My words are a direct reflection of what is being played out in my mind. For artistic purpose and dramatic effect I have duct-tapped the "edit" button…
It was one of those summer teenager nights lost in the abyss of "can't recall." What happened? Where am I? Who am I? And whyam I waking up on the beach wrapped in a blanket in my bathingsuit (thankful I wasn't naked)? The sun is rising. Seagulls are flying low enough for an early morning …
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 …
Wishful thinking a few Hail Mary's and an Act Of Contrition thrown in for good luck - keeps me honest when I spend to much time alone... Once you asked if I was raised as a Catholic girl Big Apple shines bright in beautiful Italian brown eyes you said All I could see were emerald …
“Darlin you have the voice of an angel…” eyes twinkle with starlight and words so smooth, so very smooth they cause pause and reflection that only the holy and anointed dare stare without hesitation and in a divine moment, a split second, a NY minute counted backwards is short changed, slipped his hand into mine …
Sometimes it's a word or a subtle glance that sends the energies flying in search for another chance of what could be or left behind when the wind shifts and the spirits chime... Over and over again we play over and over again we pray to feel the right heart and hold the right hand …
Notes float synchronize cool blues steal guitar slide old love song the line rolls something like this or that doesn’t matter much if you get my point and I know you do… “…I never saw a sunset until I met you babe…” and so the story goes from one seductive phrase to another leaving much …
So we go out to this bar Saturday night sure thing Down on the west side Of the infamous Hudson River Blonde bombshell with crew and dark haired mystery woman Tapan Zee to the north GWB to the south Across the river a whistle On the Hudson Line blows smoke While flying by everyone waves …
Your father is not mine My mother is yours We grew up in the same house Your eyes are blue Mine brown We shared the same dreams and nightmares You carried yours As a concealed weapon hidden Mine on my sleeve A rebel flag fully exposed You ran with the wind at your back chasing …
Trilby Yates 