'm so misled
Try to make it seem like I don't know what I've said

See, I had a soap box I used to stand on and speak facts
But I stepped down
Seems the people just like the drama
And there's plenty of that with you around

I spend my time trying to educate and empower
All those I come across to be a better version of themself
You claim you care about the world
But wrap it in your fabled point of view
At the end of the day your just a dusty broken record
Sitting up on 'the man's' shelf claiming to be brand new

Old Man

On the bus
There is an old sad man
With no light left in his expression
As if he's tired of living
But just exists
Here and now

His face is weathered
Mouth in permanent frown
Graying eyes that stare into
the distance
Behind them
You can see his mind
Stuck in a memory

Maybe he hears my thoughts
of how
What I'm sure was once
A strong athletic handsome young man
can let time and life
steal away from that light
And leave behind
A frail worn body
With nothing to smile about

And he's riding this bus
The same way he's riding through his existence
Just waiting to get off at his stop

Brooklyn 2:48pm

Brooklyn 2:48PM
"Utica, Utica, Utica"
Is the corner I'm standing on
Crown Heights
Train Station

"Taxi, Taxi, Taxi"
Another man calls
(2) Dollar cabs compete for passengers
47, 17, 46
No, those are bus numbers
Not today's lottery

"Newport, Newport, Newport"
Nicotine peddler calls
Something about this
Reminds me of old merchant days
Shouting goods and services offered

"You Know?..."
Followed by the laughter of two
20 something year old girls
Who look better in 'skinny' jeans
Than I ever will

Loud melodic horns
combating with frustrated bus drivers
Passengers going home
Or to work
Or shopping
(Kings Plaza!)

4 Train
Last stop
I walk down Utica
Make a left on Carroll

The more things change
The more some things stay same

Cold December Day
On a bright Brooklyn block

Language

I want to get lost in your language
Dialect of sacred, secret words
Tattooed on dancing tongues
I want to rename every inch of your anatomy
Creating the opening to our love story
You’re such a cunning linguist
Even your fingers tell a tale
As they leave trails down my thighs
Sips of air and sighs
Whispered names
Broken syllables
And feelings that defy words
When the only language was that
Of gods and angels
Do you think Eve spoke to Adam
The way we speak to each other

Feasting on Innocence

He ate innocence
for breakfast
Lips of indecency
teeth of lies
housing serpent tongue

Clothing made up
of the purest sin
because he truly is
the sultan of spin
Abel to lace
deception with thin
strands of truth

His extensive vocabulary
cast a smoke screen
that hid all he didn't know
Spouting out so much
bullshit
it was a wonder
he could speak at all

Skin fair
with black ice heart
complete
with a hole
in the soul
he didn't own

Sadist,
thriving off the pain
he couldn't feel
living vicariously
through his victims

Presenting himself
as a false prophet
and romantic
Sucking them down
one by one
until they were all
bitterness
and crumbled dreams
Empty shells
he could haunt

He bed bodies
as morgues stacked
corpses
Delivering a lethal injection
to all those he claimed
to love
and destroying life
when it sparked

Never any
fair exchange
but always
unseen robbery

If he were a woman
he'd be called a black widow
But why disgrace
the onyx madam

Slithering sickness
dressed up well
with Cheshire grin
Able to disgust those
in the lowest
of hell's pits

They all loved him
many still do
giving in to
soft spoken words
dripping with ill intent
stuck behind bars
of illusion

And when he's worn them
down to dust
He'll already have
another soul
to feed on

*Creation

Make of me
what you will
I leave my body exposed to you
like a tilted neck
before Dracula's fangs
Drink me in
absorb me
Spit me back out
and mold me to your desire
Just never stop touching me
Never let my skin grow cold
with the absence of your hands
Like play dough to a child
transform me into your greatest
affair
lover
slave
mistress
Feel
The divine softness of my curves
The hardened bones in my back
The moisture of my core
The heat of rushed blood to my cheek
The quickened beat of my pulse
The shallow movements of my chest
as I lay wanting you
Spread me like water color
across a canvas
Make me move for you
Invent a game for us to play
and change the rules as we go
Orchestrate the moans that I make
into a beautiful symphony
Make me your masterpiece
Turn me into your Mona Lisa
your Sistine Chapel
Make me into your map to the heavens
like the great pyramids of Egypt
Read me
like a great book
Turn my pages into
your never ending story
Drain me
make me evaporate like the summer rain
and breathe me in
as I turn to air
Caress my limp body
back into arousal
and with your kiss
exhale life back into me
Mark me as your own
leaving your signature
in the form of nips to my shoulder
and the welt of your hand on my backside
Create me
turn me into a real woman
with your magic dust
and secret words whispered in my ear
Scorch me with
the intensity of your passion
Until I simmer to ash and amber
Then return me to earth
and let God create and Eve to your Adam

Tears on my pillow

There are tears on my pillow
From a broken heart
Caused by not only a man
But also a woman and child

There are tears on my pillow
Because the world outside my walls scream
And the ghosts of life’s victims past
Come seeping into my black and white dreams

There are tears on my pillow
For bombs dropped
And wailing sirens

There are tears on my pillow
For all the hungry children in the world
For the homeless man on the train platform
I couldn’t spare the change for

There are tears on my pillow
Because my eyes burn with
The atrocities I’ve seen

There are tears on my pillow
Because mushroom cloud images and aftermaths
Tear at my soul

There are tears on my pillow
Because as I fell asleep last night
I could hear the sobs of mothers as they held dead
Sons, brothers, and husbands in their arms

There are tears on my pillow
Because during the day I have to maintain
But when I’m alone it all breaks me down

There are tears on my pillow
Because embedded somewhere in my soul
Is the struggle my ancestors went through for freedom

There are tears on my pillow
Because the revolution will not be televised
And that means so many won’t get the message

There are tears on my pillow
Because I know how that raped girl feels from personal experience
And this society will make her feel like she did something wrong

There are tears on my pillow
Because I’ve had ‘the struggle’ shoved in my face so much
Some days it’s hard to see more than just the past

There are tears on my pillow
Because of the cowardice of guns
And the arrogance of men in their seats of power

There are tears on my pillow
Because street hustling poison pushers
Are no different than the one’s in white lab coats with prescription pads

There are tears on my pillow
For all the voices that have been ignored
And in worst cases silence

There are tears on my pillow
Because so many just see Us, and Them
While I was raised to see me, you, and we

There are tears on my pillow
Because inside I’m just a scared little girl
Who also has to play the dual role of my own mother
Just to comfort me through the evils in this world

There are tears on my pillow
For all those who are too stressed and strained to cry
And for all the couch, stage, and internet revolutionaries,
Who do no more than talk

There are tears on my pillow
Because men sit on capital hills and vote for their own raises
While the streets around them scream

There are tears on my pillow
Because my government cares more about digital television
Than it does about education

There are tears on my pillow
Because somewhere right now, there is a village being torn apart by war
And some child was told he was a man because he can aim a gun and take a life

There are tears on my pillow
Because some teenage girl gave birth to a child
She never wanted, by a man she never knew

There are tears on my pillow
Because being anything else but capitalist is wrong
And being communist is worse

There are tears on my pillow
Because freedom isn’t free
And freedom of speech is a twisted illusion

There are tears on my pillow
I get so angry and enraged
I cry

There are tears on my pillow
Because we are all still being judged by the color of our skin
Than the content of our character

There are tears on my pillow
For all the days, and all the ways, and all the times
I’ve prayed for peace – that hasn’t be delivered

There are tears on my pillow
Because I’ve looked into the eyes of those less fortunate than me
And I’ve looked into the eye of those with more than me
And although we all may be created equal, at some point something shifts within the soul

There are tears on my pillow
For all those dying of disease
While we make products to make women more beautiful, and guys last longer

There are tears on my pillow
Because there is no money to be made in curing the problem
Only in playing with symptoms

There are tears on my pillow
Because fists in the air mean nothing
While serving meals, and cleaning streets, and planting trees, and teaching children, and housing the homeless, and giving hope to the hopeless – goes unseen

There are tears on my pillow
Because as much as I want to have children someday
I cry thinking about what kind of future they will have
And what kind of world will I bring them into

There are tears on my pillow
Because I have to cry myself to sleep

Autobiography of a poet

I picked up a pen at the age of 11
Nightmares written out in red ink
being the therapy the ten therapists
couldn't provide
Popped full of pills
until it made me sick
Not understanding that paper and pen
were the only medicine I needed

Then one day the writing became prophesy
as I wrote lines that described
the death of my grandfather
two weeks before god took him away

After the dreams of death
came feelings of puppy love
young love
Equating ourselves to Romeo and Juliette
our love dying just as tragically

Once again death knocked at my door
God took away the person I loved most in the world
and inside I was numb
Straight A student losing interest in class
Powerful actress no longer interested in scripts
Just writing
writing
writing
pages
upon pages
of grief inside

Only to realize that the universe molded with me
and made an opening to voice me out loud
Dressed as the Goddess Aphrodite
Back under the stage spotlight,
this time reading words that were my own

Teen angst and a war zone at home
led to notebooks filled with suicidal writings
Notes that I thought would make my mother’s heart bleed
If she could just for a moment understand
I didn't know then that my words were a reflection of myself
Saying the things my mouth couldn't open to speak

Then a shift came
a transition in consciousness
I embraced my inner poet
at the same time I connected with God
Or so I thought
Hind sight is 20-20
It was me connecting with me

21 was a golden age
I found myself inspired by other poets
Never leaving the house without pen and pad
Needing to write every day
Mind constantly churning away

Another prophesy

The birth of Morgana Phoenix
The conception if you will
For her entrance into this world would be 3 years away

Mind filled with big dreams
fresh heartache
and misplaced passion
Writing erotic scenes
about burning beds
and angelic strip shows

Setting out to conquer the world
just to find my place in it
New love found
Deep
Profound
Hearing wedding bells ring
Because THIS was the one

Military dreams of his
left me a shaken
mentally disrupted mess

Writing not being enough therapy
caused a disorder of conversion
Body taking on the mind’s overflow of stress
No pills this time
just wired to machines
While writing
and him breaking
my heart into a million little pieces

Swept up the mess
bought 2 new journals
took the journey of my lifetime
out to the west coast
Cross country on a train
with a laptop replacing pen and pad

God and I speak through travel
always have
As much as I try to fight it
I can't help but be compelled to fit all his beauty
into blue or black on white within
the borders of an 8 1/2 by 11 piece of parchment

In California, my world came undone
torn apart bit by bit
in a violent manner
I hope never to repeat
and wouldn't wish on my worst enemy
Learning that the very foundation of my being was all a lie

Schlep back to the city that never sleeps
and writing more than ever
because it truly is the only thing I have
Writing was the only truth
Even when I couldn't trust myself
I could trust the words on the page

And just when I thought it couldn't get
any worse
that the world could fall apart no more
Death reached in again
and snatched the woman who is the cause of so much pain
yet the only one with the answers
even though I know she wouldn't give them

Followed only by true fear for my own life
when my dead mother's husband
sought some sort of sick revenge
For what? I don't even know
She loved him more than she loved me
and love just isn't the word for how she felt
about her own flesh and blood
Proving that blood may be thicker than water
but makes a bigger mess

For weeks, my pen was silent
grieving and terrified
Nightmares
And tears that never seemed to end
Spending 14 hours a day
lost in confusion and internal agony
on an air mattress in a living room in Virginia

The complete concept of time
lost on me
because I don't even know how I made it 23 years
let alone another second after the day she died

Something switched on
Realizing I can only move forward
and rebuild
a new life
a new me
a new reality
Morgana Phoenix Alexander is its name

I moved home
for the first time in my whole life
Where green trees
brush against perfect blue skies

I learned hard lessons
in 18 months
Not just from the books
I slaved over in school
But the lessons
I was never taught
Having to grow up quick
too quick
So painful
and I fought against it almost every step of the way

Until she sat me down
God bless her wise old Scottish soul
and asked me
“Who are you rebelling against?"

So Tressa Morgan Whitney died
laid to rest
with nothing but a paragraph to summarize her passing

And Morgana Phoenix Alexander
was born and graduated
at age 24
A healthier baby girl
Standing 5' 7 3/4"
and we just won’t discuss her weight
Still with bright brown eyes
that drank in the world around her
and thoughts that passed through her mind
like butterflies in an open field in summer

And with pen in hand
and paper at the ready
I finished the first book
Vent: Emotions in writing
Brown glossy cover
housing writings from age 13 - 21
And continued to work on the next chapter
Phoenix Rising

Over time, the writing has changed
felt on deeper levels than I ever knew I was capable of
back at the 'ready world? - Here I am!' age of 16
I've broken down love to a spiritual level
Made peace with my makers
Mourned for things many won't understand
Felt the fires of passion run wild and free
Found true joy and bliss,
and understood that contentment is indeed
a pearl of great price

But now there's a transition
where these words are begging to be shared
screamed even
out loud
off the page
and leaking into other people’s consciousness
by way of sound waves

Writing words not to be read
but spoken
Transformation within
ready to be unveiled
Knowing part of me is still unable to keep a secret
especially my own

And as long as there is breath in my body
I will pour out words
to tell my story

Trying to Write the Perfect Love Poem

Papers balled upon the floor
Pages ripped from notebooks
Scratched words from the page
So many words in the world
yet none can describe this feeling
I sit here, writing a love poem
for no one in particular
but just for love itself
I think of all the kisses I miss
the warm nights in warm arms
Those butterflies fluttering in my tummy
I think of those moments that make me smile
The type of smile that affects everything
That makes you forget about everything
Promises made under moon and starlight
Hands held in pouring rain
I think about the passion that come from bare hands on bare skin
The world that sweat slicked bodies dance in
Those moments when time and space disappear
and there is only here and now
and each other
I think of the fights that build strength
and the tears that show compassion
I think about skipped heart beats
lost breaths
stolen kisses
sweet whispers
soft caresses
cute pet names
long telephone conversations
moments of silence that say more than words

Another page crumpled and on the floor
'cause the words just can't describe the feeling
I sit here writing a love poem
for no one in particular

Sinners, Saints, Angels, and Demons

I live in a word between heaven and hell
where both sinners and saints reside
where angels and demons can be one in the same
with the flip of a coin, or a turn of the calendar
Where one mans pain is another's pleasure
Where you can hurt deep within the depths of your soul
and rejoice in the heights of your imagination

I was once told "Every saint has a past, every sinner- a future"
They walk a fine line everyday
Thinner than that of genius and insanity

Almost a grand costume ball
where everyone wears a mask to hide what's within
or
like an elaborate theater production
Where everyone plays a role nothing like themselves
The range of the actors spans far and wide
and the writing captures every human emotion
as the lines fall from rose petal slips of tongue that drip with acid lies

There is a tangle in the forces of good and evil
An on going balance that must be maintained
Either behind closed doors, when moon beams give light to dirty deeds
Or in open outdoor forums, where the suns rays shine light upon truth

Yes, the world I live in is full of
contradictions of convenience
Where one's up is another's down, and the directions change as the wind blows
The purest of hearts can come packaged with the wickedest smile
And the darkest soul with the softest eyes

Sinners, Saints, Angels and Demons
all hand in hand in this world I live

The long ride home

I can feel you all around me
Your intoxicating allure suffocates me
Fills my mind with illusions of grandeur
Things whispered as pillow talk
That will never come to fruition

Last night was a beautiful moondance
Cloud dancing
Bodies weak from the symphony
Of our love making
Moans,and sighs
All entertainment for the
Angels and demons watching

Morning light softly filtering through
Those white curtains
Leaving a sunrise blue haze
over our naked bodies

Half conscious
Still immersed in your sweet, toxic hallucinogen
I inch closer to your warm body
And without waking
you wrap your arm around my waist

Afternoon spent in bliss
Cuddled under soft warm covers
Watching animated tales of
Tortured lovers

Nightfall comes
And reluctantly I must bid you adieu
But not before one more
Sensual dance

A little water clears us
Of this deed
As I let the hot water cascade over my body
Your hold starting to break
As I slowly come to my senses

Clothing on
Cab called
A kiss goodbye
And I'm on the train

Miles away from you now
And your effect still lingers
Ears missing your voice
Cheek yearing for sweet kisses
And skin needing a fix of your touch