The last dream(er)

Starry Eye 2

RIP Bill Rundle/Paul Valliere, you will be missed.

The last dream(er)
By: Star Spider

I picture you:
eyes closed,
facing the long night,
with your head held high.

The sigh of your breath a whisper,
speaking the cosmic truth
only a mind such as yours
would dare to consider.
Behind those paper thin lids,
scribbling on the walls;
a mad poet, the last dreamer,
dreaming the very last dream.


a field of yellow lilies,
pungent with a fragrance that recalls your childhood,
a sky so blue your heart bleeds,
at the thought of all that missing red spectrum.


a future so green your appendix is rediscovered,
and the verdant taste of chlorophyll
traces a winding garden path
through the dark corners of your mind.


a sky unfurling like an infinite backdrop,
swirling primordial gasses, the spilled guts of stars,
a billion black holes with a trillion celestial bodies,
all dancing, singing, calling you home.


I would give you every one as your last.

“I feel safer knowing you’re out there,”
you once told me,
and I said I felt the same about you.
I mean it still.

So now I picture you:
eyes closed,
facing the eternal day,
with your head held high.

A mad poet, the last dreamer,
dreaming the very last dream.


In memory of plm sagara


My writing group lost a member recently and it was a shocking blow. I wrote this poem in honor of plm sagara.


We ate Lifesavers in the graveyard
and walked amongst the half dead flowers,
clacking like dried bones,
baked from too much sun.

I thought about the lonely fact
that I never knew you well enough
to know if you would appreciate
the irony of the sweetness on my tongue.

There were bodies with the dead,
alive, planting living things in the ground,
soft smiles turned down,
hoping something would grow.

When I was a kid I used to believe
these places were for the long gone
and I could feel the chill of so many ghosts,
breathing down my neck.

Now that I’m older,
wiser maybe,
I know these places are for us,
the ones left behind.

We gather, in small knots of grief,
bent like the wind and the half dead flowers,
over graves that have been forgotten.
Who will remember your grave?

I stand watch in the quiet cool
of a room full of strangers,
writers without pens reading words on walls,
huddled around the white flame of filled blank pages.

I can’t scream about who you were to me,
as people reminisce about who you weren’t,
because I can claim no ownership over the past,
I only know the words you have written.

And the long sigh of a dying breath,
was never mine to witness,
so I eat another Lifesaver
and hope it’s enough to buoy your memory.


Happy Solstice!


Today we celebrate winter, but also the warmth slowly returning to us. After this night we reach for the sun as it spends more and more of its precious time with us. We are lucky to be here and I hope on this day everyone is resting, keeping warm and doing something that makes them happy. Today Ben and I had a solstice feast, walked on the beach, renewed our shrine and lit a yellow candle to honor the sun.

Here’s a piece I wrote back in 2006 before I knew I wanted to be a writer, when my life was far more dramatic but not always in a good way. I’m so happy to be where I am now and I hope you are too.

Dusk Solstice Song

Thank you beautiful biology for your infinite twisting and turning and creation of ever-shifting patterns.

Thank you night for your perfect placement of cradle crescent moon.

Thank you brave stars, for shining bright against the pale blue backdrop of sky.

Thank you sun, for your wild descent casting colors of ecstasy over the distant city.

Thank you clouds for your lines like the strokes of an impatient painter’s brush and your billowing brothers who hang in drifting glory like pillows in the sky.

Thank you endless lake for your ceaseless desire to unite with the shore, curling and lapping in a cacophony of soothing sounds.

Thank you trees for your bare limbs that reach ever upwards in an effort to kiss the weak winter sun as it drifts hastily overhead.

Thank you winter wind for your unforgiving nature that bombards my lungs with frosty oxygen, slightly stinging.

Thank you bluest of blues that comes with thrills and chills of pleasure as the sun sinks below the horizon.

Thank you living earth for your endless motion that brings comfort and protection from the infinity of the unknown.

Thank you world for having me, upon you I stand with pride and the depth of great emotion that remains in itself a heart breaking, beautiful mystery.


Oh to be a clown!

Oh to be a clown!
By: Star Spider

Oh to be a clown!
To stand, not bow before the king,
to point in jest,
at the ridiculous stature of time,
and its pompous sweeps and swirls.
To unravel all the intricacies,
to reduce, reassemble and reveal,
the absurd delusion we intrinsically suffer.
To laugh where we all cry,
in the face of the unimaginable, the vast, the endless.
To speak the truth where we all lie,
in the face of those we revere, adore and fear.
To slap, slip, slop, burp, fuck, fart, shit, sing, tickle, giggle, dare, dance, dream, do.
To hold the world’s joy tight,
as it tries to wriggle free,
as it squirms, shakes, shivers and wails, tortured and alive.

Oh to be a clown!
To wear the nose, the mask, the face,
of the hundreds who have come before,
who will never come again.
To weep tears of red and blue,
that fill our rivers and our hearts.
To hold sacred our ludicrous childhood memories as they slowly slip away.
To rip open painted skin, day after day after day.
To empty out more and more,
balloons, streamers, handkerchiefs, riddles, questions, answers, laughter, lightness, love.
To keep our smiles tucked away in boundless pockets,
piles and piles of our red lips, white teeth, grinning and full.
To undo the done,
rescue the weak,
conquer the kingdom.
To give away eyes, nose, ears, wings, fingers, heart, lungs, magic, grace, arms, legs, hands, life.

Oh to be a clown!
Clap if you believe in fairies.
Laugh if you believe in clowns.