Saturday, December 13, 2014

Always Next Year

We are the eternal procrastinators.
Words moving out in time like spiders
Marching in step to the Piper's call.
Our messages cross paths now and then,
Like fools, we fall...all over again.

Love, the faint memory of it
Tastes like the burst fig fruit
Swollen in honey.
I tremble at the sweetness-
It's soft, like our first kiss.

Hope springs eternal fire
With each promise, every desire.
Always next year, we say
Maybe darling, but I could (you know)
But never for a night, not for show.

To know the same truth in my dreams
Lies in your arms, my own machines-
Is it waiting for me?
Must I ask directly, damn the torpedoes?
Send a wire, shout from the windows?

I love thee, you fucking fool!
Forever has thine heart been yours to rule.
Time matters not to twin souls,
We return back to the same tree
and a decade disappears from reality.

I pause from reaching out
Feeling insecure, full of self-doubt.
Do you want the same of me?
If I knew you were free and clear,
Next year is now, my dear.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Cold Knows How

Cold knows how to make an entrance.
Fog creeps in at night,
Its silvery veil threaded with icicles
Suddenly, my breath coming out
Looking like smoke
As I get goosebumps from the street lights,
Fidgeting for time to breathe
Into this new life.

I long for those cozy nights
Spent by the fire in commercials,
Perfect white couple and their
Perfect teeth bared over hot cocoa,
Black Turkish robes and white slippers.
It's warmth through the art of facade.

The sunset inspires chills.
Maple leaves lay rotting on the road
I walk towards my grave-
Alone, wrapped in furs.

Friday, July 25, 2014

New contest on my FB page!

I am having a new giveaway! The prize? A hardcover copy of my favorite love story of all time, "Wuthering Heights". The book is in nearly new condition and is ready to ship out to the lucky winner.

What do you have to do in order to win this little book?  Go to my FB page (link is below) and tell me about your personal ideas of real love and what it is supposed to look and feel like. Be as descriptive as possible. You can even write a poem or a very short story, it does not have to be an essay as long as it is true to yourself and your ideals of true love.

For example, does your dream man/woman resemble a character in literary fiction, or perhaps someone who really exists or did exist? Is there a favorite story of yours that perfectly captures what you think real love should be? However you choose to craft your entry, please keep it PG rated...any overly erotic/sexual entries will be disregarded.  Also, the only place to submit your entry is in the comment section of the contest post itself, which is pinned to the top of my FB page.  Any entries submitted via private message, email or comments on this blog will not be considered.

Unleash the romantic inside of you, wear that heart on your sleeve. I will choose which entry I think is best and notify the winner via private message. You have until August 25th (one month from today) to submit your entry. Good luck!

Sara Megan Kay on Facebook

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Butterfly Dances

In the barely lit night, my eyes
Turn to the glass, the window
To flowers beyond comprehension

A butterfly dances on the other side.
I hate her glossy wings,
I hate her landing on every flower.

My fingers can't break the glass,
I'm shut in beyond view.
Nobody sees.

Friday, June 13, 2014

I want to run in the rain with you.

Take my hand, lead me laughing into the black monsoon, through the crossroads and down the hill without losing our grip once.  Blink back those rain drops that fall into your eyes and let the wind steal our air.  We can stop and catch a breath underneath that street light, gasping and smiling, then wrapping our arms together to keep each other warm.

I love the way you look at me, a sort of detached if you are always admiring from a distance.  We attempt to walk together as one being, a few steps are accomplished but soon we lose rhythm and separate, keeping our arms linked and going down the dark alley towards the main highway.  We pass dilapidated houses, fallen into irreparable ruin, and feel as stubborn as them.  We too refuse to collapse.

In a spot of total darkness, you and I will share a kiss and light up the whole corner.  Or maybe that was just another street light.  But that sunbeam is fleeting and every inch of ourselves is soaked.  I silently marvel at how your jeans cling to your body, and now your shirt has become a mere silhouette upon your chest and arms, and I long to press up against you.

There isn't a single gesture that hasn't been done since the dawn of man that can show you just how much I love you right now.  Barely sensing the outline of your face, your eyes almost glowing in a mischievous tint.  I steal another kiss and we begin walking some more.  The whole town is asleep, it is so empty and silent, the lights from nearby shops and businesses seems like a glittering underground paradise.  Like in so many aspects of our life together, we are seemingly the only inhabitants of the world that lays before us.

We could spend hours exploring, or turn right back around and dry each other off after a hot shower.  The inevitable outcome in Egyptian cotton sheets...but how long until then?

Thursday, June 12, 2014

A Bit of Fire

The old photos of your face
Knives to my chest-
Needles to my eyes-
But it's a beautiful pain,
Nerve endings exposed to an empty air,
Each sleep I take
A premeditated suicide away from the day.

With each dream I awaken
Filled with the loss
Of senses, now but a memory
Etched in your skin.
We are so alive.

But I am weak.
With you
I cannot be strong.
With one touch
I am molten wax
Warming your fingertips,
A bit of fire.

Saturday, June 7, 2014

I am in love with you.  Why is it so hard to follow up with an investigation to find the exact chemicals that react to draw me in, then away again?  You should seek out the particular fabric to which our hearts have been connected for all this time, find out its properties and why our bodies never rejected it, never even so much as torn a stitch from our aortas' walls.

I've persisted with you to take this clandestine dialogue into reality, dogged you to look back...just this once.  Look back and see immediately the time that has passed and how we have wasted it.  Insanity has convinced me that within you lies the rotted corpse of our relationship, likened to Catherine Linton's grave exhumed to reveal mere bones underneath her death shawl.  It died, but has continued to live and torment us.  We return again and again, hoping to satisfy some question and tug the string, hoping to either bring us together or finally pull apart.  Do you regret?  Do you play mind games with yourself deciphering my poems to you?

Because I want to stop asking, "What if?" and I want to stop thinking, "If only."

It was all beautiful.  Even the pain and doubts.  It was the first love I'd known outside of my family.  Poetry cannot do it justice.  I looked up into your eyes and that was real.

Been hiding in this cave for far too long.  I crave your light.

Male Stripper

I'm feeling very cold in this satin top.
A flimsy bow tie is all that keeps
It all from falling off and a man's
Hand comes up, the intimacy rising
The shivers inside my spine.
I looked up, expecting to see you.

My picturing of your face
Slowly melted away revealing
A handsome and strange face,
One I did not know, selling raffle tickets.
I exhaled and the room grew darker.

Being whipped around in my chair
By him some time later,
My fingers found a dollar bill
As my other hand grasped his bare thigh.
He swallowed my head up inside his shirt-
Chest muscles devoured my eyes.
I refused to breathe him in.
His perspiration clouded my glasses.

I'm glad I sat with my back to the door
You would never walk through,
I could not imagine the smile
You would bear, had you seen.
Should it have been your eyes instead?
I closed mine to transform his body
Into yours, a momentary escape

From the rapid disco lights and
The craving of a cigarette
Caused by his pheromone ripped six pack.

Thursday, May 29, 2014

The night has grown quiet-
I wonder where you've gone.
Darkness threatens to take the smile
You've returned to my face.

What of these words
I've grown tired of seeing?
I miss them still,
These fragments of love
Are too far and in between
As I push forward
Demanding more.

Are my dreams a lie?
From the moment the blankets
Wrap around me tight like arms,
My mind floats like something unchained,
All around I see before me
Teasing flashes, sensations of pure love
Everywhere we go, a world of beauty
I created from a decade's mythology.

Is it all truly for you?
How else can I find out
But press for the time
I can touch you and see
Your eyes without sunglasses,
Put down my pack of smokes
and breathe your air
Before the evening clouds
My self doubt further.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

I Know Who is Hunting Me.

I know who is hunting me.
The one who keeps watch and waits
For when I don't need him anymore
To strike, the owl making his deadly swoop
and snatch.  I gladly give myself
Each time, allowing my flesh to be torn
In your talons, later to be devoured
Whole and instantly forgotten-

Inside your body
I am regurgitated, scrambled up
Into a tiny ball of mangled
Bones and hair.  It takes so long
To rebuild and walk again.

Am I a drug?
Am I a catalyst?
Am I the addiction
That keeps you lifted
On your feet, the ghost
That haunts your shadow?
Because you are my drug,
My catalyst, my addiction, my ghost.
So much time can go by
Yet one word from you
Smashes down all the so-called "progress."

You are the beast I always loved,
My one constant threat.
But I thrill at danger, and dance
Again at our cliff's edge.
I can still see you flying.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Book Review: "Seasons of Heaven & Hell" by Michael G. Stone

First Edition printed by PublishAmerica, 2005

This review can also be found on Goodreads and Amazon.
It is hard for me not to be biased in this review, as Michael is a close friend of mine.  I originally came across this book on Amazon, I read samples from it and was compelled to write him.  That is how our friendship began.  He sent me a personalized copy a few months back, a little treasure that I will keep safe and enjoy always.  The paperback version of this book is out-of-print, making this gift even more prized.  Nowadays, if you wish to seek this book out, you can find it for sale in Michael's Kindle store along with his other works.

Let me say first off that this was a fascinating read on many levels for me.  I will not go too much into depth on the similarities between the poems in this book and my own writing.  Hindsight and memories of my own past played upon my brain, much of it for the first time in years, as I found many passages that I could relate to.  The image that Michael creates for himself, as a poet and narrator, is one of a hopeless romantic, longing for the eternal love and devotion that we all dream about, while simultaneously getting lost in a dark haze of thoughts and emotions deeply rooted in pagan spirituality and an almost Burton-esque world of fantasy.  Even after being disappointed over and over again, his faith is strong that his "eternal bride" is out there, and continues his quixotic search for her.

My favorite poem in this is called "A Letter to My Future Forbidden and Eternal Love" (page 91), a declaration of pure love to a woman he hasn't met yet.  It is something every woman wishes to read from their beloved.  He lays his heart and desires bare in this book, it is hard not to fall in love with his words.  Other favorite poems of mine are "Space Travel," "The Wicked Daydream," "The Dangers of Reality," and of course "Seasons of Heaven and Hell."

That said, this is not without its faults and errors.  There is the occasional typo which is common among many self-published authors (myself included) that was no doubt missed after a lengthy editing process, and as a spelling freak I had trouble accepting the word "Gothick" in several poems.  However, none of this took away from the overall experience the book gives, which is that of an emotional roller coaster.  Upon reaching the end of this book, I felt as though I'd been on a journey that hadn't quite ended, and indeed it hasn't.  You can sense influences from Rimbaud, a touch of Jim Morrison here and example of the latter is found in "Ceilings of Thought" where the line "Where are the treasures that we were promised after life?" reminds me of the last lyric from Morrison's Ghost Song, "Where are the feasts we were promised?"  I thought it was a clever, though possibly unintentional, homage.

If you are interested in Michael's work, I suggest you start with this one.  You won't be disappointed.

Monday, April 21, 2014

What I See First

Eyes...brilliant eyes!
At first glance sad and mournful,
Then sparkling, laughing.
Always the intense pair, I enjoy
Being looked into by them.
I feel naked in his stare.

Tall legs.
I like to see a man's thighs.

Strong shoulders
Sure arms and capable hands
Covered in auto grease or acrylic paint-

A body that creates.

Lips...soft, sensual, full.
Watching him talk and smile,
I silently preview his kiss.
I like a rich actor's range.
Certain tones trigger a craving.
Even better when carrying a tune.

Hair...tousled, careless curls.
Begging my fingers to run wild,
I can see water from the shower
Dripping off, or is it sweat
From an afternoon of hard work
Or love making...
Hints of cologne!
(My nose, the primal seeker)

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Driving home tonight

There were many scenes that I caught glimpses of while driving home from work tonight.  Thought I would share them before I forget, in case they spark something later.

A rainbow followed me to Toledo...kept popping up three or four times at various spots.  I got a couple of pics with my phone, this is the best one:

The first time I saw it, I had pulled over to the 76 station to put fifteen bucks worth of gas in my tank.  Times are lean right now, it's all I could afford.  It was across the highway facing east.  Big, bright, beautiful.  I pulled out my phone and snapped a pic before it faded, then went on my way.  The second time was just before I took the photo above.  I pulled over into the little strip mall where Mai's Asian Market is and took the pic, then uploaded to Facebook before heading home.  The rainbow disappeared for a time as I made my last drive up highway 20, got lost in the color contrast of the trees, which were being hit by sunlight but the sky above was deep gray, which made them pop out.  I always wish I had a better camera on my phone on times like this.  Better than Technicolor.

The rainbow appeared again as I passed the marshes near McNary Lane and the old farmhouses.  It was much closer, very grand and so brightly colored and vivid.  I could see the end of the rainbow.  I felt like a girl again, and smiled in spite of myself.  Sadly, there was no pot of gold sitting there for me.  It shifted further off as I approached the lowered speed limit of 45mph (down from 55), then as I turned off at the Dairy Queen exit, it was gone.

As I was driving up Graham Street, I noticed for the first time that all the fruit trees that were nearby had gone into bloom.  Petals were scattered daintily on the road and the sidewalks near the water tower at the top of the hill, and I saw a picturesque couple walking their dog through it.  They were dressed warmly, wearing jackets and winter hats.  She had dark hair and glasses.  They were smiling, enjoying their time outside.  They quickly left my view as I made the right turn onto Elder and finally reached my street.  More petals from the apple tree had littered the way to my apartment building, tiny white flakes on dark wet asphalt.  The alder trees were luminous.

The drive to Newport is always a beautiful one, but I am usually either too rushed or too tired to enjoy what is around me every day...the gorgeous trees, the sight of the Pacific ocean as I enter the city limits.  I even love it when it rains.  Very soon, I will have to take a break from my usual weekend routine and take my camera all around town and play tourist...take photos of every imaginable haunt and places that have caught my interest over my lifetime living here.  There is a friend of mine in California who I especially want to share these sights with, but mostly I want to share with everyone my idea of paradise, and it is right here on the Oregon coast.

A small bunch of nothing.

I see letters jumping from the keyboard, words illuminated briefly and keep changing.  I don't know what to write about, except maybe...

Looking at my fingers, pensive and frustrated.  My stomach is aching from the futile brainstorm, and the clock flips me the bird every time I look at it, because another twenty minutes has gone by.

I could write about the tiny barrettes of light, the rainbows refracting off a crystal in my kitchen window, how it sparkles and turns the little area into a daylight disco, making it magic.  I could write about the growing pile of clean laundry on and around the death couch, the clouds of heaven to my cats and a source of daily AM frustration.  Trying to find a matching sock, or a fresh bra.  Steaming the wrinkles out of my work shirts as I shower the past two nights of stagnant sleep sweat, accumulating in a damp puddle under my thighs and ass, and then I wonder what the hell am I not remembering from my dreams?

I watch my own actions, the way my hands seem to have a life of their own, bringing before me distraction upon distraction...nights are fruitless, and maybe my days would be better spent here or in a cafe with my notebook, instead of a job that has me running the hamster wheel for eight to nine hours a day for the privilege of staying exactly where I am, never ahead but not behind either.  Escape is a fiendish plot twist that threatens to seduce me every day.  I want to have the sheer courage (or stupidity) to stop, look up, clock out and then walk out, then spend the ten dollars I have saved on my Starbucks card on coffee that I'll drink while writing the novel that will make me rich and solve every problem I have inside.  It will be an emotional tour de force that will bring me back and forth to Hell and Heaven in so many aspects that I will faint upon standing to leave.  The fever will overtake my tense, aroused body and I will crawl like a mad fool to the exit door.

I have the faces of people from my past, living and dead, staring at me in expectation.  Well?  What are you waiting for?

You'll sleep when you're dead.  Get to it.  
It's too much pressure, Grandma.  I love you, but back off.

One day it will come.  Maybe then, so will I.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Broken Silence

It's the stab to the heart
of a successful transplant patient,
The green light to die-
You had released me into Purgatory,
I began to like the dark!

Your instinct is uncanny
But I am tired of these words!
Out from the twisted wreckage
I tore myself free and bled you from me
But the banshee's wail kept me entranced
Floating, burning into the night air
All the strings that tied you to me

But the final one, that kevlar sewn into our chests
Still threatens to rip me open
Upon the event of a broken silence-
The taste a junky needs
To trigger a new relapse into hell.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Another big milestone for the old blog.

I did some quick research before posting this.  On October 2nd, 2011, at 3:24pm, this blog reached its first thousand views.  I am happy to report to you that as of April 7th, 2014, it reached 8000 views.

I am very humble right now.  Thank you so much for your continued support, encouragement and ego strokes over the last nine years.  I really wish I had more time to write and share what I have with you.  I've been reading so much these days, at least I've been able to do that.  I am deep into my fascination with Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady.  They draw me in stronger than when I discovered Anais Nin or Sylvia Plath.  Hope that gives you an idea how much of an impact Jack and Neal are already having upon me.

My Facebook page is very close to reaching its first milestone as well.  It is at 99 likes right now.   If you are on FB, please visit me here and be sure to like and share me to your friends.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Three Days

Few poems written today get me excited. "Three Days" is one of them. In his latest video, my friend Michael G. Stone (aka The Distorted Poet) reveals the story behind his majestic poem. If you have never read Michael's poetry before, you are seriously missing out. Please begin your experience by visiting his blog, and if you have a Kindle, you can buy his books on Amazon. May I suggest you check out his "Seasons of Heaven and Hell" which is my newest addition to my library. I was lucky enough to receive an out-of-print paperback edition from him personally in the mail, and I will post my own review on that eventually.

Click to read "Three Days" here.
Follow Michael on Twitter
The Distorted Poet on YouTube (first channel)
The Distorted Poet on YouTube (second channel)

Sunday, February 23, 2014

I Want To Love You, But I'm Afraid

Across these miles on nothing but hope
I outstretch these ivy vines to you,
Seeking a heart to clutch, a mind to know,
A forehead to touch with mine to feel
This true connection-
There must be a way.

I want to love you, but I'm afraid
You may only like me.

We speak a similar dialect
Vocalizing our own separate thirsts
Though our tongues curl differently
Over the idea of something amusing
But I want to ask
Without sounding like someone important,
What do you want of this life?

Do you wish the same things as me,
A true partner in every sense,
A collaboration of artists, or mutual muse?
Shall I give my heart,
Will it be what you want?
Nights silent and not budging,
Immersed in recuperation, the victory
Of one more day?
When a moment can last forever
Or just an hour,
Do you see me in there, at all?

I want to love you, but I'm afraid
You may only like me.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Introducing Robert Niswander, aka Plot121

One of my fellow passengers on the Poetry Train America, Robert Niswander (better known under the creative alias Plot121), has finally published his first book.  He asked me to help spread the word, which I am more than happy to do.

Published 2/19/14  

"A poet's view on our world looking at life and today's society. Have a look at these amazing poems and see if your view is the same."  (book description on

"See Our World" is a book years in the making.  Clocking in at 450 pages, this mighty tome would look rather imposing on a bookshelf, but so far it is only available in Kindle edition.

If you have a Kindle, please purchase your digital copy of "See Our World" by clicking here.
Check out Bar Publishing's interview with Robert by clicking here.

Monday, February 17, 2014

its something my mind returns to
on nights like this
when the wind beats down my window
and the rain pelts seductively
down the glass,

it's a hunger I can't satisfy
by words alone,
though I have tried-
it's the same line I've been saying
over and over again
to you, to him and that guy there
with the virile profile-
if only, if only, I wish, I wish.

perhaps it's an insecurity,
perhaps it's a weakness that I care
but can't move on it, you see...
no reason to risk it all
just for more words
with even the kindest ones rejecting me
and as the storm builds
I grow more alone each minute
I cannot crawl in your arms.

Monday, February 10, 2014


Feeling the rain dripping down, falling-
I move quickly into the dark
Hiding, fearing being seen
Half naked in my parking lot at night.

It is the most free I have felt
Dancing past the streetlights.

I have gotten comfortably wet,
Ignoring the cold that only heightened
The goosebumps on my arm

I saw a break in the clouds,
The moon emerged and I waved,
Believing with all my might
You were looking at it too and feeling
The rain upon my skin
Sending you shivers
In the same places and be linked,
If just for this moment,
By the resulting photographs.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Big sale!

Over at where my books are sold, there are two coupon codes for you to use.  One takes 20% off your order and is good through Valentines Day, the other gets you free shipping but this one ends on 2/5. 

I haven't been writing much on here, but I will be updating you soon on whats going on.  I have big news to share, so stay tuned!

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Words are all I have (a haiku)

Words are all I have.
Action takes bravery, I
Bubble inertia.

Follow me on Twitter.  Sometimes I post little haikus and micropoems.