Black Balloon

I fill my room with black balloons
helium high keeps me up at night
but that’s the least of my worries
and I have few in comparison
to years ago when I dreaded
the rise of the sun…or its setting

The clouds hang low every now and then
And off in the distance there is a haze
that can’t or won’t burn off for days and days
My personal prison wistfully floating
…and self-imposed
Familiar or not – it’s just my way
…reluctantly, I suppose
and I’m not sure how I ended black balloons shadows blended

The days slip by; the weekends turn around so fast
its remnants never leave they always stay
and wont resolve themselves until it’s far too late
so I continue to sleep walk night into day
I never see the sun set on the horizon anymore
because I can’t find the time to sit…or wait

Dreams fall short when purpose and angst
have met their match twisted ribbons I do adore
black balloons begin to fall leaving nothing
but latex shadows on the floor

Point of contention I do recall
this was never about you at all
This was never about you
and the dragons that you have slain
or the demons that sleep comfortably in my bed
and childhood pranksters do remain
…and black balloons shimmer in the night
drifting gently sweet-one as they dance with delight

©2017 TrilbyYates

First Snow In The City

She stood still, cold wind blows, bare hands shaking eyes wide as the news translates from doom and gloom to Christmas cheer; she would sing if she could. Tangled web of high ratings money flows in an upward motion…there is no downward trickle in her neighborhood.

A few blocks tourists know a magical place to let reality go – peering through the windows Lord & Taylor, Macy’s, Saks Fifth Avenue, Bloomingdales, Henri Bendel, Barneys New York, Lincoln Center and Bryant Park a kiss waiting under the mistletoe!

Large glistening silver balls hanging in the windows and when the sun shines through a subtle spark of blinding light is carefully aimed at me and you. Perfection in a repetitive pattern behind every shade of red and blue the ultimate psychologically calculated marketing plan – reach into your wallet Mr. & Mrs. Who knows Who.

The ice meticulous zamboni stroll caretaker Rockefeller Center shave and sweep imperfections away there is nothing beneath the surface. The holiday songs are a familiar call ice skating within the directed safe boundaries of a well choreographed holiday dance for all.

West side 79th Street boat basin dock leads out into the frozen waters of the river tide. The Henry Hudson is bitter cold yet allows the imagination to float to a space and time of simplicity as history is told. A tale of harder days with ribbons and bows. Memories fill the mind, eyes close wishing for peaceful revery as a warm blanket falls within the purity of the first city’s winter snow.

© 2016 TrilbyYates

Blank Slate #2

Deep breath, deep painfully deep – I inhale, count 1,2,3,4,5…5,5,5 chest aches holding more than oxygen in; exhale blowing out nothing more than possibilities for a better day, a bettter sense of wellness, a suitcase full of angst

Memories are tiny clips, images wrapped within emotional set backs, images – a glimpse of things never forgotten, there is nothing lost in the details; texture, scent, gut reaction – fear escapes in illusions; fear an escape hatch with wisdom and for the wise, a camouflaged lifestyle always in disguise

A child, time stands still, new and fresh – old and stale crystal clear foggy storyline has all been told before, nothing new on the home front, nothing new as time slips away – 20,30,40,50 so many years ago, still, time is motionless as if yesterday

Questions never answered; they have shifted with time from why, to when – when will it not matter any longer; when will the jagged edges become smooth, when will fading away into the darkness of someone else’s life…become a release and not a failure, the path chosen cosmic shift twist of fate – a blank slate, a blank slate…

© TrilbyYates 2016


Sound down images skip back and forth
across the stage
life isn’t always a vibe high
fresh face light up the sky quick fisted
moments linger daydreams give pause
a glimpse of hope and bewilderment
yet we remain
we continue on
and if we choose to cut our loses and bag it
consequences loom clouded fate begs
for a sliver of lighthearted rhetoric
to and fro back and forth
caught off guard kiss with impulse
and abandon nothing
lose nothing
take a chance risk factor hell bent
on keeping the line straight
although the fork is more often than not
a low road bend
and how does love remain
when you’ve been gone so long
…it’s an oxymoron

© TrilbyYates 2016


I listen compassionately to young poets; exposing their soul with naïveté unobstructed passion struggling to keep their words and truth pure, clear, coherent; and I think to myself, silent within my own insecurities, my own private courtroom – judge and jury, these are the facts, objection, overruled…I recall my own journey; my own learning curve. So many words to string together, to sort through with precision and care, applying my unique finger print to each key stroke; my personalized one of a kind signature – ultimate uniqueness. A puzzle with too many pieces, round peg in a square hole, tangled massive hand wringing knuckle cracking twisted maze expressing my aspirations, lack of – or fullness of love, fears, shame, blame and unapologetic notion that “I” as a human being have an innate gift to express without boundaries. Maybe, just maybe I’ve lost my place in the poets line, my seat on the creative roller coaster ride, my worthiness to continue to string words together – age factor relevance? Words that will reach out beyond my person into another – regardless; into an abyss of desperation or tap into a pulse rhythm line keeping the beat with a racing heart; giving it reason to pause, skip or stop for a moment – pondering. To capture a reluctant nod of affirmation; a nod of discomfort, yet, relief at the uncovering we have all experienced…being a creative or not is ageless.

My mantra, a reminder in those too frequent times when the bottom falls out from beneath me or the proverbial rug slips away, free falling panic attack, darkness is a warm blanket suffocating at times – “I’m not good enough, I’m not good enough…”, turning it backwards inside out with a whisper between myself and God...”I’m OK, I’ll be OK, I am good enough, I am…I am…yes…”

The stringing of words has been at times a burden and others a blessing. It is like learning as a child how to tie a knot with tiny fingers bound by a lacking of coordination and youth, but the lyrics continue in sweet methodical persuasion; “Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree. Cris-crossed the tree, trying to catch me. Bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped into the hole, popped out the other side beautiful and bold.” Never knowing if it will stay tight, stay secure or come undone at the first sign of chase or self sabotage; and being OK with it has proven to be ageless!

© TrilbyYates 2016


A rush, adrenaline high – his hands shake walking away back stab left over son of a bitch silence engulfs the space on the floor, simplistic empty hole in the wall; questions follow and wounds never heal they go underground waiting for another day to step out and sabotage what tiny thread of hope that may linger or psychological therapy dredged banter that fills the medicine cabinet cocktail blend fix for another shade drawn melancholy pseudo way of life. Another day in the sun.

From the look on his face, the way he carries his body weight, he has no recollection, no inkling, or a nagging – maybe…grainy image illuminating sequence film, black and white flip book play back – a trigger to that one single flash in time when the earth ruptured and hand to head cracked, a sound enveloped in bubble wrapped packing. A moment of hardcore mind bending assault slips deeply into the cranial cavity, tucked away like a souvenir, a memento – cherished.

Déjà vu is an expression that taps into something that feels familiar, “I’ve been here before…”, a taunting recollection, a chill up the spine; but he is a flat line, a jab in the chest – a twisted bend with a sense of entitlement. It was never about how she looked or what she wore, the way she spoke. It was always unequivocally without bias, about “she“.  She the gender, she the girl, she the woman.

A society of fame and fortune protected perpetrator with deep pockets and words that torment and fingers that don’t reach out they tare inward at humanity; taking a stab at what is owned and inherited by gender and gender-less complications of societal norms when one steps up the pace and the other sets the standard –

© 2016 TrilbyYates

Unawakened Knowledge

Is this life set in stone?
A book or song with words
events that take twists and turns
allowing fleeting moments of joy
to tempt the stars – fate
Yet to slip from sweet lips to tears
of sorrow…
When did life become less
than something to cherish
but rather dread…
When did the light of another day
take a turn from a blessing to a curse
carrying with it the weight of the world?
Somehow, someway born into an un-awakened
knowledge yet to learn, to experience…
Wishing to be born in another era;
a flapper girl with feathers and wings
that would sustain silver dreams on moon beams
to places yet to be discovered…
When music was coming of age
and notes had not yet been played
that followed one another
a brilliant vibration on spaces in between
held with anticipation bated breath
and whispering humbleness (Shakespeare)
What was new
What was next
Oh yes such sweet silence…
The power of song
The power of words
Creative imaginations burst into flames
– of purest delight
Stones un-turned
Flowers, anticipation to be inhaled
looked upon in awe!
The first kiss on the cheek of a new child,
life with its ephemeral glimpses of joy…

…when did I come to know that this is not where I should be?
And yet here I am again and again – a continuous loop.

© 2016 TrilbyYates


Yes, I let you hold my hand
and I held yours…
– acknowledging a perfect fit
Yes, I let you look into my eyes
I curiously looked into yours…
– I didn’t blink or turn away
letting you past the walls of protection
Yes, I let you pull me close to you;
wrap your arms around me
and kiss me passionately
Yes, I reciprocated without hesitation
Yes, a warm wind blew
time stood still
– and yes my heart raced
Yes, I was intrigued, flattered
and slightly bewildered
Yes, all your words rang true
– and yes I am attracted to you
Yes, I have thought about you since
Yes, I have dreams about you
…the moment you leaned in
and took my breath away
…welcoming you with delight
Yes, I have wondered
what it would have been like…
if we had spent the night together
…if only, if only
Yes, I smile at the thought
of our stolen moment
Yes, it seemed you found
what I thought I had lost
– and genuinely returned it
Yes, we connected
Yes, I have no regrets

You might ask me why – my simple reply
“I let you into my head but not my heart darlin…”
And yes I would do it again…

© 2016 TrilbyYates

The Last Day

The day before
the last day
of the year
any year
with some reluctance
and reflective pause
we move forward
spinning like a top
like a wild beast
is chasing us
the wind whistles
silly baby songs
in perfect tune
of days gone by
but we move forward
because that is
what we do
that is what we must do
life is a free flow
fast falling drop
from a heavenly sky
a splendid journey
from dust to dirt
and all that is
we make and take
the most of it
…or not
but it is the most
we can make
the most we can take
when that is all we know
and given we are human
with silk ribbons of optimism
tied around our wrist
subtle reminders
with one foot always
remaining in the clouds
and the other
sliding into the grave
just because
because we know
we know we have
a shelf life
a time limit
an expiration date
…of sorts
no deals in a back room
black light swaying
from side to side
shadowy figure
finger pointing
sign on the dotted line
no cross roads
doesn’t matter
what we have
or don’t
how much cash
is on hand
a bargain with the devil
good faith – last smirk
nothing will extend
our credit
for another day
so we dance
with the best of them
we sing
with the worst
and laugh
like there is no tomorrow
because there isn’t
we have this moment
shine a light
in the darkness
for those we will leave behind…

© 2016 TrilbyYates