Communion in blue

Burning incense and candles

silent prayers

for your soul

as the tears fall and I kneel

tasting the wine of so many communions

so very long ago

clinging to the past we shared

that dissolves like Christ’s body in my mouth

your memory is still

sacred in the shrine of my heart.

Copyright 2018  LAS All Rights Reserved

Photograph courtesy of Pixabay


The Burning



The heat of the dance



the brown eyes followed me

burning in the shadows

you moved around me

always hidden

until you struck

I followed you

hand on hand

hand on hip

tapping a rhythm

on the back of my wrist

as our heels caught the ground

flying in sparks

stretching the strings

bending me back

branding my heart

carving your name

etch by etch

into my soul

I could not breathe

you stole a kiss

forcing your life into my lungs

dizzying my mind

penetrating my soul

heat touching heat

the edges of my body igniting

a flash


consuming reason

burning out of control

turning our bodies to flames

singing your name until my voice

can no long make a sound

losing each other

to each other

in hide and seek

to find one another again

burning with the heat of the dance


Copyright 2018  LAS All Rights Reserved

Photograph courtesy of Pixabay





The Satisfaction of Knowing

tillie and the mermaid_edited-1


I awoke

to his cigarette smoke

wafting misty through the room

A cloud lingering

as incense over the still warm bed

the only sign left

that he had come once again

Tillie sits silent

smiling at the whispers of

the mermaids tales

in her ear

He had come stealing

her heart again



loving her in a  ferocity

only they knew

to be theirs

nothing contrived

or false

The symphony

still roars in her ears

as she catches his scent on her skin

No tears

The emptiness gone

in the far cry of a train in the distance

as unbroken as the rings

given in secret

decades ago

a silver circle

infinitely spirals

in Venus morning shining

A certainty


He is still hers alone

the thread of death

a mere illusion


©2018 LAS All Rights Reserved


The Room


Rain glides down

Rivulets streaking

Shadows across the room

From the curved glass

The window becomes a skin

As the driving rain

Drums a tattoo

Each drop

Picking up light

Reflecting in the mirror

Burning up in candle flame

The incense snakes

Dissolving into



But only in silence spoken

Shared in eyes

A prism

Holding momentary promises

Written with fingerprints

Dancing on naked skin

A story never told

Hidden in the folds

Of a flag

Draping down

To melt into

Paisley Persian patterns

A lake pooling upon the floor


Street lights turn

Apple jellied reds

Green and yellow

Greasy on the slick streets below


His body tenses

As she touches

Fingers to face

Holding his jaw

‘in her palm


unused to

Such delicate passion

Without paying a bitter price

As she demands


Offers everything

The covenant



Confiding her secrets

To the clock on the wall

Their breath

Moaning up the fireplace

The wind catches

Their passion

And pulls away

Threads of promise

To be caught within the spiders web

He shakes an hourglass

And sets it on the floor

Futile and stagnant

Despite their descent

As the sands go unnoticed

In the warp and woof

Of time that they are weaving


Setting the stars in place

He the teacher


Bringer of Light

To the virgin fair

Blue light

Shining from her eyes

She steps into his darkness


Before him

Sinking beneath

Diving through


His soul has hungered for


Unexpected from this young girl

Painting violet


Indigo hues inside his mind

He drinks her freely



Sacrificed and everflowing

Giving life

To quench his thirst


Gathering momentum

She feels the struggle

Aching anguish

Yet sweet and heady

Matching the metal groan

From the bed

Scratching its own diary

Into the wooden floor

As the world spins in crystals


And baubles

Dancing above them

Hung from the ceiling

Bursting fire in their movement


The rain pours

Blood pounds

The heart pumps



Past lust

To reach at something

Abstract and ethereally eternal

Invisible and expanding

Not a trinket for the wooden box

On the mantle


And gaining fecundity

In the womb of the heart and mind

The subconscious

Takes root

Planting itself

Within them

A tiny germ of truth

Resonating out into

Past and future

Shattering into barbs of understanding

Neither can ignore


This place

Has stripped illusions

Laying them bare

But not innocent

Of love that is

Newly created

A bond of trust

Forged stronger

By a drop of dew



Shaken on them

From a passing bear

Wrestling with the universal shadows

Sheets and conscience

The teacher reveals his truth

To hear her voice echo

Off Victorian walls



Their madness unmasking their souls


Alchemy achieved

To their awe and consternation

Thunder rolls



Surf pounds

As she gazes from the bed

Out the rain spattered window

The rock walls

Scatter brick



Sand crumbles

Pushing the ocean

Through old Sutro’s barren tunnels

Miles away

Close enough to touch

Illusion tears

As he cries out her name

Over and over in the surf

Collapsing on

The shores of her breasts

She soothes him

Stroking his head

As a mother to a child

Ever virgin still in his mind

He closes his eyes to sleep

Her body his pillow

His body

Keeping her soul

She alone has put it there

Imprisoned by choice

Yet soaring freely with his own

To become and run with his wild

Words escape

Her lips

She watches them

Separate into misty bits of rainbow

Above them

Cascading blessings

On his body

Pronouncing love in tears

Flowing down the curved glass

Of the windows

Drifting down easy

Through the streets of the Haight.


LAS © 2018 All Rights Reserved  Reproduction in any form of all or any piece of this poem will be punishable to the full extent of the law.

Photo of rain courtesy of Pixabay

The Dream (or The Search for Family History)


the pages


piles on

a kitchen counter that’s long gone

2 stacks

mine before me

waiting to be bound

you on my right

nights of sorting through yellowed papers

moistened fingers peel back

the layers of pages

an infinite task

to find a lost soul

ready to take their place

in the line of history

that will be us

as the dream


patterns in sand

ripples in water

bouncing back

waking me


to accept the work at hand


©2018 Louise Ann Stowell All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixabay



Just keep TRUCKIN’ On (or the fight of my life for my life last night)



The photo shoot of the wedding went well until I realized half way through that I was doing it on the eve of when my late husband, Terry died. I held myself together until I got out to the car and lost it on a a close friend that has know both Terry and I since 1973. I cried until my eyes were red and puffy, went through the emotions of emptiness, loneliness, futility and suicide, She drove around with me for a couple of hours until we wound up at a Taco Bell and I decided I had a case of the munchies.

I fought with the CPAP I just got. Not just wearing it during the night (I ripped it off my face three different times), but the decision to wear it at all, thinking it might be easier to just surrender to the laws of nature and take a nice long dirt nap. I fought with memories and the thoughts of past friend, family, and lovers. I considered, but didn’t.

Despite my gregariousness and extrovert behavior, I am a very private person. If I love, it is with all I have. If I trust you and let you into my world, know that you are a very special individual.  I will no longer tolerate being used, neglected, or abused. My time is precious.  Twenty years goes by in a flash.

I am a young, sexy, 17 year old within a 60 year old body that isn’t all that bad looking for my age, despite the ravages I have gone through. I have scars inside and out and I wear them with honor. I don’t have time for wasted emotions or trivialities. I am an old soul with one helluva lot to give, to see, to experience.  My heart is as big and beautiful, wild and turbulent as the sea.

I know somewhere is out there on the other side is my  love, my friend, companion, and lover: an adventurer, wandering gypsy, hippy, artist, confessor. best friend.  I will write,  I will travel. I will create. I will live. It ain’t over folks. Far freaking from it. It all begins anew right now and on my own terms.

© Copyright .2018 Louise Ann Marie Stowell  All Rights Reserved

Photography courtesy of Pixabay

It Only Lasted a Minute

pocket-watch-3156771_1280I’ve seen a phrase again today that I really loath…”It only lasted a minute…or five minutes.'” Why is it that because something (whether it be an experience or relationship) isn’t around for decades, it is demoted as something that only lasted a minute, therefore, meaningless…trivialized? Quite often the tiniest moments can and are life changing or life saving. I think it safe to say that people need to think carefully before dismissing these things as being frivolous until they have experienced the miracles themselves. These trivialities…mere minutes, may well have saved someone’s life or have been the best few years of another.

©2018 Louise Ann Stowell   All Rights Reserved

Photo by Pixabay



Trying to tell you

that I don’t care about

your physical state as

an obstacle to us

don’t care about your material objects

or who you once were

that new dreams can be made

new adventures achieved

That I love you till every fiber of my being

aches with concern, care, the longing to ease

the suffering I see

Trying to tell you

I see an angel in that hospital gown

a halo surrounding a head of silver hair

floating bright glass floss

sparkling as a Christmas angel’s locks

that would I would sell my soul to touch

have that head lay into my palm

and rub your temples

ease your mind

stay with you through all the pain

and the uncertainties

Soothe the broken wings

and  have you allow me to simply love you the way you are

If only I knew how to reach you

and make you believe


© 2018 Louise Ann Stowell – All Rights Reserved

Pictures courtesy of Pixabay


powder keg

Walking out

away from the drama

I do not care

do not care if you don’t understand mechanics

or physics

don’t care if you don’t want to listen

to someone trying to tell you

the powder keg

will blow

ill kempt

the keg is leaking

and all it needs is a spark


Walking away from the disfunction

that the world sees anyway

knows it’s there

but is curious to see for how long

it will last

Walking away from the ills and bills and bullshit

refusing to walk through the crap anymore

Still I am the fool for noticing

but I’ll keep my mouth shut

collect the paycheck



Something sparkles

noticing the feeble thread of powder burn

to its destination

and I walk away

Doesn’t matter

Don’t care


©2018 Louise Ann Stowell  – All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixabay