TL Boehm - Writer

Written in my heart


The morning is haunted

Waking dreams of trains that roar

Through backwater towns

The sounds lonely

Dogs at my window soulful

Keen for freedom and shiver

Frigid before the light breaks

In all her saffron glory

Still muted cool wind through empty frames

The reverberation

Metal and bone collide

The flesh is silent

Epitaphs of weary wood

Santuarios and dollar store daisies

Lean into the grief

Genuflect the decay

How easily we forget…

Rust and oil and sweat

We come to our senses in the harsh

Of cloudless skies and red earth

That can’t receive us

I wait for the rage

Behind my weary eyes

To subside

Find that center apathetic

The litany of cicadas

In the death throes of a summer afternoon

Tongue lolling and splayed out

On my back porch

Shallow as dew on the back of a toad

Shake it off girl

And breathe…

TL Boehm


Beside the tracks there are two crosses (santuarios) to mark where a boy was killed by a train. Two years later a homeless man - who had pulled the boy from the tracks in an effort to save him - was also struck by a train and killed. perhaps he could not live with his memories...I see those two dilapidated crosses every day...on my way to work

I will remember

This page is dedicated to those souls who have touched my life - then moved on...I miss you.


The little lights
They effervesce 
Caught up in the breath of you
Crisp pinafore dress
And fireflies 
I am with you child
At the edge of the world
Where sullen skies ebb
And bare trees 
Poise for the blooming spring

I long to put my arms around you
Barefoot and tousled 
You carry my broken soul 
If only 
I ever

The ash from bonfires
Winks out in sand 
Summer evenings 
Capricious I danced 
Let the waves take me 
Ephemeral pleasure
A skipped moment 
Gray in the daylight 
Shake the shamed from tattered blankets
And sneak back home

I will never cradle 
Your tiny frame 
Feel the thrum of your heart 
Like moths against a window 
The echo of a breath 
I love you, mommy
Sad mantras now
This consequence 
Surrender to the silence 
Of life ungiven

Resurrected only 
As a fatal wish 
Moments when I see you 
Do you wait for me, still? 

TL Boehm...03/21/13 

Keep The Light - For "Seanymph" 

We kept it light
You and I 
Wrapped friendship around moments 
Of lavender and tea roses
Treasures unearthed in lazy afternoons
Morel s and the damp lull of pines wafting through 
An open window
Trading simple things
You were light 
Filtered through antique lace curtains
Thoughts of you melt sweet
Chocolate chips held tight in small hands
Smiling for the moment
Until the residue is wiped clean

You are gone
But never forgotten
I will see you in sunsets and surf 
And the way the rain falls steady 
In late spring 
When the light is soft behind the clouds
You never shied from the rumbling storm 
When I raged and railed against the breaker walls
You were the calm 
You held the tide
Even when the deluge started to take you
I could sense it in the pull of deeper moments
You said we’re all on a journey
And you left your legacy etched in my soul
Open the window a little wider
And embrace the sky

I will think of you always
And treasures
And the sea
Conch shells and mermaids
Surf against the sand 
I will keep the light 

For Pat Brodniak-Carbonaro “ Seanymph”

An Open Letter You Won't Read


Dear You,

I suppose since the seasons changed, the climate chilled and so many hopeful mornings have passed since we last spoke, perhaps you have forgotten me. Perhaps you have summarily dismissed me from your mind, being the perveyour of logic that you are. My name and my face are never even a blip on your emotional radar. You ended our conversation so politely, as if speaking to that stranger at your door. You know, the awkward tween coerced into selling candy or cookies for the team or the organization or that really cool trip to D.C. "No thank you. Have a nice day." Close the door, turn the page and I am forgotten. If only I had learned the subtle art of the pleasant dismissal.

Truth is, while I'm no stalker and that adult part of me knows that people and rules and flavors of the month all change I made an investment in you. A commitment of time and energy. A genuine effort to understand, to empathize and even to see beyond my own myopia - borrowing your prismatic lense and focusing on the world as you see it. Truth is, for all our cosmetic differences I put a value on you and your words. Truth is, while people and rules and flavors of the month may change - I do not ascribe to the trends of the day....I never dismissed you. Not from my heart, not from my mind, not from my thoughts. Your worth to me did not cease simply because your perspective was different than mine. No amount of vociferous volleys between us, no amount of lines in the sand and line ups of cohorts for games of verbal tug o war will serve to lessen your worth as a human, as a one I was deeply grateful to call "friend" Perhaps I erred in my understanding of the situation. Obviously, you did not care to learn anything from me. It is what it is.

You won't read this and that's ok. My release is in the saying it. The commital of my position to paper, that's all. Truth is, you would always be welcome on my doorstep. I would never dismiss you. Even after all the words between us - and the silence that is now....I will always wish you peace.


I guess I am in an odd place today. I've had more than my share of stress in the past few days and while I'd usually blog about it - in this case its too serious and I'm too close to it, and I'm too tired to try to make it funny.

I woke up thinking about someone I've lost touch with, thinking that perhaps I should make a phone call. And then I started connecting the dots - because I am a girl and don't compartmentalize, I started thinking of others with whom I've lost contact....sigh.

Not that I'm beating my self up or anything. People lose touch with each other for so many reasons, but I suppose I am just not casual when it comes to live warm bodies and once a person has made an impact on me the impression is usually permanent. To be blunt though, sometimes ya just piss a peep off and they never want to speak to you again...EVER...and all your fawning and groveling means nothing....because in their mean nothing. I don't understand that mindset but I've bloodied my nose slamming into it frequently. I suppose its just a hazard of wearing skin.

On a lighter note. I started on a new novel on Saturday. I wrote four pages of dialogue and I had a scene idea this morning which was unfortunately pre-empted by reality - reality which will continue to impede upon my every moment until oh....thursday evening. By then I'll probably have forgotten the way cool scene, even though I made some quick notes. Sometimes I wonder why it happens that way. Why I have ideas when I have no time. Its either self sabatoge or - someone else hates me. Who knows and who cares if the end result is the same? I will have to scrap and fight for spare time....because like me, my dreams don't matter to most either. My point of value is in what I can pay for, prepare or prevent for those around me. And I am probably not much different than most of you'uns.

Sometimes things just suck don't they?



Sand and Ashes - For Ron Hughes 


Sand and Ashes

Memories hang 
Suspended in the blue 
The ash of blood and bone 
Residual dreams 
My heart cleaves 
In the twilight 
Alone with the ghost of you

Plaintive cries of seagulls
Everything dies 
The wind flits with wavelets 
Caressing wet 
Pale gauze wrapped round my waist 
You hover under the surface 
One shade deeper 
One more stolen moment 
I am surrounded by you 
And the water is so

I will not hesitate 
Hold you now as you slip away
One final time 
In a wake of muted blues 
The clouds enshroud the setting sun 
I only touch the surface 
And pray you on your way

You are my forever horizon
Watch the surf gentle 
Slip from the shore 
Casting sand and ashes 
Transient footfalls 
On a barren beach
Shattered shells scattered 
Catch the last light 
And the dusky breeze
Carries a memory
Little girl longing 
For daddy’s arms
Safe haven 
Oh so warm….

Our final evening at Hoffmaster State Park (Muskegon - Lake Michigan) I carried some of my dad's ashes out into the lake. As I stood waist deep in the water, facing into the setting sun, the skies were overcast, and the water quiet. I let the ashes slip into the water and as I stood there - the ashes gathered around me and the water seemed even warmer...I know it was only my imagination sparked by the broken heart of a girl who hasn't had the chance to grieve for her daddy, but it felt like he was that place - trying to comfort me....trying to say goodbye. It is SO HARD - I cannot express the ache....
I just miss him so much.
There is so much more than what you might read in the poem. I'll save it for another blog. 08/12/11


Folding Echoes - For Ron Hughes 

Dun smudges of nicotine 
the jaundice bits of addiction 
I place the pieces 
folding echos into epithets
dog earred memories that curl 
brittle around my fingers 
squeeze another beat from my heart
an exhaled dirge 
the rasp breath timbrel 
above the roar of life in my ears

I pan for gold 
sifting splintered bones 
for moments lost with you
Searching my haggard face
for your spectred resonance 
I've become that thing I loathe
folding ehcos into paper chains 
capture only damp impressions 
of tears wasted 
Am I just an echo 
of your terminal refrain?

TL Boehm 12/7/10

For Dad 

Northern Light - For AK at Writers Cafe 


Northern Light

Forever words

They dance across my shattered soul

Lyric motion of northern lights

Ephemeral beauty

Hold my breath to save the moment

Before this riptide sorrow

Carries me from your peaceful shore


I will remember your gentle correction

Migrant birds aloft in a silent sky

The ease of flight

Faith in knowing that angels and eagles

Are built to ascend

So are you….


I am broken now

But I will soar

In the afterglow of northern lights

Dear friend your words

Will light my path….



For Dale and his wife...


For those of you who may remember, Dale was known as AK on 360 and on Writers Cafe. He was a great writer, a man of faith, and a dear friend. He was often the voice of reason for me when I became flippant or vulgar in my writing...I valued his correction...and him.

Today after a six month or so hiatus from WC - I signed on - and found a message in my comments that said he and his wife drowned while on vacation a couple of months ago. I am beyond sad....

This is the reason why when people like ..... (had to edit out the name to protect the innocent.) dismiss themselves from my life over disagreements - I take it personally. Not because of "right and wrong" but because friends are worth more than my silly ego. Its not just a game to me. If you are on my page, and you read know me. I am a real girl with a real life and real feelings. I make no apologies for loving...for caring...and for feeling real sorrow at the loss of a friend. Its not "casual." If you have inspired me, connected with me and I call you friend then this is what you are to me. Its very simple. I care.

I'd been thinking about AK for awhile and meaning to get back on at the Cafe...but I didn't. And the loss I feel, its an ache I cannot describe.

Its so easy for some to be petty and dismissive here on the internet. I'm assuming we've all done it or had it done to us, and maybe my skin is too thin at times. But when someone passes away, there is no more opportunity for reconciliation. So be gentle with your words...even here. In the grand scheme of things which means more to you? Your opinion? Or the real person on the other end of the screen....? For me, its all about YOU on the other end of the screen.

I'm not kicking myself for the hiatus from WC. I'm just encouraging anyone who reads this to consider things like restoration....reconciliation...and agreeing to disagree....without venom. AK was a definite influence on my life - a wonderful writer and a person who was able to forgive and give a second chance after an offense. Its what real people do....I need to remember that, myself.



Quiet Chaos

You were my quiet chaos
Calm storm in the heart of a girl
You led me skittish
Ungainly beautiful
Like a newborn fawn for you
Lose me in this wilderness
Reminisce that kiss
Lips parted never met
Would you have lingered
Hot and sweet in my mouth
Like green chile praline brittle
Your idiot savant I played
serious for you
Danced in my dreams to your beat
stacatto pulse alone together
But like real magic
You disappeared
Rumors of you
Sleeping under your daddy's truck
same jeans and tees
worn at the knees
Curls tangled around your face
Your eyes that fevered chill
Where earth...
and stars...
and forever collide
I could see beyond infinity
Yet you'd look at me
Soul empty the well dry
was it the weed, the speed or the need
Casual intimacies
I was totally partial to you
Wild inside but you never knew
Left me parched in the pouring rain
The last day
Breath on my cheek
Words you didn't speak
My skin craves you hugging me fierce
Dreams broken they slip away
Aching for a second chance
Stinging question lingers in my brain
Will you kiss me
You'll never ask again...

TL Boehm
for Chris Martinez

Chris was a drummer in HS. He was a reclassified senior and I was a junior. We recruited him into our "garage band that never was" only to find that he was pretty much "gone" for all his talent. He dropped out of school and broke my little cheesy heart. He asked me to kiss him once. I told him no....end of story... 

Aching Blue

Your mongrel dog at my side
We swing gently
back and forth
faded redwood planks sigh
and the weathered grape leaves
Whisper a tired summer song
My bare feet brush cut grass
As I stare at your back door
For the ghost of you to cross that threshold
Say my name one more time
Fill up the empty places you left behind
In my heart
My ears ring at the silence
Missing small talk about the trees
Heavy with fruit
and fuzzy bumblebees that drone
pollen laden bodies
burying themselves
in poppies she never planted
The sky burns aching blue
Like your eyes
Cloudless before the storm
The deluge will come
But not today
Mongrel dog in my lap
I let my thoughts swing gently
Back and forth
remembering you
and skies of aching blue.
for my dad....Ron Hughes 1945-2009

My Dad, Ron Hughes passed away on May 10, 2009. He was 63 years old.....

Despite the crisp predawn air, the coffee tinted water is tepid as I dig my toes into soft sand. I swing quietly into the old metal boat and aim the prow for the center of the pristine lake. Eddies swirl and dance in the wake of the oars. Our summer refuge seems smaller through my adult eyes. Surveying the placid scenery, I pull in the oars and let the boat drift.  The gentle current rocks me back to that time when you and I sat in that boat in the hot summer sun. How we froze when dragonflies strafed the tips of our fishing poles because you said if a shadow crossed the water, the bluegills would never bite. So many mornings and afternoons cruising the pond with our two horse mercury and the only thing that ever bit was the deerflies and hordes of mutant mosquitoes.  I shift in my seat, kicking an aged plastic yellow and red bobber loose from its tangle of dry rotted nylon. Maybe you left it last time you were here. How long has it been? That’s the beauty of our summer hideaway. The timeless birch trees wave lithe white branches as pines stand sentinel over tiny cottages dotting the rim of the lake. Nothing changes here. Except you. Even though sleep parts us now, you promised we’d share another sunrise, Daddy.  Like Jehovah God, I know you will keep your word.

TL Boehm


Morning drifts through windows closed. Her sunlight brings warmth but no comfort as I watch hummingbirds hover. Jeweled wings a blur against bare branches. The bones of broken trees and memories waiver liquid. I cannot bear to let them fall.
Today is the goodbye moment. Kiss and cry as faceless friends press wet palms against our backs and chant the mantra..."I'm so sorry for your loss. He was such a good man...He loved Jehovah..." So proper in suits and ties - perfume and sweat in a cloud of sadness, God will veil my eyes so I don't remember this day except in bits and pieces. Flower petals spent on dry ground. I am this throw away child with the paper doll heart.
Faced with a box of ashes and this terminal ache how can I be grace? So brutal to tell the child in my soul she cannot climb up in your lap to watch the words as they fell from your mouth...mouse eaten corners and molding images - your legacy tossed in boxes on my livingroom military...I'm alone with the you I knew in pieces...where is my peace?
Whether you sleep or cease my actions only testify to a memory. LIke a dog I crave that praise at the end of the day....good girl....I will cause no pain. Please and "thank you." Sit like a young lady...I will disappear by degrees....and never shame your name....but I ache
written for my dad....

Why? - For dad

Why bother pretending
I’m splitting at the seams
Full of words and promises and dreams
When my heart is weary
Hope taciturn
Each moment an ache in the knowledge
Words that breathe and burn
Return void
Little prayers of wispy air
Snap like twigs in a parched forest
Releasing only dust
With no memory of rain
I watch the rise and fall
Of your chest
And the stillness between
I refrain
Fatal acquiescence
As you slip from me by degrees
No words to hurt you
Still cool water
Your daughter

You must know I love you
All’s forgiven
These fractious emotions scream
Beneath my skin
If only…
Love is a child sat on your lap
Bedtime stories and a kiss on the forehead
If I should die before I wake…
And so I do not sleep
Listening to white noise
And praying that you

TLBoehm 041709
written three weeks before my dad passed away

Let It Be - For Terry

Terry is still very much alive and in my life - but the girls we were...are long gone...and I miss them.. 

"when I find myself in times of troubleMother Mary comes to meSpeaking words of wisdomLet it beLet it be"

Solo notes set to rest
Crimson petals fragrant
Descants and refrains
Take the light
Take the floor
This image flickers
Suspended adoration
Sister mine

Forever singing in the secret
Sacred places
Unscathed, unscarred
Wild irish locks in ringlets
at your throat
grace notes and triplets
concrete streets and desert skies
While years and tears fall around me
I keep you safe inside

Weve weathered everything
casual insincerities
jealous suppositions
vicious cycles of friends and enemies and fools
Ticking clocks mark idle time
You so often the weary warrior
While I cower naked behind these words
Pray they say enough to cover us both
Passing off my emptiness
You fill it up
Give again
Feed my monsters fragile kindness
from your hand
You bless me more than you will ever understand
My sister Treasure
the forgiveness of a friend
All my petty dreams and inclinations
gathering dust at the end of the day
I slip away to that sacred moment
and you are there
I hear you sing again to me

"whisper words of wisdom....let it be"
 Take the light
and you are free

for Terry - who gave me a second chance at friendship.

012209 I'm in a dry season when it comes to poetry - not for lack of ideas - but lack of time to develop them. I took time I didn't have yesterday - and let this one out. In 1981, Terry and I were juniors in High School - sharing this big dream of rock sisterhood. By 1982, I got a big ego, and Terry got a life. My dreams never manifested, and hers - they changed as some dreams do. But now, because she forgave me repeatedly - we are friends. So the poem is for her. It is an image I have of her, on stage, singing - casting a flower to the crowd - I remember her spotlighted....I remember the applause....for is a precious image. I hope she reads this and it brings her light.As for me, I'm in a dark place. My coworker, for personal reasons is now on a "Variable" schedule meaning when she's here, she's here but not "here" and when she's not - I still have to cover her desk and mine. I'm running out of time to get my job done (I have deadlines for tax stuff) and I'm weary. There is no assistance. I am the "assistance."  At home? Neither car has been repaired, other things are cropping up....and the younger boy has decided I do not exist. When all you want to do is put your arms around a child you love - and the child calls you an ass, and a mofo and says "if you put one hand on me I will snap your neck" (he's 12. I could take him OUT - but words - words do more damage than any hand could least to this soul) There is no sanctuary. I have nowhere else to go. It sucks being a guppy.And so, I find I must concede. I'm tabling "bookstuff" for awhile. The fam will not coalesce to give me time, and work - 50 - 60 hours a week - that's the norm. All the "bookstuff" does is tear at my heart. I'll still be promoting Bethany's Crossing - I should have copies by the end of next week as the order goes in today....but as for writing a sequel or working on Ephesus - I HAVE to eat. I HAVE to pay bills and I HAVE to make sure my child gets to school. Those things eclipse all other things.No worries. I can still blog. That's mindless for the most part and so is my poetry. So I'm not leaving. But damn. The rope won't break - and I just want to breathe. Pulling against it till I break my neck is just futile.Peace.


Send them Love

Scribbled epithets
Pressed wet with tears
Sacred spaces carried by hallowed hands
Whispered winds that hover
Can't cover this fragile soul
Fractured by the passage of years
Each stone a death remembered
Casual depravity
Swarming queenless
Cyclonic before the storm
The walls we build
Never strong enough to stop the tide
Empty breath
Bubbles up to a silent sky
Potential of a life unlived
Slips beneath the surface
Swirling backwater memories
Heavy with fresh earth and leaves
Surrender the imprint
Of your body to oblivion
I can only wish you peace
I know will not come
Forever beyond
My aching grasp
If I could pull you
Warm inside
Some secret place
An open heart
Rubbed smooth
Sweet balm for your weary soul
I’ve lost you to the droning insanities
Shipwrecks and effigies
Cast up on the shore
You are forever dragging chains
No ascension
No freedom
Fruit plucked
Before the ripening
Bitter offering
For barren ground
Always hungry for more
I scribble an epithet
Pressed wet with tears
Plastered prayers to fill the cracks
In my fractured soul
Surrender your memory
To the silent sky
Send them love....
Good bye...

TL Boehm
For "May"
Inspired by the Book "The Secret Life of Bees"  

Precious Son - For Adam Oury

There are those moments looping in my head - I have not had time to truly savor since the phrenetic return to work and home - the facade of normal heavy on my shoulders - three audits and daily gunfire - I feel like I'm trying to serve Christmas turkey to the queen with a spork and a dixie cup. This deep sorrow, it bubbles below the surface, waiting to permeate my porous thoughts completely...and I have no time to deal with it....yet.

But I share this with you today. We took a walk - the fam and a couple spare nephews clad in only our jeans and light jackets (hey I live in the desert....who wears a jacket in April?) to the Muskegon Pier to visit "Big Red" the foghorn. Doing her job that day we progressed the jetty and soon were unable to see the shoreline for the woolen descending cloudbank of beautiful meloncholy fog...A lone windsurfer slipped in and out of our view on the turbulent waves...plaintive gulls called and circled...two fishermen faced the wind on their stone perches, lines in the water yeilding nothing. And I wished for more time as I leaned against the fog horn, tracing the cold metal bolts with my finger....secluded in a blanket of Lake Michigan fog. Yes, it was beauty and peace of a kind never given in the arid high desert. God doesn't "Do" fog out here. Perhaps there is a story in the experience, when I have more time.

But right now I simply want to thank you for your patience, humor, and kind words. I know its been weeks now since I visited and I haven't checked for those hideous green pluses on my friends list yet. I can't bear to think of who may have dropped me in disgust for my lack of visiting. Today for the first day since all this erupted - I wish I had time to circulate. Perhaps tonight I will sneak around...with a basket of cybercookies.

I leave you with a poem. Not my best - I'm a bit constipated - which hardly ever happens to a Tammy, but its only temporary.

Precious son
Priceless one
Whispered words useless to convey
I clung to you
For a moment or two
But years like a breath they slip away

Under troubled skies
I cover my eyes
Cry when they can't see
A life just begun
My precious son
Suddenly taken from me

I remember the curve of your face
As I held you close in my arms
I remember the scent of newborn skin
As I cradled you safe and warm

I remember the turbulent years the fears
I remember the rage and the pain
But I held the hope and the dream that you
Would find your way again

I'm broken inside
The tears I've cried
Useless to ease my soul
Hold this memory
So close to me
And wish my heart was whole

Precious son
Priceless one
I send a prayer up to the sunlit sky
My thoughts of you
Must carry me through
This temporary goodbye

TL Boehm

For Heidi
Remembering Adam
Adam Oury was murdered in 2007. He was 21 years old 

I have always been Real - For "Nimah Soul"

"I have always been real." Her whispered words rang in my ears as smoke from her heated breath coiled around her head in the cool predawn air. Restless, she stood on the barren ground and scanned the horizon for the coming light.

"But you never let me in. Never gave me a chance and now?" I searched the depthless ebony of her eyes as they looked through me. She was already gone. I was gazing at ash and shadows as she caught up her soul before flight.

"I never said the word forever did I? I'm simply choosing my life again." She pulled the luminous veil up around her face and turned to the beckoning east. A soft breeze tugged at the corners of her cloak and it fluttered up around her as though it were impatient to fly away. Suddenly the first tentative touch of crimson sunrise touched her hem and her image blurred incandescent. For an instant I cast my eyes downward as scrap of paper settled gently to the soft earth.

"Wait! You forgot this!" I waved the paper like a banner heralding the arrival of a queen but she had already disappeared against the brightening sky. So this is real. Glancing down at the paper I let my trembling finger trace the word her pen tattooed, and let the tears blur the image again.  

for an amazing writer I lost contact with in 2007...

For Steve Irwin

I find it fascinating
The quietest allusion to you
So quickly provokes
Derisive talk
Tainted words laced with acid and tears
Salacious sentiments and wicked lies
When all you ever promised was rebirth
Kiss of life for the intrepid soul
Uncertain and afraid
What makes you appealing to the seeker
Enigmatic to the false prophets and fools
Capricious in their realities of the moment
Never grasp the delicious life eternal

For Steve Irwin

Its a quiet day in blogtopia - everyone must be out putting some delectable bit of critter on the grill. I'm thawing hamburger as my dear candy stocking man is working - the bigspawn is out shopping with the GF and I am taking a break from brainstorming my NOVEL....oh yes. The procrastinator extrordinaire is finally so incensed with life as she knows it - she is working on the NOVEL. (you gotta wonder about those who blog in third person...)

Anyway. I had 40 pages - and now have 34 which sounds backwards but isn't when about 10 pages was "character sketches  and plot lines" to have 34 pages of 'actual novellike text' is a good thing. And since I am incapable of linear thought - when I write I write in creative (well I like to say theyre creative) bursts of scenes or dialogue rather than beginning to end...but i actually have most of the pages in order now - and some other scenes fermenting in the chaos of my ever misfiring dendrites. And - I still have more time to write today. Can you believe it?

But I was thinking of the daily topic, yes the passing of Steve Irwin....the talk of his life - his FUBAR moments (baby in one arm - croc food in the other) you know - we all do stuff we shouldn't -even with our children. Certainly the iguana I used to own would never have eaten Eric - but she could have tail whipped the daylights out of him. My birds could have nipped fingers off...and lets not get started on the man eating Chow Chow we had when Fred was a baby...Yes...
I admit it. I was fascinated by Steve Irwin. I have always loved animals. I wanted to be a vet before I flunked algebra and aced Honors English - thus setting the course for my brilliant career as an accountant...doy. And to think he was spined by a stingray....highly unusual. Let me repeat. Incredibly rare and highly unusual occurence. But he was doing what he loved. I knew a woman once who suffered a massive heartattack at her desk...and I consider...if we have to pass - isn't it better to be doing something good? Something we enjoy? I know he will be missed by his friends, his family, his community, his fans. Who knows....our lizard enjoyed a hand held bloom and a good neck rub, maybe the crocs will miss him too? Hard to tell. But I wish him peace. And I take a lesson from it...I'm off to do what I love to do...write.

Death is the Same as Goodbye

I could rant about my lousy day yesterday - still the same old same old. I got coworkers who won't, don't or can't listen - who have no sense of urgency - and DCon - well - DCon (codespeak for boss) doesn't take "no" for an answer which means -eventually I get asked the question everyone else already answered - normally on a subject of which I am ignorant because I was never hired to have that knowledge. And I'm tired of it. I just want to call in today and work on my novel. (codespeak for blog all day)

But I got more pressing issues. I have a dear friend who just got some life changing news. Terry and I have this history. She was part of that thing. That band thing. She's a damn good singer/songwriter - but she outgrew it too. Anyway, I've known her since I was 14 - and we still talk...Imagine THAT. I'm asking - if you pray. Pray for her and her husband. They recieved a "positive" diagnosis this week of prostate cancer. Here's my spin. Its not a death sentence. Its never a death sentence till they close the box and throw the shovel of dirt on you. But it is scary. It is real life - and it is her soulmate.  I'll put the link at the end of this blog - I'm not sure if she is friends only but if she is, shoot her an email. Send her love and happiness and light.

I have a random poem - thinking of Tigress this morning - again - but wrote this yesterday before I knew what was up with TerBer....peace.  Don't get it twisted. I'm talking about the band, not the chicas.  Terry....we won't say goodbye. ever.

It was just a dream
Fireflies and indigo skies
Spotlights and limousines
A bit of black lace round your face
And a back beat that would not die
Tap an SOS to the heart of you
As across the years I cry
Not my nature to say Goodbye
When rhythm was a rush
The hush of a backlit stage
Turn the empty page to song
I gave my life but I was wrong
Sing a broken chord to the memory
Three strands broken but Im not free
Cuz I cannot say Goodbye
I still hear you sing in sunburst skies
When the rain whispers a lyrical beat
On my window pane
I still go a little insane for the moment
A song is born immortal but yet dreams die
Now I know death is the same as goodbye. 

TL Boehm
08/23/06  SP exercise - I Love you - but (saying good bye)


Moments Transient

We are but moments transient
Sunlight dancing on honeyed skin
Onyx eyes flash saturnine
Burning memories on the heart
We feed the need
To be more than ink on paper
Digits in cyberspace
She was
And her touch
Forever changed each soul
She is more than the sum
Of her moments transient

For Bonita

I had barely begun to discover Bonita's amazing talent when I learned she was killed in a car accident.

Con infinito Amor - For Carmen Sumpter

“How do I find my soul a home?”
Her words hung in the damp air, draping my heart like the Spanish moss hanging from the trees over head.
I wanted to tell her the answer but averted my eyes from her pleading gaze.
The words stuck in my throat.
“is this the way honey?”
“yeah. Take your shoes off, ‘member?”
I slipped of my sandals, stepping into ankle deep grass surprised at the warmth coming up from the ground beneath my feet.
“Hallowed ground”
“Yeah – you look like Moses too”
“Oh yeah. I’m gonna wax that moustache later.”
Evonne giggled – just like we used to when we were younger
“Shh. We need to be respectful”
“K Pastor. We’re in the church of shut up. Don’t step on Carmen.”
The name stopped me. A door shutting quietly in front of me. Locked and silent. Permanent. Cold.
“Its ok Tam. You can touch her. She won’t mind.” Evonne’s jade eyes welled over as she knelt, tracing the words – con infinito amor – etched in gray granite. “Sometimes I come here at night. Just stretch out on this slab, its almost rest. Almost.”
“Evonne…” My voice failed me.
“So tell me again, Tam. The worth of a life? When all it amounts to is polished rock and words set in stone? How do I find my soul a home?”
“Its right here sis. Its always been right here”
Evonne placed the two daisies under Carmen’s name and leaned against my shoulder as I let my tears finally flow…

TL Boehm

06/01/06 An S_P exercise....

Under the Waterfall

The moon rises
Against the last blush of sunset
And deepening velvet night
Blue light skipping down my path
Leading me to the glowing waterfall
In the midst of Shenendora
My secret place
Named long ago in song
Within my soul
I climb moss clad stone
Picking my way through golden jasmine
And violet sweet hyacinth
Up to the fall

The laughing cascade greets me
A cool mist
Of kaleidoscope water
Caresses my cheeks
Like a lost friend’s touch
Like a whispered secret
Between giggling girls
When the world was our Shenendora
And we flew on dream spun wings
Now cool gray granite
Marks the years between us
And the soft moonlight won’t wake you
Yet Carmen, your song still carries
On the cool blue air
And the crimson roses at your feet
Under a waterfall of tears for you
Your life still flies
On dream spun wings
Like that special song
Within my soul
TL Boehm
C:84 6/94

For Carmen Sumpter - 1965 -  1983

Carmen and I went to grade school together and I pretty much idolized her. She was killed by a drunk driver, and I visited her grave in 1988.  

Precious Time

 Take the precious time in my life
And watch it pass me by
Take the little girl in my life
And let her slowly die
I cannot reverse the moment
As heavenward you fly
I cannot stop the pain
Or fight back the tears I cry

All my little life
Comes crashing down around me
I was so young
When with your sweet words you found me
Now I sit helpless in your memory
While your songs play around me
While all these words surround me

And the woman who loves you
I sit here lost and I pray
And the children you left behind
God uplift them guide their way
While your sweet words surround me
God get your family through each day
If you meant this much to strangers
Who can’t believe you’ve slipped away

Take the precious time in my life
Before the lonely years
When I could feel the music
In my heart without the tears
Before this dreadful moment
Such sad words ringing in my ears
As your sweet voice fades away
The teardrops fall and light disappears
TL Boehm

For Maurice Gibb 1949 2003 - there is a unique type of ache that comes when you suddenly realize your "teen heartthrobs" are suddenly mortal...and your dreams are elusive

The Road to Goodbye

The Road To Goodbye

The laughter of children
Bubbling up to a summer sky
Still water so blue, reflecting you
The color of Norwegian eyes
And I know I am immortal
Dry in any storm
Because my little girl heaven
Is wrapped up safe in your arms

Yet day to day time slips away
We learn to hurt, learn to cry
Precious people pass away from us
No matter how we try
Little girl summers cleave to winter
As we travel the road to goodbye

Now older and more selfish
It’s a hollow hope I bring
Yet in your eyes I see the dignity
And a soul stronger than the tears that sting
On your road to goodbye you turn and try
To gather me up in angel’s wings

Precious child in my arms
Newborn eyes of Norwegian blue
Laughter bubbling up through my tears
Reminds me he’s part of you
And my little boy immortal
I keep him safe and warm
Reminds me of my heaven
I first felt caught up in your arms

Once again I am immortal
Remembering those summer skies
And I still see a little girl’s heaven
I see myself in your blue eyes
I know its been you always pulling me through
As I travel this road to goodbye

TL Boehm
For Grandma Carol Bliss
And Fred Boehm

I wrote this after visiting my Grandma for the last time, knowing I would not see her again on this earth. I wanted to read it to her but thought it might only cause her I remained silent. It was read at her memorial - I listened on the phone. Afterwards a few people asked the family who I (her first grandchild from her first born child) was. This woman who meant so much to her "circle" I was an unknown. Fractured families are so difficult to mend. I will always ache when I think of her....and now when I think of my dad.


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