Chasing Youth

Futile attempts fail to fool
The reflection in the mirror –
The regime remains, unwavering
In search for youth or fantasy – 
French toiletries, serums, &
Creme de corps lie scattered across 
the vanity in little boxes wrapped,
No…”swaddled” in tissue paper –  
Pretty packages declare, proclaim
Beauty, restoration, & renewal, so
We soak, scrub, slather, &
SPEND more monies on 
new emollients & elixirs 
Wrapped in perfumed promises
To mask the pricey ruse.

by MPP: 9/2017
Photo image: Edie Bouvier Beale (Maysles documentary, 1975)

Perception ~ Ode to a Panic Attack

I began writing “Perception” a few years ago, revised it once, yet never truly finished it.  Well, for a variety of reasons,  I needed this poem to be done & gone!  So, I did a little more editing and have HOPEFULLY “purged” it here as cathartic relief.   The effects when going through anxiety & […]


I began writing “Perception” a few years ago, revised it once, yet never truly finished it.  Well, for a variety of reasons,  I needed this poem to be done & gone!  So, I did a little more editing and have HOPEFULLY “purged” it here as cathartic relief.   The effects when going through anxiety & panic attacks are exhausting & can have a disastrous impact on the mind and body.  For some people, these episodes are often debilitating and difficult to control.  Anyone who has dealt with anxiety/panic knows exactly what I’m talking about.

PERCEPTION ~ Ode to a Panic Attack 
Wildly nervous, unhinged with
Anxiety inescapable & surely obvious
Others who stare in curious observation  Of this crazy woman’s mania, but no…
At this moment,  I think they all see,
but they don’t, can’t see what I feel…
Self-conscious perception of
Reality exaggerated…
My mouth dry, as if gauze filled
Affected by self induced effects –
Words muffled, struggling, yet stuck
Fidget, picking my cuticles in a
Strangely hypnotic, self-soothing
Trance…I survey surroundings
In search for retreat, an
            Escape, release…
Heart races – constricted in my chest
Breath shallow…such hard work to
Focus, to remember how to swallow –
Complete chaos, a freak show
Ridiculously on display, my internal
Combustion, a solitary meltdown
            Invisible, exhausting…
MPP 2012

Destiny at Daybreak 

From slumber she wakes
With a start, yet oddly calm
Ready, as if planned
By dreams design this
Destiny, a long time coming –
Whispers call out her name
Softly, yet with yearning tones.
Sleep still in her eyes,
She rises from bed in lucid silence –
Even so, each movement
A prelude perfect –
Rhythmic in body & soul, &
Finally, she feels free.
Oh, the delicious reveal of
Daybreak, to bask in dewy
Color, a morning glorious –
Golden sunbeams cast a
Spectrum, a dusting of light
Perhaps Pixies & their delicate
Fingers appear to play, to
Brush away stray wisps of her
Blonde hair, a tousled muss
Across her face…free.

ELEGY FOR A MOUSEKETEER (tribute to Annette Funicello)

I wrote this the day she died in 2013…


I didn’t exist…not quite my era
when she smiled –
donning black felt mouse’s ears
black and white images, perfection
personified on Zenith television sets
around the world, as millions watched
dining on TV Dinners
adored in happy homes
this all American girl from
next door – a member of the kiddie club.


I didn’t exist… not quite yetannette-funicello
when she smiled at Frankie,
donning swimsuits on surfboards
colorful, sunny images where
dreamers & movie theaters
around the world & millions of
hopeful teens saw sweetness,
goodness admired, this girl next door –
now a member of the boomer club.

I met her after school…and on Sunday evenings –
Together, smiling in the Magic Kingdom
as re-runs of black felt mouse’s ears
immortalized the epitome of
charming innocence, beach blanket fun, &
panorama-vision with colors which made my
Sony television set alive.
This  was a moment of design –
To be healthy,  hopeful, &
forever youthful,  albeit a momentary
fantasy…covered in pixie dust –
Years passed before news, diagnostics, &
the realization of this disease debacle, then
I too had become a member
of a club like no other, a club whose
membership roster continues
to grow like wildfire.

I couldn’t yet comprehend the pain
which lurked behind her smile while
donning leg braces in chairs with wheels –
black and white or color filled
her life on television sets
viewed by millions
confused by the disease, distraught these
boomers & future generations;
mouseketeer wanna-be’s unable to
identify with or relate to
members of the disabled club.

I feel…I think…I know her well these days –
as sisters & strangers with multiple scars
our badge of honor or initiation into the MS Club.
My smile now hides the pain
others can’t comprehend, but with bittersweet resilience, this smile holds the beauty & the power instilled within that of a MSketeer.

by MPP 6/2013 ~ edited 4/2017


Floral Purgatory 

Unseasonably rogue, 
these asian blankets arrive; bursting blooms of yellow jasmine; teacup petals draped & adorned by leaves of emerald haute couture –

Twisting, twirling, fertile vines dance; blissfully ignorant of nearby limbs still naked, dormant above perennials burrowed deep, wise in
slumber down below – 

As if February had come & gone, floral duvets unfurl, committed despite the sunless shift as skies begin to whisper chilly warnings – 

Indeed, blasts of arctic origin bellow frozen reminders of time & deserved tenure – Gusts expel icy spittle as winds exhale bitter shame upon buds & blooms fooled yet again by earthly powers designed by time, & Mother Nature…

Dangled on lifeline vines, canary yellow beauties once vibrant, reveal translucent, pale shades of shapeless debris – Clippings doomed into resignation & the palm of winter’s frozen ruse –

Tween changes of a season an ethereal guise unveils wonder –
It teases & taunts; a jester’s game, sans rhyme or reason, yet beauty recycles, it creates perfection renewed as life begats death til next solstice – 

Such exquisite existence, vulnerable, yet this voluminous vine embraces the organic id of a hedonistic life unknown – 
Drunk from aged elixirs borne sweet to celebrate, fermented to tantalize the tastiness of life’s purpose to devour blooms delicious.

Photo= my own jasmine blooming in the yard, enhanced with Prisma “animation” style photo art

Wired ~ a poem


Life is light –
Light is life…& so it goes.
The ultimate power source,
organic in nature & nurture –
As we age, our mortality keeps
a firmer grasp on the stopwatch –
The search for answers becomes nearly obsessive; to validate our legacy of lives we lived…& lives worthy of living.

No matter how hard we strive
for perfection – No matter if
we try to follow selfless paths;
dutifully & righteous in purpose & meaning, shall we succeed in
finding our light sooner than those self absorbed or inflicted – or those without faith, or will our light find us?

What is it we all seek to find…
and why?  No matter – Carry on because this cannot be planned, nor can it be calculated.
Life is light –
Light is life…& so it goes.
Move forward without itinerary
or biological GPS –
With eyes & arms wide open,
embrace intangible beauty blinded
by the light of life –
Imbibe in hedonistic elixirs, neon &
systemic cocktails – symbolic in celebration of the body electric.

Glorious opportunities await,
unlimited, with conduits compatible…
Upgradable wares, outlets
plentiful for those who seek
the light of life, luminous &
Life is light –
Light is Life…& so it goes.

by MPP 1/11/17
Revised 4/24/17

Seasons in Time

Winter lurks, taunts as
Leaves still dance –
Relishing the brisk air
Tic tock, tic tock –
Denial for what’s yet to come.
Predisposed to mourn
Seasons of change
Tic tock, tic tock –
Distractions temporary
Holidays, memories
Come & go, remind us
Time is fleeting, rhythmic
Tic tock…

Photo by David Russell

Poem by MPP 11/28/16