Picture music for those dreams of shining beauty.

I’ve talked before about people who have lyrical minds. Artists mostly. An artist of any form can be lyrical. It doesn’t have to be “word” usage.

For the line above I see many stories. The most glaring is the one I will write today. I hope you will feel comfortable to write your interpretation in the comments below.

The background is a multitude of greens, blues, and purples. Like the Florida sky at sunset on a little island off the coast. Music notes drift in the air on invisible lines. A slim silhouette sways with the sound. Her long, pale hair glides slowly behind her as though she is dancing under water. You can’t hear the music she dances to. You can only hear the occasional humming she makes as the melody breathes life into her steps. Her arms gracefully lift above her head. She twirls to the left and steps softly to the right. Her ankles cross delicately and on her tip toes she reaches for an unseen object.

Her face is hidden in the glow of the colors. The musical notes start to fall around her as though they too are dancing. She turns in a circle, swirling the music around with her hair. They fly up into the sky to hover above her form. Her dream is to dance. She lives her dream in every step she takes, every note she hums. She is perfection. She is beauty. The dark shadows are ever present in the corners of her shape. She keeps them immobile with the dreams of her dancing. She begins to grow a bit larger in size. She steps up on a platform that isn’t visible to you or I. Up the steps she glides, making every movement look flawless.

Her smile lights her face. We cannot see her features but we can recognize the magnificence of that expression. She is now on stage of the most importance dance of her life. The tempo picks up and she meets that tempo with gusto. Her body moves in perfect rhythm to her magical song.

Then she stops. The colors fade to a muted blue and the sounds of the world pervade. Her dream has ended with the intrusion of the alarm clock. Another dream. A shining dream of beauty. She will always picture music in her dreams of shining beauty.

Scream these sweet pictures to sleep, for they never whisper.

My next fridge phrase came to me yesterday as the above. I love standing there staring at this massive jumble of words now splayed across my refrigerator. Then I see certain words pop out at me. I gave this one a day to stew. I wanted to pass by it over and over to read it in my mind.

I am interested in what these words mean to you? Some people have lyrical minds. Their brains see stories in everything. Others do not. Nothing wrong with either mind. I am fascinated by both. I would love to hear what you have to say about it. Does this prompt something obvious to you? Or do you hear a story in there?

I see a tortured soul, longing for something she can never have. I see her curled in the fetal position in her bed, late at night. All the lights are off, the sounds of the world passing by her window. The moon shines down on her curtains, begging to be seen. She cannot face the moon tonight. She sees and hears only sweet pictures in her mind. Maybe a loved one that passed away or a previous lover that has moved on. Her pictures are beautiful. They would bring any normal person such joy. For her, they bring only pain and sorrow.

She must scream them away before she can sleep, and sleep does not come willingly. The scream may be a metaphor or quite literal. It matters not. But scream she must. Her memories do not come silently or stay softly in the background. They are loud and always present in her mind. Her sweet pictures do not whisper.


Lie beneath our black moon together and play with the shadow of his death.

Two souls are resting together in a plane of non-existance. One lightly strokes the other’s soul as they twist and turn with the whisper of the wind. The black moon shines down upon them. The air slithers around their bodies. It looks as though the bodies are drifting on the surface of a sea, unseen by man or beast.

Their eyes never meet but their thoughts are only ever on each other. Their skin is always touching in at least one area. To be without that contact is to be without life itself. What would life matter without the shadow of his death? Quiet? Solitary? Or too loud, too much, too overwhelming with all the needs and wants of the masses.

To lie beneath their black moon together in this nothing world-between-worlds and play with the shadow of his death is the only way to feel anything at all.


I was a teenager once.

The 80s were great. I was having the time of my life while also being quite miserable. Guess that is what being a teenager is all about. One thing I never quite lost the taste for was those magnetic words found on refrigerators everywhere. 

I love Amazon Prime. I can order random crap and have it on my doorstep in 2 days. Sitting on my couch watching a movie about a girl absolutely fascinated with those magnetic words on a pale yellow fridge…Up on Amazon I go. Two days later I am now that girl, feeling quite young again, fascinated, standing in front of my fridge. So many words are swirling in front of me and as a writer, I naturally have something to say. So, here I am. 

Now, I’m not saying that I have anything good or inspirational to say. In fact, quite the opposite. By nature I am cynical and pessimistic. I am not saying that the words you will read will even be classified as poetry in the eyes of the lyrical. All I am saying, is that I have something to say.

Sometimes I will take my inspiration from the words I gathered off my fridge. As I stand there mindlessly moving object from place to place until the letters in front of me say exactly what it is my soul is hearing. Sometimes I will just be saying my head is screaming.

Lie beneath our black moon together and play with the shadow of his death.

So many ideas race through my head with this small but intense sentence. One could read this as a somber thought passing through a morbid mind. Or one could interpret this as a dark but beautiful moment between two children of the night. Interpretation is a beautiful thing. The next post will have my interpretation of the line above. We can then see how similar we are.