When the fuel runs out and your batteries are low

Seems that most of this year I’ve been running on fumes.


hospice – a poem

the dying lie dormant

in crisp white sheets

as the cotton sings

soft lullabies in the fold

© 2014 Echo LaVeaux

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I dreamt that I watched a man die at my feet

Death dreams.  Some have them on a regular basis.  Others don’t.

I’m one of the not-so-lucky frequent dreamers of death.

These dreams come upon me unsuspectingly, tempting me into a vivid story which always ends in the death of a human being. Take last night’s dream journey for example. (more…)

The Giver

My younger brother disowned the family years ago. I know he still lives, but he’s been dead to me for so long now that I can’t quite believe he’s still around. This poem resonates deeply with a not-quite-healed, still-open wound in the center of my heart. Just gorgeous.

The Winged Woman

A phone call with news that took away all her breath

Scant details, but announced her big brothers’ death

She had got to know him once, but that was long ago

He killed a man and was in a prison six states below

They had random visits thanks to a sister by half

She enjoyed their time, their talks, his letters, shared laughs

A trip to pick up her mail brought tears and a horrible strain

For the small heavy box was marked on all sides “Human Remains”

She drove out in late evening, camped alone in the dark

Got to a crossroads and made the left choice to park

With tie-died blanket, photos, letters, cigarettes and a beer

She created a shrine, centered on the box that held the one she held dear

She wailed, truly wailed, and wrote him one last letter

While the ravens, bees and a…

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Beauty and aging: facing reality when reality bites (and sometimes, it does)

Off on the horizon, just a year and a handful of months away, stands a milestone year for yours truly.  Try though I may, I can never reconcile my age with the way I feel and how I look at the world.  There is just no way in heaven that I’m going to be turning 50 soon.  No way.

However, when I look at the mirror and see a new wrinkle or a new section of hair that’s decided to go gray, the mirror reminds me that I am indeed pushing the big 5-0.  I may feel like I’m 23 years old, but these in-my-face reminders that I’m not 23 get me a little discouraged.

Truth really does hurt sometimes. (more…)

On being Gothic

As long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to dark things.  Dark things are not evil things.  Dark things are deep things, and deep things intrigue me more than those fluffy little things that float lazily on the mainstream.  Mainstream, to me, equals mediocrity.  Mediocre things are death to my spirit.

Darkness inspires me, and I take refuge in all things dark.  At the risk of being labeled, (more…)

a dream of death: a personal issue

I woke up this morning from a very realistic, very disturbing dream.  I dreamt that I was at a conference with coworkers somewhere in the north Georgia mountains.  In my dream, I was told that my brother had been found dead.  He had killed himself.  His body was up on a steep hillside, sitting on a bench where he’d shot himself in the head.  I remember trying to climb that mountain but was unable to reach the top before my parents arrived by car.  They drove up on a road that ran behind that bench.  It was like some sort of overlook on that mountainside. (more…)