Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …


18 May 2014



Mirror reflection’s too superficial,

except no one understands if I try to explain

my resemblance to Narcissus runs much deeper.

Yearning, indeed, love of self, should never get lost in arrogance,

sublime as that temptation might be.

Endearment, to one’s self not another,

layers of delusion sprinkled with flecks of truth,

fulfills a deep-seated need,

a need I so often

never learn to satisfy within myself.

Damn that need in all of its complexity!

I seek only the admiration of myself.



written for prompt 18 Pooky’s



18 May, 2014 Posted by | Poetry | , , | 7 Comments

if you could only see

29 March 2014



It wasn’t something I would have noticed.

Fortunately, I had someone like you.

You noticed the least noticeable part

of everything – one of your many charms.

Until I caught on, I never learned to

care about each little thing you tried to

open me up to seeing, to truly

understanding. It was as if you could

listen to something no one else could hear.

Drawn by a soul that saw something in the

ordinary, when no one else saw anything at all,

never ceased to amaze me, inspire me.

Learning to see with my soul, the one gift

you bestowed so freely before you left …


sometimes it’s the least

extraordinary that

eludes us the most.



29 March, 2014 Posted by | Poetry | , , | Leave a comment


26 August 2013



all evidence to the contrary proves your fear

no one admits the existence of the beast within

I have seen its reflection behind my own eyes

mostly in uncertain glimpses in hallway mirrors

at times, it’s as if I feel guilty of some sin

like I should remember what I seek to disguise.


a few nightmarish images haunt restless dreams

nothing helps but who could I turn to anyway?

I cannot tell anyone how I feel inside,

mad they’d say, and laugh at how insane it all seems

as if ignoring it will make it go away

lock me up, for if you don’t, someone else will die.

26 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


11 August 2013






(written for The Sunday Whirl # 121)





pebbles tossed into a still pond

scatter dragonflies, that race about

in stark contrast to the gentle

ripples spreading outward,

like breathing. I strain to illuminate

more than their busyness, but

I wallow in distraction.




I’ve lost the incentive,

grown weary of the race.

Mindfulness requires discipline,

an unbroken circle, always returning

to illuminate darker corners,

places I avoid, afraid

I’ll scatter shadows, or worse,

discover the concrete

is still wet, unhardened.





I wish I could just flip a switch,

rather than striking flint and steel,

hoping for a spark to coax and enflame.

Warmth is both a need and

my incentive, that endless circle,

the incessant strain between

necessity and desire.

A practiced half hitch knot,

tied to illuminate the needfulness

of connection, one thing to another.

But, sometimes, it is too much —

my head is pounding.





pounding the pavement

concrete jungle imprisons

wallow in obscurity

a face in the crowd,

nothing more and nothing less,

carried along to nowhere.




persevering, little victories encourage me

onward. It’s never really one failure after another I

understand. But, giving myself credit for anything

needs a little work. I rarely see anything but negatives,

discount the positive, even when it is valid and true.

I am vigilant though, I keep trying. It’s a secret work,

no one is privy to what goes on inside of me But, then I.

guess that is how it is meant to be.

11 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , , | Leave a comment

The Challenge

22 July 2013


The Challenge


Assuming for the moment, I accept your challenge, may I

suppose I can define my own parameters? If I’m going to try

appearing to be clever, I should at least be allowed my own

determination as to what I either can or cannot condone.


Probably, the best place to begin, would be to simply ask,

scared as I might be to even attempt such a task,

can I do this? And if I think I can, what exactly do I write?

I’ll probably overthink it, trying to perfect it, keep it tight.


Dismey didn’t give me much to really work with here,

if Mary Poppins were my co-author, I’d have less to fear.

From nonsense that would make any poet proud,

barely anything would rhyme and be allowed.


Ugly made-up words by me might sound hilarious,

’til my rhyming capabilities proved precarious.

All in all. I’m having serious second thoughts

Listen, it’s not too late to just call the whole thing off?


Essentially, I’ve bit off way more than I can chew,

(stop laughing at me, it’s not a nice thing to do!)

Winning really isn’t everything you know? At least I tried

accepting your challenge, harming nothing but my pride.


Certainly it’s a good thing it was just a friendly dare,

extenuating circumstances proved too muich for me to bear.

Opportunities for mind-boggling puzzles such as this

rise only occasionally, and never should be missed.


Failure sometimes may be good for the Ego, and the soul,

always winning surely can never be one’s goal

since perfection’s unattainable, there’s a balance to be learned.

Admitting surrender isn’t always a weakness I’ve discerned.


So permit me to bow out gracefully and say,

school’s out, I’ve had enough lessons for one day.

Finishing your challenge would have put you in your place,

however, one also must sometimes beg for mercy and grace.


Just in case you’re gloating, and you’re sure you’ve won,

use each second letter in each line … this challenge is done.

22 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


17 July 2013



mythology begins when one moves beyond the empirical,

yearning for something more, and attributing more than

should be seen or interpreted or gleaned as having some

truth to it that may or may not even be true, let alone

in fact, spiritual or simply mundane and more than a little

cerebral, as in just in your head. That’s harsh, but sometimes

anyone can see what they want to see, seek transcendance,

look for the mystical in anything at all and find it even … sometimes.

17 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


15 July 2013



Monogrammed stares, tossed nonchalantly on

yesterday’s dusty crossroads, and still I’m lost,

seeking bitter leftovers. What lies beyond the stars,

twinkling like the eyes of the first girl I kissed?

Enigmatic snippets play perpetually, and I

recoil from the mostly harmless snake nonetheless.

Younger fools can travel the desert, I don’t want to know.

15 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

Sonnet XVII

24 March 2013

Sonnet XVII


Responding to her call as she insists,

undulating like water-colored rain,

deliciously kaleidoscopic mist

encircles in safety, a hidden glade.

Promiscuous voices still taunt and tease,

entreating me to join their spiral dance.

Offered pleasures, inhibition’s release,

perfect love, perfect trust, I am entranced.

Lulled to listen to songs I can’t resist,

evening’s end, I concede, comes all too soon.

Surrendering once to Temptation’s kiss,

until next time, underneath a full moon.

Close the circle, as we share cakes and wine,

keep me in your heart, as you are in mine.

24 March, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , , | Leave a comment

The Cure

15 March 2013

The Cure


Inside a darkened room, she mopes, alone with her thoughts,

trying to chastise herself for allowing it to happen once again.

She knew, from the first moment, but she couldn’t help it,

from the instant their eyes connected and he flashed that shy grin,

revealing more than any stuttering, half-confident pick-up line ever could,

instinct told her she was practicing without a net, again!

"Do you think you will ever learn?" she murmured to herself,

almost in tears, feeling overwhelmed, out of control, and

yet, knowing she could blame no one but herself.

If onlys and whys bounced around inside of her head.

Maybe she was too eager, too desperate for attention?

It would not surprise her if someone told her that.

No one would of course, at least not to her face!

Last time she met someone and fell, hard, love at first sight,

only the whispered truth finally broke the spell.

Voices are often patient, telling us over and over what we

eventually can no longer ignore — TGIF!

15 March, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment