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we wait at the crossroads
in the dark of fall
nature provides the drumbeats
infinite in the night
and the torches tower above us
a sickly orange glow
and the immobilizing red glare
leaks bloody streaks
into the phaulty stretch marks
that swell with wet


we wait for the jade spirits
to bless our path
and make it free of conflict
soon very soon
we watch the countdown
in red handprints
ten and five ten and four
on your mark…

…the light changes green
step on the gas

© christine DINGLEY 2011

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A picture of a dictionary viewed with a lens o...

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I will learn new words:

the craving of alcohol –



Now I know more words

than I did the day before,

I add to my craft.

© christine DINGLEY 2011


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victorian green

If I were to speak to my love in nature trappings

I would be sure they are in green rose wrappings.


My lady would wear burgundy and smell of spices,

with long hair I would put in green braid wrappings.


Bodhi tree leaf

Image by metabrilliant via Flickr

Though I am not one to share and drown in down,

I would like company in my green bed wrappings.


I would find her under an apple tree in full bloom

with her skin dressed regal in green sun wrappings.


In a clearing in a hollow of the great woods, laughing.

I would offer myself to her in green gold wrappings.

© christine DINGLEY 2011

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Her recollections are a pebble shore
of mud and river stones
made smooth by rain and waves
grind them into sand
dunes that shift in a wayward gust
of wind that keeps
the gulls aloft in the pallid wind
down memory lane
is not as well kept as it should be.

Her memories erode
like stone
and are eaten by the tide
or maybe
Her memories are actually
the water
but it’s really hard to tell
from here.

In the end her dress becomes a sail as the shores vanish and she is Her no longer.

© christine DINGLEY 2011

ode to adam a.

O child!
Would that I never come across
the day you stop running,
for you are wild
and fey and full of life.

White Inocense

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O child!
Would that I could keep you smiling
and sun-dry your laughter,
for I am weary
and cherish your joy.

O child!
Would that you could remain such,
innocent mischief maker,
for fate is wily
and no man her master.

© christine DINGLEY 2011

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in August

I remember once
you leaning against my chest
between my legs
in October

I dyed your hair
you wanted platinum but
were graced gold
in September

I held you close
it was cold and we were warm
your laughter rich
in the night

I whispered jokes
as we watched the stage
you cheered loudest
in the crowd

I never told you
how my breath fell short
my blood pounding
in my thighs

I gave you gifts
you accepted with joy except
the black triangle
in my heart

I waited for you
because you ran out of fear
(that might not be true
in retrospect)

You gave me
a single kiss and confession
but broke my heart
in August

© christine DINGLEY 2011

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| m | e | n | a | g | e | r | i | e |


Image by Rick Hobson via Flickr

the bars of panic close in fast and bind me with


strength I cannot breathe and pull a


from my throat I cannot speak and pry the


from my tongue I cannot eat and wrest the


from my guts and expel from my stomach the


I have no courage and pry open my ribcage to smother the


that flaps wildly there I cannot be still and pick the


that burn under my skin I cannot sleep and crush the


in my marrow I am weak and spear the


that eat my flesh I cannot concentrate and shoot the


that bounces in my brain I cannot stop shaking and snap the


that shock me but still I am not free from this cage

© christine DINGLEY 2011

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