Monthly Archives: October 2011


You are joy
when it needs breath
to speak, to laugh
your smile created
to imbue the world
with hope
Son of Adonis and Hermes
a muse who needs no sisters
yet welcomes all
Delight limns your voice
as morning glow
on hummer’s wings
the thrum of dancing movement
as you flit from dream to dream
is echoed in the strident beat
of every heart that ardently follows
Yet there are deeper places
a mind sharpened
by inquisitive nature
and a passion for harmony
for justice, and joy
Bright little bird
you teach us
how to enjoy life
how to love it
Your arrival is like a light
that dispels fearful darkness
And in your eyes
full of deep mirth
and harmless delightful secrets
others find peace
and the most precious gift
of healing laughter

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 10/13/2011
For Brad “Cheeks” Bell


Like thorns punched
through pleading flesh
or words woven
into razor wire
catch me
tug and hang, tug and hang
White petals painted
with red spots
catch and spin on the wire
and my heart speeds in fear
of one who is not near
Gentle breeze
flutters my soul
the splotched white smears
petals on wire thorns
all that is left


© W.R.R. 1/31/2003


Adrift on liquid courage
the Beast sleeps
Muffled sounds
diminished by distance
but my hand is on her mouth
to stop my name
Flooding pleasure engulfs
as she urges me on
and my love spills forth
where his hate has been
She comes to me
for healing, for solace
and I kiss the pain away
Below, the Beast sleeps
as Cain performs his office


© W.R.R. 9/18/1997

If I Only Could

Gentle one, if I could
I would bring you to a bower
hidden from all else but us
I would give you myself
and take whatever you gave
and this sharing would be divine
To scent your spun-gold hair
to loose myself in blue eyes
to pull to me this beautiful one
this blessing to me
And I would give you my strength
my body, my mouth, my comfort
I would worship your bounty
and give you all pleasures
you might ever want or need
But I am weaving fantasy
for to touch you is a dream
that I would fear too much to do
and you have not said you would accept
But in this dream, I would kiss you
caress your supple skin, give you all
in the press of my weight
in your delicate, opening need


© W.R.R 3/30/2002


The voice I cry for, dream of
whispered sweet words of love
and drove pain in me like nails
A desert of ruin, parched of emotion
my life waited, holding its breath
to hear those words
and I took them in like water
and swallowed down the pain
I am beautiful, while you cleave me
I am beautiful, while you make me bleed
I am beautiful, like a benediction
Say the words I would die to hear
and make me hear them
as you make me want to die
Bless me, father, for I have sinned
for I am beautiful


© W.R.R. 6/18/2003


*If M/s BDSM imagery disturbs you, it may be best to skip this poem. If you have to ask what those letters mean, you may want to skip this poem. This describes abuse I survived as a teen; though for others, consenting adults, it is not.*

The room is dark
chill on bare flesh
try to keep still
or the bonds will bite
hands to knees
splayed wide
rough cotton scrape
on mottled cheek
No sound, no movement
but there – his breathing
cut shorter by the sight
of aching weak tragedy
and trembling fear

Burn in muscle, joints scream
time unknown
secret flesh, hidden places
opened by metal bars
lifted, exposed
Fear breeds silence
gives birth to terror
tears and pleading unbidden
garbled mess
listened to but never heard

When the hands touch
spread and slide
body jerks, treacherous
no name for flesh
no word for pain
unknown what is pressed
deep within
and left

Silence and pressure
violation of tears
waiting for hands
for teeth, for hot and
bludgeoning shaft
to claim, remold
absolve by hunger spent
purpose fulfilled
If good, if still
if not unclean
Bite lip, taste blood
cannot scream

Unclean brings nothing
no escape, no release
and the tormentor
the lover
may not return
cry and ache
shift to feel
pressure bites

Exploding breath
veins grow cold
no use, no no no no
It is finished
Darkness cannot absolve
as shameful hunger
dangles, spills
between shuddering legs
Yet the game has just begun


© W.R.R. 10/31/1996

I Am I

I am nothing
I am no one
I am broken
I am I
blank page
torn and stained
I am what I am told
I am beast
I am torn
I am I
filth stained red
there is only
the mask
given, taken
taken away
take it away
and I am gone
I am nothing
I am thing
I am I

© W.R.R. 11/15/1992

Falling Away

Silken waves move
white and gray
as moonlight cants down
falling away
Heavy, slow
pressure builds
afraid to move
to make a sound
don’t break it
this momentary dream
of kindness
Heat blooms
burns this flesh
sears this soul
breath on cheek
sharp with grain
Deep, strong
it coils
bursting inside
this breathless moment
please don’t make me


© W.R.R. 12/23/1993

Not Alone

I feel you
long before you are here
under my skin
a shudder
a shame
Not alone today
the second voice a terror
will he be kind?


© W.R.R. 11/4/1993

In Regard to Malcolm Welsford, from a supporter of Adam Lambert

In response to this excellent (and brave) post by Juneau and Xena on the Salon over at On the Meaning of Adam Lambert: Adam Lambert and the quality of mercy

I will post this response in the Salon as well, but I wanted to post it here and on Twitter too, cuz I think I’m not the only one who feels this way.

In regard to the unsanctioned CDs of Adam Lambert’s old demo work produced by Malcolm Welsford:

I can’t support these demo CDs, but I don’t bash, demonize (or unfollow) those who choose to do so. I like Monte a lot, love his solo CDs, and respect his freedom to speak his mind on this matter. Frankly, I also worry that speakin’ his mind as he has may have alienated a lot of Adam’s fans from Monte’s ranks of personal musical support. Yet I still cannot support what Malcolm Welsford, the true culprit, has produced. However, my decision is based on ethics, not just cuz Adam said he didn’t approve of ’em.

This producer, Malcolm Welsford, is sleazy. In yer post on the Salon, Juneau, (read link above) ya mentioned that if Adam hadn’t gotten famous, he’d be happy these CDs were comin’ out. I say, if he hadn’t gotten famous, this man wouldn’t bother to put these CDs out. Adam’s fame (exploitin’ it) is the reason he’s puttin’ ’em out. The exploitation is the reason for the timin’. He has to release ’em before the real deal comes out. Take One, his first spoilin’ of Adam’s thunder, taught him he can make bank if he times it right, and this time the fanbase has grown exponentially, so he stands to make even more money off of Adam in an underhanded manner. He’ll do this by foolin’ the casual fans, the new fans, who won’t know that this is old and unfinished music. The real damage some of his veteran fans are concerned with is that those new fans may think this old demo music really is Adam’s sophomore CD, his Magnum Opus.

For the record, I have a lot of Adam’s older music, and I love it all. The objection isn’t bout the music itself. The objection is a matter of cheatin’ fans and harmin’ Adam’s growin’ reputation as the greatest male singer alive today.

I do worry this could hurt his career some, but I also believe Adam will rise above this mess. His talent is his, housed in his own body. This sleazy producer only has a small slice of his talent in older music. He hasn’t got any claim on the source of that talent. Long after he’s played his grubby little games and run out of older slices of Adam to exploit, Adam will still be puttin’ out new CDs. Also, the caliber of the official music will blow this unfinished demo business into oblivion. I have faith in that.

As for me, I can disagree with my friends and still love ’em, still call ’em my friends. I hope I’m not the only one. For now, it’d be nice if our fandom didn’t tear itself into bits over this one despicable sleazeball. His time is runnin’ out, but Adam’s star has just begun to rise.


© W.R.R. 10/16/2011

Siren Song

My heart trips
from note to note
as I follow
where you lead
floodgates open
washed away
yet given all I need
No fear, buoyed up
held in light and joy
one breath begets another
feel the cadence, tripping heart
as older fears
and darker dreams
like stitches, torn apart
My muse, you bear a siren’s voice
that pulls me to the rocks
yet leads to shallows
gentle springs
from cruel and mocking seas
sounding in shadows, lead me on
to sweet and healing things
Lure me now away from grief
into scented lotus dreams
your lullaby the drug
that makes heart slow
in safe and shadowed reeds
never to wake til siren song
bids my spirit go.


© W.R.R. 4/28/2011
For Adam Lambert, “Aftermath”


Is this what I am
in your wet shine eyes
your countenance
bathed in homespun
brittle sorrows?
Tiny darts of petulant hurt
are flung at this image
this effigy of me
rushes of fantasy
tied with brambles of desire
into a sad man-shape
The barbs fall short
hindered in flight
by the fear to face
all that I truly am
all you helped
to make me?
Are you finished?
Is the unwrought
able to set tools aside?
Cease your volleys
your tears
let the love
you helped to suffocate
slip by in silence
and unremarked
Seek yourself
in the fading ruin
and when you find you
rise up
become the whole your half needs
and cut the strangled rushes free


© W.R.R. 2/4/2002

You Chose

If you were hurt
as the phoenix took flight
do you blame
the ascendant creature
or accept that you chose
to remain stagnant
to drown in stung pride
like a bitter afterbirth
in the very path of the fire?
The glowing embers whisper
it is not too late
to choose
to rise
to fly


© W.R.R. 8/31/2011

Innocent Mask

Innocence is a mask
donned by any soul
quick enough
to pluck it up
before it is tarnished


© W.R.R. 8/20/2011


Beauty can be found in moldering stone
a faded hibiscus bloom, a sunset
a dead bird, a child’s laughter
Beauty is a defeated chrysanthemum
more poignant in humility than pride
Beauty is the sweetest rose
bedewed with tears of a lover
Beauty exists in sunlight gleaming from a stone
embedded in mud
Beauty is the sound of wind
the strength of a thunderstorm
the claw of lightning, the dance of willow leaves
Beauty breathes in the old written page
as fragile as the resolve of men to love life
and be indentured to it, when he only wants love
that elusive thing of beauty, personified
But life is at times not living for love, or beauty
Life, now and then, is mere surviving
forsaking surcease from fear only
to watch life become the personification of pain


© W.R.R. 5/30/2002