Saturday, December 26, 2015


I am nobody.
I am not real.
I am an actor in the reruns you chose to fill the role of your past.
You don't know my real name, my real pain, my real love.
I go unheard as you read the script of your play.
You see the scene in your mind; beginning, conflict. . . complications, unrest. . .
The play never works out quite right.
There is no final act, no resolution.
The actors don't know their lines, their marks, their cues.
My words, my words are tattered by the screaming voices of your past.
My love is fragmented through a tornado.
Our life is only a repeat.
Same channel, same story, same time.
Repeat the shame, worthlessness, guilt, sorrow, abandonment, pain, loss, FEAR.
Emotions we both grudging drag from day to day, place to place.
We hate the baggage.
I beg to be heard by ears filled with old chants of yesterdays.
You can't be loved.
I want to give to you a new life filled with joy, love, reality, passion.
Our passion fuels the flames of shouting and tears.
We press hurtful cries from lips rather than kisses.
The script's lines hang in the air twisting, gnarled.
Start from the top.
You stand in love's doorway and look backwards, behind you, inside you.
You long for love as much as I want to give it to you.
I haven't the ability to stop the play, to quit the role, unless I go.
I will not quit.
You deserve my love.
I shout, beg, cry my love, my compassion, my empathy, my sorrow, my desire for you.
You can't feel me.
I am not heard.
I am nobody.
I am not real to you.

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Wednesday, May 13, 2015



Amnesia would be welcome,
To come over me,
To recreate me,
To bliss me.

If I could ride away from
Time and schedules,
Expectations and demands,
Requests and guilt,
Money and trappings,
Clothing and coverups,
Yesterday and the stories,
There would be truth.

Perfection is truth.

I want to swallow morning sun,
Bask in river waters,
Roll upon two-wheeled asphalt trails,
Touch a buffalo on his nose and
Pray at his the hooves of his awesomeness,
Watch a tornado thunder by and
Lie under Jupiter with an open heart.

My soul soars every moment,
If I choose a limitlessness life,
Each second without a second hand,
No appointment to keep,
No person awaiting my arrival.
I am able to walk into truth.
I see her eyes beckoning me enter.

Amnesia would be freedom.

To wander empty prairies,
Roam among the buffalo,
Clothed in daisies,
Warmth from the high sun,
Darkening my shoulder skin.

No etiquette nor rules,
No burdens nor chores,
But to live now;
To breathe.

Let me forget how I came,
How I have become, whom I have become.
Can I not just become again?

Amnesia, pour across my dry path,
Renewing my spirit.

Grateful for the days of life I've walked,
In this name I've grown into
This name I've become.

Oh, but to embrace the freedom of amnesia,
To drop the clock,
And guilt
And expectations.

Oh, to be new again.

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Monday, April 6, 2015

I Love


I Love. . .

The colors of a sunset in Albuquerque, NM.

Walking in Manhattan on a Saturday afternoon in August.

Red Velvet cupcakes with a dollop of frosting on top.

A sip of smooth bourbon as it warms my chest going down.

Crisp Ginger Snaps.

Lavendar lotion at bedtime.

The desert after a rain storm.

A very large sirloin steak, medium rare.

The view from the Laurel Street Bridge of the city lights of Downtown San Diego as the sun sets.

The feel of my throttle pulled back relentlessly.

Shopping in thrift stores.


The feel of real fur on my shoulders, especially mink.

Soft socks and my Hello Kitty Blanket.

Campbells Turkey Vegetable Soup.

Chai Tea with cardamom and honey.

Plays by Tennessee Williams and Screenplays by Billy Wilder

My husband's smile, his crooked teeth and the tips of his fingers.

Riding my motorcycle with wild abandon, laughing madly, for just a moment or two.

That my grandniece climbs on my motorcycle to ride it like it's her own, even though she isn't quite 2- years-old yet.

Jimi Hendrix lyrics and Elizabeth Barret Brownings' poems.

Jupiter by Holst.

The name Prudence.

The smell of my grandson's skin.

The sound of fiddles and banjos on the sidewalk in Knoxville, TN.

Holding my daughter when she comes to me for comfort.

Wearing turquoise, diamonds, sapphires, pearls, white gold and silver.

The laughter in my niece's home of she, her husband and her children.

Tacos, sushi, and fried chicken.

The song, My Funny Valentine.

Alaskan Malamutes and Bull Terriers.

A California beach on a rainy day.

Receiving an unexpected phone call from a friend, just to offer comfort and love.

Strong blue cheese with white truffle honey served with kalamata olives and roasted almonds.

Saying shocking things to people, but hoping I never offend them in the process.

Learning that I have inadvertently helped someone with my story.

The scent of Banana Bread cooking.

A long, warm oil, deep tissue massage.

The scent of star jasmine in the late afternoon.

Waking up early with energy on a day I'll be riding my motorcycle.

The purple that sets into the Rocky Mountains as the sun goes down.

The sound of a real silver spoon against a fine bone china tea cup.

Myself, my past, my future and my life, just as it is, right now.

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About Sash

People call me "Sash" because I'm a former beauty queen in my old home town. My father used to ride in an MC which got me interested in the culture. After my last divorce I said "goodbye" to Susie Homemaker and became the naughty, biker chick I always felt inside. (Read more...)