After Hours: Angel’s Metamorphosis and Angel’s Honey Dust

This week, I revisit a poem, “Angel’s Metamorphosis,” that connected with a very dear friend of mine, the first lines a bit of a Casablanca moment, “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”  Here I pair it with its companion piece, “Angel’s Honey Dust.”  If I recall, the original poems were matched to the wonderful art of Michael Parkes.

Angel’s Metamorphosis

the sky, today,
penetrable and deep,
I reach my hand
into its perfect blue
in search of a star
when found, its light
warms my open palm
azure drips off my arm
until a puddle floods
our spot of the earth
where we begin to play
with our new toy
above us an Angel plays.
dancing, metamorphosis.

Now she is a Carmen Miranda teddy bear

Now she is a flying saucer.

Now she is you.

sleeping naked
in my arms
my hand traces
constellations on your
satin skin
stretched, tingling
on the breast I linger
touching the nipple
reaching to the universe
part of the Woman,
loved wholly
dancing with angels
whose gentle purr say
life will renew

Angel’s Honey Dust

one feather falls
from the angel’s wing
into my open palm
I dip it in honey dust
and brush your breast
with a sweet taste
for lips discovering
softness of skin
for the first time
a new spirit
rises from
our delicious oils
one breath
ignites a womb.

We drink this delicate nectar.

We hear music of bird and bard

We rejoice the sacred bond

dancing with angels
in deep, penetrable
rhythms, richer than azure
constellations rise
from the mendacity
of earthbound life
to love wholly
this Woman
born from dust
into a renewed
dream of life
lit by chosen stars
and created
in tender union.

A Balloon Let Go

For this weeks revisit, I return to a poem written in response to a poem written by Gina at Singledust in March, the details of which I do not recall, but likely it started in a comment in response to one of her poems last spring.  If I recall, this was well received both at my blog and at Poets’ Corner.  (Oh I found the source of my inspiration:

A Balloon Let Go

The balloon our sorrows filled
like helium floating upward
we held earthbound too long.
I looked at you and with eyes
swimming into one another’s
heart. The wordless answer
spoke by opening its hand
giving the sorrows flight
until they burst like the sun
rising on our horizon
whose orange melts
across the darkness
allowing the deep blue
meaningfulness of day
to arrive
to stick our hands into
to find the star
to light the remaining days
like an umbrella of softness,
under, we hold one other close
when the rain falls as
little drops of inspiration
drawing us closer and closer
until we melt into one
flash of lightning
at last, released.


In Response to a Poet’s Love Song of 1/24/17

This week, I share the poem that introduced me to Christine last January.  I am always startled by old poems and wonder, “did I really write this?”  Perhaps I did not, life’s changes make us different people even if we believe we are somehow connected to some strange version of our past selves.  Just stories, all of it, persistent memories that don’t want to let go of our present self, perhaps thinking they own the clue we need to make the best choice in this moment, more than the self that is alive and present today.  Alas, how did I get there from here?  Please take the time to read this poem and follow the links to our baristas pages to discover more of their great writing.

In Response to a Poet’s Love Song of 1/24/17

My body now wakes up on its own at 4am
Somehow, transformed from insomnic
To discover the backside of night
And find it as pleasing as Goldilocks
Found the third bed eating the third porridge.
When I talk to the old poet in my journals
Or in files found on my computer that don’t
Remember being written, he chuckles at the
Absurdity of the idea of me waking early
To do anything other than take a piss.

My body now wakes up on its own at 4am
The acoustics of this silence are similar
Yet so very different. Waking creatures
Are more for meditations like these than
The beasts that haunt hours that aren’t stilled
Inside a heart that hears only its own beating
As it tells tales that ache with longing, with pain
That never really was felt, only misunderstood.
This depth, this texture, this darkness marks
The underside of my eyes just as well, thank you.

My body now wakes up on its own at 4am
Still needing coffee in my oldest possession
Aside from stuffed animals hidden from view:
The coffee mug bought at a convention in college.
My hand still holds the pen, a new lover from Japan,
My sensuous mouth still spills familiar treasures
That makes me fall in love all over again. I adore this.
But now, I feel a presence, like eyes glowing through
A window. I am seen. Seen, my stories take me on
Journeys I didn’t even know I wanted to go on.

A response to

With additional thanks to:
for being inspired enough by the phrase backside of night to hopefully start a meme

What is the Best Time of Day to Write Poetry?
for asking the question that got the whole backside of night thing going to begin with

Her, Poetry

As I continue my sabbatical from posting new writing, over the next weeks and months, I will share with the GDG some of my favorites from the past years or some that have been well-received along the way.  Of all my poems posted on Word Press, this one, originally posted at Poet’s Corner, has been by far the most well-received.  It is an older poem, written many, many years ago… perhaps even as far back as the ’90s, but the carbon dating program on my computer is off for repair… instead of speculating about seemingly insignificant facts, please read this oldie but goodie, Wolfman Jack!

Her, Poetry

I do not write poems for her,
she completes the poem.
Words cannot replace
her presence.
Emotions inspired
by our love
told by the twinkling
wealth of night.

I do not write poetry for her,
she lives the poetry of life.
Words cannot explain
her presence.
My warmth,
the fire she lights.
The fire she feeds,
her smile.

Unheard Incantations: A Collaborative Poem

The words we cannot say
Will be wept
Into silence between us (CER)

Breathe deep, dear love;
Be still with me
Listen to my heartstrings
A song meant just for you (KMA)

Each tear
An eloquent elegy
To tortured truths (AP)

Each note played
On a hand carved lute
Strung with strips
Of my soul (JWL)

Your breathless aura
Beats in time
Undulating ululation
With my exhaled psyche (AP)

Intertwined, tangled,
Unified: whole
Healed. (JWL)

Yet with hearts torn open
Bleeding out the notes of our song
You turned from me (ME)

I am fire
In desire
I beg
Save me (1W-W)

Fetch me an instrument,
For the untrained ear
Is soothed by that
Which it cannot comprehend. (LEL)

Not everything is black and white.
For even the eclipsed moon
Is not without a little light. (SD)

Whispers through the distance
I remember
As you reach for my hand
my heart (CER)

Our words
Drip like fire
Into embers
Wanting back
Their flame. (SFF)

The words we cannot say
Will be wept
Into silence between us (CER)

Written by:


Kindra M. Austin

Sarah Doughty

Michael Erickson

Stephen F. Fuller

John W. Leys

Lois E. Linkens

Aurora Phoenix

Christine E. Ray

Spoken Word Spotlight: Catch A Firefly/S. Francis


Welcome to Spoken Word Spotlight.  Every Wednesday, Christine brings a writer’s words to life.  This week she brings us a beautiful and nostalgic poem by Barista S. Francis. Sit back, take a sip of coffee, close your eyes and enjoy.

If you would like Christine to highlight a piece of your writing, please contact Go Dog Go through our Contact Form or email  us at

Come and catch a firefly with me
Like we are children playing free
Alone in a field designed for us
The grass, the trees, the flowers,
Perfection. What shall we do with it?
Put it in a jar, poked holes in lid,
Watch it become our lantern?
Or watch it languish alone?

Do we dare lift the lid, reach inside
Draw the firefly out to the jar’s rim
And then sit together and just watch?
Our eyes open await the exact moment
When it chooses to take flight,
Trace a swift arc around our field
To recapture enough lost time to then
Light up a whole new universe within.

We will each reach out our hand
To try and catch it again, this light
Passing through our fingers like air,
Until I close my eyes like a blind man,
Turn my fingers to your skin and trace
The wholeness of a moment I had sought
When I first became aware of light spilling
Down the back of my soul, needing capture.

Turn the Night On- Christine Ray (Brave and Reckless) & S Francis (SailorPoet)


“Looks like they are at it again,” Mouse.

“Did you have your coffee, yet,” Gecko?

“No, make you a cup while we watch them work?”

“Sounds excellent.”

Presenting another collaboration between S Francis and Christine

Won’t you stay,

My love?


Outside snow falls steady

Gusted by north wind

Tapping at our window

Inside these walls

A fire burns



So softly

Spread your

Raven hair

Upon my pillow



So gently

We will unfold

Our layers

Like origami flowers


Reveal the

Treasure at the core

Offer it like pearls

That dissolve

On our tongues


Won’t you stay my love?

turn the night on



Won’t you stay my love?

Turn the night on


Won’t you stay,

My love?


As bitter winds blow

and frost grows in ferns

Across the window

Inside these walls

A fire burns



So softly

Fall into my

Chocolate eyes

Across the pillow



So gently

I will rub

My hands across

Your silk skin.


Offer the

Tenderness in your core

In small gasps

That dissolve

On our tongues.


Won’t you stay my love?

Turn the night on


Dancing at the Go Dog Go Café

Go Dog Go Cafe (1)

Sometimes the baristas just can’t resist the beat and vibe going on in the Café. Earlier this week me and SailorPoet (or is it SailorPoet and I?) let the music run away with us and oh how we danced.

Across a table
Coffee aromas inspire
Poetic dancing.

Dancing poems paint walls
Blank no more with words demand
Heard demand more words

Driving a heartbeat
Foxtrot, Tango, a Polka?
Dance in this moment.

Dance, dance
Just dance
Let the words
Become the Moment
The moment the words.

And in the passing
will be forever, etched
on the papers of time.

Grab a barista, a coffee, a pen, anyone or anything in the Go Dog GO Café and dance. We would love to see it.