Your hand pressed against mine
Mirroring palm to palm
The length of your fingers
Make me feel small, vulnerable
Your eyes are like an anchor
Pulling me under; tidal-wave undertow
Last breath confession love – I don’t need you
But when night falls like the heart does
I’ll want you to stay close
Wrapping your arms around me, blue blanket
Yet your love is like a warm gun,
The metaphor isn’t lost on us
We can keep a candle lit and make a wish
Knowing tomorrow just might fulfill
Nostradamus doomsday prediction
And your whispers sooth the child’s mind
As the Bluesman steel guitar slide and harp hums
You promise tomorrow will never come –
But it does, it always does…until it doesn’t

©2019 TrilbyYates

Dating Site Pause

Drop down distance 50 mile radius
I remain geographically undesirable
Age range is a throwback
Reminiscent of my youth
Always dated older men
I’m sure Freud would have a field day
Challenging whose fault I am
But now I’ve tightened the circle
Fear based sense of loss I couldn’t bear again
Nothing is a sure bet, right?
Could get hit by a car walking
Down the boulevard (I love that word)
– or a plane could fall out of the sky…
Body type remains a stumbling block
My heart has always leaned more into the wind
All the particulars, the nonnegotiables
Line up categorically; check the boxes
Maybe, no way, sometimes, never
Profiles in courage fact or fiction?
A toss of the dice, a leap of faith
Someone once said, if you can’t dazzle them
with your intellect, baffle them with your BS
In 500 words or less master of reveal/conceal
The law of attraction a visual score card
A photo speaks or screams volumes
Point of reference like a magnet
Verifiable stress tester button pushing ego bender
Expand your horizons or you’ll never know
Unless you jump
Unless you click
Unless you trust
Unless you swipe….left or right

©2019 TrilbyYates

Feathered Wings

Days spent, medical world; I never felt the passion
Hands of the clock drag around, baggage tossed like coins
into the Fontana di Trevi – I still prefer gelato; anytime of day
But, life has its own plan, agenda
And I could just blame it on circumstance
birth place, date and time; full moon or not
Maybe it’s a New York thing or being middle class
in a Westchester town that never truly knew
all the potential it held within its gentrified streets
Surrounded by lakes and power boats; the dark side
Learned how to sail on one of those lakes
– and for the first time I knew what it felt like to breathe
And that I could never remain humble or satisfied
marrying the boy next door with a town job
Nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty
But, the dirt I wanted under my nails;
glowed like magic dust sprinkled in my hair
with a touch of bad-ass quirkinesses
Spent life punching my way out and taking every single hit
as just another diamond in my crown
Another feather in my wings
Admittedly, stepping up to the edge; looking out,
eyes closed and wondering if my days
here were worth the juxtaposed angst
and personal pride…
…and would I be remembered?

©2019 TrilbyYates

Straight Line Curve

Recollection torn side swipe that first invasion
that first intrusion 6 maybe 7
a blur a clean break not a splintered snap or scrape
leaving flesh or bone behind a clean clear break
a nothingness a child erased innocence obliterated
thin air smoke rising high dissipates
disappears evaporates
the form remains hollowed out – inside in
reflective bounce haze
take a deep breath when the night lights
are out
and the wind blows
the coast is clear
now now breathe…

13 clear cut 13 confrontation
taking a stand hands shaking small voice quivering
fear shame gut reaction nonsensical emotions
no blame no fault no flaw nothing straight line bullshit
streaming a threat a vow a promise
truth never told conceal reveal
30 years silence wrapped in a white bath towel
silence carefully transferred from internal
voices screams confusion to an abstract conclusion
misunderstood self preservation
not knowing what you don’t know
what you shouldn’t know
but it is instinctive
second nature
without the trip switch
without a cautionary flash
a pointed warning
nothing ever shifts
without a 6th sense

Time flies dark cave
spot light tunnel vision
shift sift slip day to day
tomorrow is a slipped noose tight
remaining an occasional reminder
that occasional off the cuff
opportunity knocks and knocks
violent physical reaction
day dreams and night schemes
bright translucent memories
shadowed pen and ink
dot to dot point to point
it is a straight line curve

©2019 TrilbyYates


Cloth folds perfection in the creases piled high anxiety I breathe in – deep exhaling the pain out that chokes so much
of what remains running through my veins even when
I’m semi-comatose to the daily grind and flowers are tossed in the trash day two wilt don’t worry there will always be more tomorrow when a lover steps across the line windowsill leap of faith trusting the absence of rejection and do I in my aloofness trip up with a kiss so deep the question posed for another day lands squarely in the answer
– it will come when needed the most
skipping stones frozen waters run deep and I’m just slipping from day to day the deepest moments rise up faithfully
maybe it’s the solitude the warmth the quiet my life in snippets and I recall his hand as it squeezed mine and whispers – babe are you still there
stumbling not sure why harsh words interrupted bliss
not an excuse but a thought possibility contemplate examining ever single thread that formed the ultimate widows web
but I’ve lost something…focus I suppose sky high saints and sinners angel wings a reminder – how far I’ve fallen
while on bended knee I entertain begging for forgiveness but
circle around around rewind rewind

©2018 TrilbyYates


A breeze from the north pushes a sense of freedom,
blowing smoke vapor – yet, not sure why; it’s a bounce back reflective thing I guess; reminiscent of a conflict,
a non declared war taking its toll, the body count continued to rise even after it’s proclaimed ending
back then, during those days of peace, love and LSD
We vowed to head north in the name of the revolution, self preservation; open arms and hearts from our Canadian brothers and sisters, U.S. citizenship be damned

A somewhat romanticized tag of beaten down times,
and humanitarian struggles at the tender age of rebellion

An easterly wind has a kind of hip vibe, east-coaster glow flying high without malice or intent; I’m a loyalist,
footing rooted in fantasy cement, skyscrapers
but for the most part basic pride in being a native – New York state of mind, Hudson River highs and lows
My apologize as I continually digress, no rhyme or reason, just a bend in thoughts that are not linear-flow

Looking out 3rd floor bedroom window; baby boys look across the harbor at the Statue of Liberty
We chat about snakes, their fascination with;
and all I want is to redefine the flow of her patina gown,
explain with grandiose and sweeping hand gestures
what it meant to be gifted by the French;
what it must have felt like
without all the faux gloss and glitter
that eventually gets piled on layer upon layer,
year after year; hence, patina

Beautiful baby boys blue eyes gaze at me with wonder,
amusement with a touch of simplicity
Influence has twists, turns, flip a switch;
laughter, tears, a fine line between;
cutting off auto response replay contrary
to pop demand – breathe

In the middle of my high flying rant,
I stop dead, dead in mid thought,
out of thin air a memory decides to surface
in the form of time-worn fractured images
that I can’t ignore

Twisting rosary beads for salvation and forgiveness
“Skip the centerpiece medallion, and on the ten beads after that, pray a Hail Mary on each bead; on the chain,
pray a Glory Be.”

I carry fear and frustration like a scar
a token of my strengths, my failures
Freud lay me gently into a pine box,
chicken scratched handwritten label,
misdiagnosed manic fuck up
A past that wont heal or drift off;
drift off into a blank space clean slate abyss
My darkest cobwebbed thoughts and nightmares,
always ready to shove me off the proverbial
suicidal cliff with one foot remaining steadfast,
the other in a shallow grave

I do miss you Mom

A continuous torment that never excepts
or acknowledges the light of day
or the end, a clear-cut off end; darkness
Slip into that space where I can only inhale
All the while panic sweat forms just above my top lip;
shadowy images unclear skewed forms – Quasimodo-esk
But, the words remain like the tat on my wrist;
personalized ID to a flippant idea
The past jumps into the present
with a sense of “as if” and ownership
When I look into the faces of baby boys,
that are destined to always love me,
I wonder if my sacrifice of the norm
will keep them in my heart without shifting whimpers
of regret or callous scorn in my senile years

I’m never going to be the front page top line
or the page 6 fold; always set invisibly,
obit, small inconspicuous font spelling errors ignored
Acceptance from my jump off starting point,
free wheeling moving more and more left
becoming an educated misfit nonconformist
don’t give a damn screw you free spirit

I still eat pomegranate seeds with a fork
Truth be told, lies to hold, because
I didn’t know any better, then
Not a defense or excuse it’s just my way;
you know, kind of eccentric and such
The handicap flips from a lacking to a cool quirk
A distinctive attribute, a trend setting fad
No stone unturned, no voices ever heard;
the dust settles leaving quietly

I still cry in the morning

Eyes wide with certainties never really knowing
fingers to lips hush, promise I wont tell a soul
And the angst; the angst has grown into a delicate knot
that’s a twisted fate, a mirage, faux diamond,
nondescript woman with a past, woman of the page
And I only ask that you kiss me like you are good in bed
Then leave me with the fantasy of never knowing
Keeping me in uncertain check;
dotting the “i’s” and crossing the “t’s”
Door closes behind my greatest escape

©2018 TrilbyYates

Leaning Into the Wind

Standing with arms out-stretched leaning into the wind
my footing slips, eyes closed – images cascade
just like a waterfall in slow motion, color burst; shades of blue
one, two, three, four tumbling, tumbling; how can I ignore
all that has passed from dirt to dust tossed into the air
nothing more, nothing more than what is lost; what is there
for good luck I wear a red thread around my ankle
as if that and a rabbit’s foot might lift the dark clouds
that hang over me; around, surround me
maybe when the sense of you dissipates into a light mist
cloaked in more than sorrow; grief chokes me
but like a thorn in my crown, angst and heartbreak
there’s nothing standing behind me
or in my way to take a leap of faith
damned if I do and who knows if I don’t
there’s always that space, that hidden place
far corner of my mind – whispers, fuck it, tomorrow

Dreamscapes littered with all the unsung lyrics I’ve written,
and I still can’t sing when the lights are on or off
the words, notes, drumbeats that skip like stones
fragile sentiments; haunting, shallow, grasping at straws
the baseline shuffles; slow step and grind to four
strings on a violin stretch, snap and God waves a hand
across the Sound, my heart beats, always a bit out of sync
even though it’s only an echo bouncing back and forth;
I am well aware of my missteps, side shuffles and glides
I am well aware I have remained a wounded child my entire life

©2018 TrilbyYates


You might call me denigrating names
Names, like sticks and stones
Could break my bones
Yet never truly touch me
Names you would not call
Your mother, sister, wife or daughter
Or maybe, just maybe you would
You could try to hold me back
…or attempt to hold me down
And if by some cosmic twist of fate
Cause the untimely death of me
My voice will remain a reflective echo
Bouncing from me to her, you to me and back again
Carried by a consistent and sacred breeze
My spirit and the strength of who I am
Will saunter with intention and pride
Held boldly with precious regard
Held high by strong feminine arms
Preservation of a united heartbeat
Clarity in our eyes for all our children to see
And every morning bursting into a sunrise
With the remaining burn of a shooting star
The continuous stirring of a lovers last kiss
Tapping into a lingering memory or hell bent angst
Electrifying womanly sentiment of who I am
With resolve remaining faithful
To the words heard in a distant song
Penetrating our thoughts and soul
For nothing less than an eternity
A familiar feeling that washes over the universe
While the world is painfully out of sync
In need of a harmonic balance and gentle bend
Look towards me, reach for me;

I am the Sisterhood

©2018 TrilbyYates

Pressed Against My Soul

Deep sleep dreams slip from an image to a place
Lost in time travel, yet it all makes sense
Moment to moment, breath to breathless, deepest solitude
Once I climbed a mountain high, stood at the summit
Reached up, stretched finger tips and grabbed the sun
The only burn I felt was my ego as it shifted
From my brain to my deeply wounded heart
A profound moment shared, one survivor to another
But suddenly like the flip of a switch everything changes
Lessons lived, lessons learned – far to many bridges burned
Pavlov’s dog howls at the moon and the earth sounds an alarm
Scenic view topples into a seductive Reggaeton beat
What matters is how the body moves within a Latino vibe
Memories are glimpses of a time passed and I will stand alone
Bounce back comes around, lands squarely in the palm of my hand
I reach around on bended knee take a vow to up hold my truth
The truth as I know it. The truth as I hold it, unfold it
Shadows sweep over me and off in the distance I can see
It’s been a long time love – I’ve never forgotten your scent
Almost seems like you never drifted away in the light of day
Wrapped in a blanket on a fall night late October
Tears cascade; in the distance the sound of the ocean roars
A solemn reminder time is fluid without boundaries
A kiss as real as your touch; I literally fall into your arms
You held me so close I can still fell your heart
Beating in my chest, intertwined rhythmic bend
Don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t; we fade and like a fire
Light slips disrupting what can’t be except on those
Rare occasions when the Sandman adds a little extra magic
Conjuring up sweet heart felt moments that last for days
I can still feel the warmth of you pressed against my soul…

©2018 TrilbyYates