From Rachel's Heart, to Pete's.

Rach25D: hi clearchannel,

i live in connecticut and was raised listening to radio 104 (new rock). while all the other radio stations were selling out and playing backstreet boys and christina aguliera, radio 104 held on strong, and is by far the most popular radio station in my area (southern CT). then out of nowhere on monday, the rap started, and has not ceased since. while i am partial to this particular radio station, im not naive to the ways of the world. yes, many, many people do enjoy rap music if you could even call it that, and yes, radio stations that play rap and rap alone may be very successful. but how much sense does it make to create a new "hip-hop and R&B radio station" based out of hartford while the listening area is largely divided over (and partially devoted to) hot 97.1 of new york, and 93.7 also of hartford? the simple law of supply and demand ensures that a single all rock radio station with a loyal supply of listeners will do far better than the rap audience getting split up among 3, if not more radio stations in the area. duh. i miss radio 104 terribly, and while you're a major worldwide corporation that certainly does not care about the desires of a single soul living on the coastline of a state that is little more then a benchmark between boston and new york, i hope that this reaches the right person and someone may even take the time to read it. i wouldnt be able to sleep at night if i didnt try.

Alright.. this is the last update for now. I have a lot more but I don't feel like typing and posting it all at once. I'll run out of new material, and I'll keep people waiting like I did before. Thanks to everyone that actually enjoys my work.. it means sooo much to me, you have no idea. You are the only reason I continue to share anything I pen, I love you all :)

My Two Hands
I wish I could place my two hands on your head
and bless and wound you with my knowledge of the world.

I wish I could open my mouth
and pour out for you
symphonies,
cloistered plainchant,
birdsong,
the sound of stars.

I wish my lifeblood of joy
could change the pulse of your pain.

I wish I had a way
to touch and surround your soul
with the warmth of my voice.

I wish I had a way
to speak directly to your understanding
with the heartbeat in my two hands.

Slightly Used
Does anyone want
a used donor card?
For mine's of no use, now.
Having given once
I have no more heart within me
left to give.

You Sent me the Sunset
you sent me the sunset.

it took an hour to
arrive (i got the message
in time, my love) from your
eyes to mine, an eternity
when i'm used to
your e-mail, or your voice
on the phone in
stantaneously

and yet it was worth the wait.

there were clouds, but they broke
long before the horizon, grey and tex
tured like freshly laid concrete across
the sky. there were still bands of dappled
silver and pink in the west, yellow; all the colors
of the rainbow trout i used to catch, then release
as a child. not far up, all was blue, every blue
cyansteelroyalslatemidnight blue, everyone gradient
shade in between. i stood in your t-shirt and sweats
in the newly warm evening and stared. to my right
was the tree i had written you of. to my left was
the door to my home. one thought played
through my mind on endless repeat as
i watched, as your gift filled the air:

come to me,
come to me,
come to me.

Just One
Just one tip,
just the tip
of one finger
did I touch.

(and I felt the trembling
in the pit of my stomach
as memory
centered me
in a great storm of longing)

Just one tip,
just the tip
of one finger
did I touch
as you
passed.

Captured
I want to capture the essence

of first fall winds cooling the land
in warms quilts I spread across our bed.

of the taste of snowflakes on the tongue
in your warm breath whispered against my skin,
the quiver you feel in my kiss.

of sparkling ice melting in the morning sun
in the fluid touch of your hands across my body.

of leaves twirling downward to caress the earth
in candlelit shadows, yours and mine, commingled as one.

What If..
What if I never
reached toward you
(or you toward I)
or felt the touch
of words washed
in the other's life and time?
What if I never looked
within the soul of you
or felt you listen
to my song
or heard you singing yours?

What if?

We'd have missed a moment
which will last our whole life through.
We'd have missed each other's
words and art in brilliant hues.
We'd have missed the sweetest touch
transcending any other
one of mind, heart to heart
a love which holds no fear.

When we part

I must admit my world trembles so
but love will be remembered
as we allow the other go.

Posting Frenzy!!!
The tiny blue heart pill wrecked havoc with my emotions. Finally, it is gone and three days later, I am still in the center of this ocean, tossed into tears by storm winds and waves.

Although I run to you in dire moments, I cling to a memory of truth as I wait for the return of confidence and normalcy. Today, just for an instant, the sun broke through the clouds, and in that stillness I was inspired to write.

You Are My Poem
You float past me with the grace of
sea grass dancing in the depths, naked,
shiny, soft, hiding flashes of color
in your arms, you are inspiration,
you are my poem.

I watch you sail with dolphins, flip
skyward with great humpbacked whales,
your hunger would please the tiger sharks.

I see you reach upward gathering stars,
I've always known you, proud, merciful,
kind, tough, brave, I've always wanted
you, I've always wanted to write in you.

I saw you standing alone, bare souled,
needing, holding toward me your pain
cupped in quivering hands, I wrote you
because I know.

Standing on one leg, arms
and hands precise, you fall into giggles
at the thought of someone tracing a line
from your center, laughter contagious,
infections, I cannot help but write my
love for you in whimsy.

And you, you are encapsulating, a
whisper mirroring my desire, you fill me
and drain me in one motion, you are lust,
self-indulgence, you are sensuality, you
are my poem, ravenous.

I call you friend, lover, acquaintance,
sister, husband, brother, need, pleasure,
comfort, you are my air, my water, you
are my sustenance, I call you mine,
you are my poem.

Rivers Converge at the Sea
I read that
all rivers
flow into
the sea and
it occurs
to me that
this water
is the same
water that
swells then
ebbs in
moon driven
tides to
lap at the
shorelines
of Sweden
and Alaska
Australia,
and Japan;
flows
in rivers,
lakes and
ponds; forms
of melted
winter snows,
still lakes
reflecting
sky like
mirrors on
great
mountaintops;
drips from
limestone
cathedral
cielings
to form
pools within
underground
caves;
filters
through the
earth's
crust, boils,
then spews
upward in
great
fountains
through
fissures at
Yellowstone.

It's the same water.

Solomon said,
"there is
nothing new
under the sun."

I have
learned
that all
things,
impossible,
improbable
or
unbelievable
have all,
happened
before.

The water
dripping
slowly
from my
fingertips
confirms
that
proclamation
for within
them I am
witness to
creation,
to history
and
tomorrow
morning,
high tide
will occur
at 6:19 AM.

I Remembered Yesterday
A smile slipped softly across
my face several times today.

Each time, I remembered...

I remembered yesterday.
It rained all day long
and we watched the world
slowly vanish in a crystal
view of water washing
across the window pane.

I remembered loving you
in sweet seclusion, silence
kissed by silken movements
our hands in rhythm to the
motion of the water.

I remembered the thunder
rumbling in the distance
and our laughter filling
the room as passion
became exhilaration.

I remembered the first
time, that tender moment
encircled by your arms,
surprised by my emotions
which have become oh, so
satisfying.

--and--

I remembered words.
Yours. They mixed with
the raindrops, some
slow and soft, some
intense and pelting.
I felt them dance as
sea mist swirling
twilight across my
body, playful, elegant,
powerful,

and a smile slips softly
across my face.

Ways and Means
Respect your craft, word-weaver,
fashion your songs with care:
since this may be the only way
to tell your mind
or let your lost and helpless tenderness
find its way.

So set your words' little feet
upon the page
so they may scamper, prace or pirouette
or then perform
some slow and solemn ceremonial
across the page.

You word's embrace may not be
so direct, so real... and yet
in truth may serve
a different safer need.

So polish your skills, weaver of words,
since the gifts you bring
may yet surpass the beauty of the rose
and lack the sting.

It's funny how sometimes you think that people have changed. And then you realize they're just the same as they've always been. And it's not that you've changed either. It's just that you're seeing them for perhaps the first time with the sunglasses off and without the rose tint. And it makes you so glad they've forgotten 'bout you, replacing the old with the shiny and new.

Cynicism's the new high.

I think I killed my Muse when I took your limp body out of the trunk of my car and dumped it in that ditch by the side of the road.

End. Roll credits

nono.. I lied.
She's Back!
I'm an artist screaming to get out of the under-appreciated hole!

Anyway, that's what I've been told...