"Stained Glass"

Light fingers its way
around the high brick walls
and cuts into the stained glass,
captured in its sheer web.

Light slices through the color,
cutting across the thick church atmosphere
and shooting down to the musky pews,
shattering the vagueness
with one
clear
cut.

The glass deforms the light with different hues,
scattering its refractions around
into different shapes.

Each piece of glass
rapes the yellow sunlight
forcing it into submission
of color and direction,
painting it with gothic textures
and distressing its innocence
with jagged lines.

But, soon, night falls,
and the full moon's silver beams
are stronger than the sun's waxy lace,
and the stained glass must obey -
at least,
until dawn.

© Tiffany Lee 2001

"A Bar Called Limbo"

The thick, low keys of a piano resonate heavily through the smoke-filled bar. Ashen faces heed not the cries of the instrument or its player; only holding glasses, half-empty. Somber eyes filled with loss and regreat find refuge in the distorted world seen through the bottom of a glass. The earth moves slowly beneath their feet and the piano slithers out a backdrop of tiresome notes. Limbo - that's what this place is. An eternity of waiting in slow motion, full of souls who have done no good and no wrong. Limbo. That's what this place is. Sunken bodies slump in their greasy bar stools, their eyes too sad to cry; never embracing potential, only the sticky table placed before them. Cigarette smoke winds precariously, beckoning death like a serpent in the air. Twirling in the few remaining lights, slithering like misery lying in wait. And despite their loss and boredom and sorrow, hanging lost souls bargain with the past, shrugging the present, shruggng the future. They listen not to the player, who remains in the light, drumming with passion. The player, whose glass is half-full atop the piano, licks the keys with his fingers, kissing the music with his soul. If only they would look to the player.

© Tiffany Lee 2001

"Untitled Poetry  #15"

if only i had wings enough
to wipe silent tears
and lift you up to the heavens.
you and i silhouetted by the sun
and you and i flying silently
as a mere whisper
on the wind.
to the horizon
and beyond
we will carry each other
to eternity.

© Tiffany Lee 2001

"The Midnight Sun"

the midnight sun burns tranquil,
stretching its milky legs
around the world in twilight splendor,
leaving a silver trail for the lonely.
a deep sigh, it heaves,
across the infinite space
calling to us like a Renaissance painting
(so beautiful and petrifying in one potrait) -
what frail strength
and decadent desire.
the black night is its satin sheets
and the stars,
its lullaby -
sing not for silence,
but for a passionate love
to share the twilight with.

"The Silence As We Pass 'Neath a Bridge"

ain beating upon the windshield
like a vicious audience rising to its feet -
the sound deafens me to the world
for all there is
is the thunderous weather
raping the cool metal of my car.

and just like that,
the sound of silence
as we hold our breaths
while passing beneath the concrete of an overpass.
the seconds tick too slowly
and although the harsh sounds have dimmed -
(no; stopped altogether) -
briefly,
an eternity passes in a
thick slow motion.
nowhere to look but straight ahead
blankly
blindly
while keeping my breath locked
in my lungs -
air is seized in quiet
and this turbulent moment
is frightening,
yet so poetic in nature.
beads of rain flicker
upon my windshield,
nervous about where to crawl -
the silence is crashing in
all around us.

and with a sudden
SLAP
i let out my breath
as the rain rushed my car so quickly
i barely remember
the sound of silence.

© Tiffany Lee 2001

"Shoes"

My boots are tattered,
worn from playtime and journeys.
Dulled and scraped, yet comforting,
they rest at the foot of my bed,
thrown carelessly to their spontaneous spot
dodging shadows in the soft night hours.
His boots -
well,
they are more meticulous.
So shiny and new,
I can see my own sickly reflection in their glare.
They sit, side by side completely, perfectly parallel,
at the foot of my bed,
facing the bedroom door.
My boots lay on their faces,
one on either side of his militant shoes.
And when he leaves me in the early morning hours,
his boots cling to his feet eagerly
loyally
(whereas mine would be a gentle cushion).
My boots are left alone
at the foot of my bed,
pathetically laying with their laces strewn in fantastic directions
or withered in a messy clump -
I hear his boots carefully
clicking down the hall,
with the same belligerent rhythm
as every night before.

© Tiffany Lee 2001

"Sight"

am so lucky that i can see -
even though in the legal sense i am blind
(legal proving to be the empty term that it is)
i can still see the wind
breezing through the trees
and all the colors
of dusk and dawn
streaking across the horizon.
could i still be a poet
if i could not see lavender?
i am sure touch and smell
and taste
would provide apt poems
and deep rhymes,
but give me my sight
and i'll paint the sky
for you.

© Tiffany Lee 2001

"Time"

Glass leaves fall to the hard ground below, breaking off into a thousand jewelly sparkles -
A woolly web of fog is spun through the icy thicket -
The noble moon sires in the glossy sky amid the backdrop of glistening stars -
A silver lake illuminates the ebony sheet with her glorious spotlight -
A deep dish of eloquence -
An acid tear crystallizes down his icy cheek -
Stained glass windows of the high church crack,
screaming their plea as they crash to the empty pews below -
Soft candles flicker -
My blood boils.

© Tiffany Lee 2001

"Untitled # 4"

The wind dips down into my soul -
Reaching deeply and
Pulling me out
In one swift motion.

Breathing deep,
The sun sinks into the purple sea,
Its gentle marigold cooling
To a whispering hue -
The sea reflects
The silver moon bobbing
In the shivering night ocean.

And the wind carries my soul
To a place
I cannot
Even
Imagine.

© Tiffany Lee 2001