CC Willow art store

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Ariel's Birth Day

Ariel’s Birth Day

Yesterday, I was a obese brewing storm –
keys pulled away in reverse magnetism,
electrons lashing out in frustration.
At a brush of my ungloved fingers
popping sparks bouncing hot blue
from computers to counters,
prompting crackling grumbles from nearby stations –
reticent, wary, something infringing on their borders.
Convexing physics, warping impossibilities to likelies.
My warp fields was swamp pools, dark water gathering
forming on hard drives,
Tiny rivers waterfalling over microchips
Cloud-gathered rain in LEDs,
filling screens like empty fishbowls
I was a blustery wind building
Graduating from giving tree tops swirlies
to a force focused down aisles and hallways
wrapping around legs and pushing sidewise
hooking moving feet, offbalance stumbles,
shoved into walls, objects blown from hands
reaching, sending strangers scurrying after them
like Benny attempting to retrieve his hat.

I was not laughing like Joon;
this was not intentional,
not a sideshow for my amusement.
Deep breathing did not calm
this eye of the perplexing storm,
did not lesson the panic rising.
I tried, could not pull the offending quarks
back in to me. Frustrated, unfocused
They frayed farther out, these gremlins fed after dark –
Solar flares that licked at cars' sensors
and in mechanical confusion had them cowering
honking "Intruder alert! Intruder alert".
Their befuddled owners unaware
how my elemental poltergeists was melting
insulation on wires, how they twisted and crossed,
sending warning signs, contradictory pleas
"Help me". My warped stripes still roamed –
mongolian restaurant grill sent up
tongues of flames stretching toward its chefs
buffet bowls bounced, fell from their supports,
the whining ice cream machine would not shut off.
There was naught I could do
but retreat,

Sedate the storm with Xanex.
Even then, fingers would reach out, curl around
tiny cases, until they were rescued, placed out
of harms reach. I felt guilty
I could usually retard this bioelectricity
withhold it from running amok.
Lessen it's effects; I already long learned
not to sacrifice watches by placing them on my skin,
My mobile devices usually covered
with an insulating sleeve –
I cared too much not to take precautions.
But see here - you didn't take care of me
And urges that were shunted, damned
still continued to churn, like weather fronts over ocean.

I told you I was an elemental creature,
primal - given to impulse and base needs.
I told you I can't wear watches
without draining them in a week, their gears
too delicate for the demanding network
that runs below my skin. I told you
in midnight talks how devices respond,
to my passions or frustrations. You thought it
quirky - A whimsical poetic breeze. A rationalization.
I know what concrete is, what an automaton
a generator the human body is, what the mind
can create - how sparks fly.
There is nothing poetical here, only observation.
I know how I used you my love, how you use my love –
for a release, a safety valve for pent up passion, tension.
This was fine when there were others,
find the release I need when pressure sent me
simmering- quirks skittering, bouncing off objects –
but you insisted on being the sole
release for my high maintenance need.
I think you found it overwhelming,
though I still hid the complete depth of it from you;
not to frighten you away. Let it churn loneliness of watery night.
My coached pleas for you coming more often –
You deflected with rationales.
Shunted, you didn't see the immediate need.

I did, I saw the warning signs,
How electrons in my brain caused words to misspeak,
hands to shake and jerk, how my finger tips caused text
messages to go catterwhompus, how streetlights
flickered on and off, how electrons on data lines,
coaxials refused to whisper smooth for me,
hiccupped unintelligibly in my work. I close
my eyes and follow VanGoghian energies spin whirlpools ...
and frustrating - I could inoculate this easily,
a trip to a bar, a whisper proposal
In the ear in a grocery aisle, a fingertip
Slid down a thigh. Without consequence.
Within my power to do
… except …
I don’t want them.

Don't want them on my skin.
You flipped some protected switch,
made my heart commit to monogamy,
convinced my promise to be yours
and not share. Not a safe course for an elemental,
for a fairy child, a spirit of air and water.
I knew that fact.
Storms been brewing. Frustrating. I love
electronics and must keep my distance. I love
you and must keep my distance. You insist –
but the storm has made landfall, warp fields
pulling back surfaces and structures.
And not a word from you all day.
I must stop this, must find a way to submit
to the natural solution. I have waited too long.
And the storm grows.

February 23, 2013

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Young Dog

Young Dog
I’ve got a young dog,
Not wholly domesticated.
The more disadvantaged he feels,
          Be it chained to a tree
          Or being yelled at to discipline,
The more hardcore he becomes;
          Hackles up, teeth bared,
          Snarling like a wild thing.
Lying on the bed
          With handcuffs limiting me,
          I become that wild dog.
April 2, 2009



You wonder how my story
will end; it’s hidden not
in the chapters but in the 

heavy layers of the sentences,
the parts that are me, separated
by commas and semicolon; I feel 

as if I am dying, my life
leaking, seeping away yet
no sign of the comforting ellipses; 

for me there is no skipping over
the uncomfortable scenes, the nylon rope
of my childhood, the cold gunmetal of 

rape, the years I do not
count afterwards; they explain me
but yet the core of my being 

is in the parenthesis, described
as an aside, a side trip that
wholly defines me (you do not 

want me) and even as I look
towards the advancing days
my story is done.

February 2008



My intention is amatorial;
my writings blend into a gossamer billet-doux.
Your position flickers between adversarial
and a besotted lothario.

I try to convince myself
that I am just a feminine roué,
fire & lightening, predatory & lewd -
yet that is not so.  I find myself
retreating from romance;
romance with others feels like debauchery.
My coquetry now feels hollow as a myth,
as Cupid, as broken and aged as a carriage wheel,
years drying me out like layers of mud. 

I am no wanton.
Lapidarious stripping of my heart
waits to complete penitence;
it cries to contact you.
My abortive attempts of wooing
cannot slip into the interstices,
cannot slip past your panoply of guilt. 

Jan 17, 2008


I want to call you “Azul”;
I want to shout it across a meadow.
I want to stand by your closed gate
          And say it loud so your neighbors will hear.
I want to say it nose-to nose to your face
          When you are churlish or being pluvial.
“Azul” I whisper.
Jan 18, 2008

Thursday, February 14, 2013

On The Way Home

On the Way Home

Your house is closed
Blinds down, withdrawn into itself;
The arborvitae stands tall but squat,
Like abortive guards sullenly standing inside the fence. 

I half expect a padlock on the gate;
How can heaven look so forbidding? 

And yet as I drive by, the back light
Flares on; a flare in the dark night
Lets me know you’re there,
          You are right there at the door at this moment. 

I drive by still
And with heaven’s grace.

Jan 9, 2007

Monday, February 11, 2013

December Wandering

December Wandering

I look at you
And see you stripped of your armor
Moonlight casting your nakedness
Into familiar planes and shadows.
I know I should not dwell
In the past
My wandering eye watches
The winter sky above bare trees;
Numerous flocks of geese and ducks
Shattering the variegated gray with blue silhouettes.
I am not comfortable
Dwelling in the present. 

The moss is still green upon the roof
Growing in cracks between tiles,
The moisture of the air still nourishing spores;
I put off climbing and removing it.
There is no place in the future,
Let me come home to you. 

Dec 20, 2006
Three Brothers, Taft Bay by CC Willow

Sunday, February 10, 2013

39 Things I have Learned - early piece

39 Things I Have Learned 

1) Doesn’t matter how much you don’t believe in something. If it’s true - it’s true. (My love).
2) Kindness has to be its own reward – ‘cause I will be eventually punished for it.
3) Nothing lasts forever – even the love someone professes for me.
4) Sex with the person I love is the best sex. (You)
5) Nothing is impossible – except for what I really want and need. (You, again)
6) I really want & need you in my life. (Still true.)
7) I need to take care of myself – because no one else will.
8) The people in my life will resent me for it. (Still true.)
9) What people advise me to do – they will sabotage me from doing.
10) No one will love you  & accept you as much as your cat – except me. (Always true.)
11) No matter how I plan my contingency plan, the crisis will still overtake me. (Damsn, I wish this wan't true)
12) The best experience in my life will haunt me forever. (i'm still grateful for it.)
13) The rest - I don’t remember. (You. I remember you.)

Feb 22, 2006


Thursday, February 7, 2013

Young Dog

I’ve got a young dog,
            not wholly domesticated.
The more disadvantaged he feels
            be it chained to a tree
or being yelled at in Discipline,
the more hardcore he becomes –
            hackles up, teeth bared,
snarling like a wild thing 

Lying on the bed
            with handcuffs limiting me,
            I become that wild dog.

February 2006

Rainbows & Wild Geese

Rainbows and wild geese –
            I chase after both tonight,
Hoping to transfix on page
            Their image and import.
Try to reflect their gleaming
            From ink into unsettled hearts.
It is capricious trying to capture
            The bittersweet comfort each brings. 

After summer security fades
            And rain return again to the Willamette
The transient colors bloom again in the sky.
Though fated to fade
Faithfully comes back when the sun
            Again turns the moisture on fire. 

And driven to leave by nature,
            The native geese
Calls their seasonal good-byes
To the water they will always return to.
En masse, their faith will take them
To shelter and then back again.
Listening to their fall calling,
            An echo of Spring’s greeting teases the wind. 

So there are more
Than two sureties  in this life;
Death and taxes are answered
            With Rainbows and wild geese.
Returning hope that one day
            All love will be requited,
That children will only be
            Conceived and raised in love,
That mankind will prove itself
            Noble and merciful
And it will hold transient beauty
            Permanently in its heart.

Nov 20, 2005

One Day

One day, you will see me
            Standing at your door
            As I have constantly done
            Ready to be with you
            When invited
One day you will see me
            Openly sharing my heart
            Exposing my life
            Not just my talents
            But also my flaws.
One day, you will see me
            Loving you completely
            Knowing from the beginning
The physical aspect of love
Was only part of the what I give you.
One day, you will finally see me,
            See what I have always shown you
            See what was always there
And you will no longer ask
Why I still come over.

November 2005

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Dawn in Late Fall

Dawn in Late Fall

Dawn in late fall
The time when street-side forms
            Begin to take amorphous shape
But you must still strain your sight
Through the low-lying fog
To make out what is there.

In the close horizon,
Pockets of that deceptive fog
Nestles between hills – and mimics them –
Suggesting undulating foothills
Over the still-sleeping crops.
Remember, substance is not yet a solid knowing.

It will be over half an hour yet
When sunshine will burn off
The deceptions and mind-tricks
It will be the growing light
That will reveal true shapes.
Remember, sometimes not knowing is best.

October 2005



Understanding I was never a virgin,
And so I had nothing to lose ...

My heart, though able to be broken
Was - considered by me- self-repairing;

I believe in heaven and hell
But like most lovers,

A habit cultivated by time, I cannot leave
A ship with a false bottom

And I am sinking.
You refuse to be concerned with it.

Yet even built sturdy, they are
Susceptible to destruction.

Why so I hesitate? It will only cost me
Losing faith with you.

Mostly blind, yet I know that path-
Heavy doors of aged wood screening

That spot of fate, going between clear wine
And the raw river of tears.

Why do I come over you ask?
I am not a vessel you trust.

I am facing the end of time
And I don’t know what to do.

Oct 14, 2005


Monday, February 4, 2013

Heaven & Hell - an early piece

Heaven & Hell

I believe in heaven and hell,
            But like most lovers
My definition probably differs
            From the norm.
They apply not to the “Afterlife”
            But to “After you”.
Heaven is in your arms.
            Hell? It is being across town,
Across the street,
Outside your door.
Even on your patio
When you’re not there.
Hell is finding solace in other’s arms
            When yours are closed.
I must admit my faith
            In fate wavers;
I know there is a God,
            But his knowledge of me at times
Seems as unachievable
As your love.
Leaving me knowing, in this life,
            There is a heaven and hell.

Oct 8, 2005

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Find the Source - an early poem

Find The Source

I’ve yet to
          find the source
          of this pain,
Deep in my belly
          and the damage
          it’s done.
Can anything ever
          be conceived
          by love, in love?

Mar 1991

Unspoken - an early piece


Lets talk now
About the unspoken subject.
The facts I hide
Even from myself
Somewhere in my memory,
Someplace that is often inassessable,
Among the anger
I don't allow myself to feel.
My thoughts on the subject?
That is another thing
I don't allow myself to feel.
They are buried with the child-self,
And I don't talk with her
As often anymore.
If I talked to her lately
She would denounce
My false exterior,
Claiming the carefree woman
A sham.

And I would crumble with the myth.
It is quite difficult
Keeping her silent.
Her protests are
Barely inaudible,
And borders the consciousness.
Sometimes she peers out
In my eyes
Through tears,
But only late at night
When there are no witnesses;
No one to know my weakness,
My pain of sinful silence.
Maybe that is why
I am marked,
So that anyone who might know me
Will discover
I'm not pure.

I was a child;
A child takes what love
She can get,
No matter how wrong.
It is not only strangers
Who tempt with candy.
Strangers are not trusted,
Nor anymore is family.
I will never be guilty
Of pure trust again.

Mar18, 1991

Koi at Peterson's by CC Willow

Downwards - an early piece


Thomas, at night you
Haunt my memory;
On the frozen, still
Midwinter moment
A chance meeting
Sealed our fates.

In passion, my love was conceived.

Sealed heart,
Two cold years have passed. Denial
Is not sweet. I am unsuccessful in
Loving others and unsuccessful in not
Loving you.

Life, grant me the
Opportunity again; the memory
Vexes my heart. I can not hide its
Echoing veracity inside much longer.

You are my heart, my life, my
One great love. Thomas, if only you
Understood how much I need you.

Mar 9.1991

Saturday, February 2, 2013

My Solution - an early piece

My Solution

You're looking all over to
Solve Today’s Dream,
Saving the owl...
The forests...
The air.
And, somewhere along the way,
Picked up the assumption
That man must end
For the Earth to live.
Citing historic exploitation,
You condemn mankind's future.
"Die and sin no more!"

My faith tells me the solution
Lies only with the continuation
Of man,
Instilling in the next generation
The best of man's ideals,
The sum of man's experience.
So I will create a better tomorrow
By teaching the children today.
That is how I will raise our son

Mar 12, 1991

N orthern Spotted Owl. A hot newspaper topic at the time of writing.
more than twemth years later, still is.

Prowling - a recent chase


again at your perimeter.
Not your fence, no,
I'm too high on pheromones
for that, I'm in the thrall of a rut,
and you're lights are on, a cruelty
to my denial. I paced your facade,
stepping on grass
so my boot heels will not give
me away. You're still awake- it is late,
why are you still awake. I willed you
to "Go to bed!", turn off the lights –
if you do, I could not intrude!
I would have to walk away,
shoulders hunched,
defeated but not rejected. Slink
again to home and my cold bed
and wait for dawn’s pale light.

But your lights are on! And vibrating
under my skin is your active pulse.
Only these planks of wood and glass
separating yet again!
The only effort needed would be to mount
those hard spare steps and, head lowered,
knock like a pilgrim. And you - you, of course.
You being forgiving, you undoing
the locks and gathering me.
Gathering me for on the way to your door,
I have been born, torn, and with every step
pieces of me have been shed, stripped.

Nov 8, 2012

Written for a November Poem-A-Day challenge.

Friday, February 1, 2013

End of Time

End of Time

I am facing the end of time
            And I don’t know what to do.

A decision must be made
            Is being forced upon me

But it is overwhelming; chose wrong
And the world will stop spinning,

Wait – and the world shakes and shudders
            Purges and heaves;

A tsunami in the South Pacific,
            An earthquake in Pakistan.

Why do I hesitate?
            It will only cost me losing faith with you.

I must leave and go;
Be where the butterfly will brush against time.

That spot of fate where the simple
            Determines the destiny of the universe.

October 6, 2005

a ghazal, a rondeau

Fall Road, editing by CC Willow