I have always been a storm …

… from the song Secret Garden by Bruce Springsteen

The Secret
~by TigressSky © September 16, 2014~

What I have in abundance is beautiful words
They flow in and out of me
Like the passionate drive of a lover
Who has tasted of the moon

They want inside the garden of my heart
They want deep inside all of the secret parts
That keep my clock spinning
That sing out on the hour like a siren

By love

Bye love

They come with the warning from God upon their hearts
They know without a doubt what the song I sing means
They still clamber towards the shore heeding nothing of God’s foreboding
They are there to take advantage of the misery
Within their own lies of secret garden discovery

Yet none have the key

Some have come so close
Their breath laying upon it
A whisper of hot air upon my cheek
Their practiced prose of sweet nothings
A bombardment of hope upon absolute hopelessness
Shattering the reach, closing the door

Every now and again the words escape though
From the vents of lush dreams
Following the lightening of my hopes, my desires
With a thunderous roar of Aphrodite’s desire
To just be loved for who she is
Not how she appears in the drawings of man’s desire

Shut up inside a clam shell
That is no way for a woman to live
Waiting to be opened and discovered like a pearl

A pearl is simply a gift given to those born in June
A woman is a gift given to all those who are born


The Neverending Story Redesigned By Nicolas Francoeur   


Always Giving Up

Worth Fighting For
~TigressSky © September 4, 2014~

He thinks back to those moments, when the world was quiet, in her arms. The noise of the night captured in her laughter, passing through her lips, into his veins. The warmth of her breath against his cheek, her eyes opening unto his while her smile tugs at his heart.

She is beautiful … in so many ways he wishes now that no one else could ever know. Her magick; her fire; her strength; her intelligence; were once his to hold. How could he have ever let that go?

Now she smiles, next to another, and he wonders what mysteries he will miss solving now that she is gone. What would it have taken to just love rather than possess? Is that a lesson he is ever willing to learn?

He watches as she leans in and kisses this new man. Lucky as he is, does he appreciate her smell, the way her hair gets in the way from time to time, how sincere every word from her lips falls; especially the angry ones.

It was in the tempest that he gave up the only girl that could ever break his heart. Now, as this new woman’s arms wrap around him, as her laughter adds to the chaos in his mind, he sinks into the bed of nails he has laid wondering if there is anything worth fighting for anymore?



The Gaslight Anthem - “She Loves You”

I love when I am in the middle of creating something and a song comes on that forces me to put it on repeat it, over, and over, and over again. I do this, because while I am creating the song just triggers something in my brain and the creation just seems to spill out everywhere - faster than I ever intended. It feels amazing.

Today, this is one of those creation repeaters that I just can’t get enough of.

Thanks for this particular piece of crazy Mom. I miss you.


(Source: youtube.com)

to become all we ever were


~TigressSky © August 13, 2014~

We are always traveling
Into the sunset
In youth always ensured
The sunset will become sunrise
An ascending light of hope
As if by magic
From the dark
Of Pandora’s box
Telling us how
In this new day
In some new way
We can achieve
We can be

We are always traveling
Into the sunset
In aging frames denied
The hopeful light
Of sunrise
Descending to stillness
There is no escape
From being locked
Deep inside
Of this moment
Right here
Right now
Is everything
We can ever be
We can ever achieve

Buttercups know all about love!

Grandma and I - I was about 21 or 22 here.

The memories are not organized, they just come, here and there, moments in time remembering being with her or just how she made me feel. A montage of how she looks, her eyes always seemed wide with wonder as she paid attention to exactly what you were saying, doing, needing. Her smile was so constant, she found happiness in so many moments, I don’t know how she ever handled my angst ridden youth filled with depression - sitting on her couch, bummed at the world, she would just smile and listen. I never felt judged, because Grandma did not judge. She just loved.

Sesame Street, Mister Rogers, Bob Ross - whom cheated at painting, according to Grandma. I would take the crayons, spread out on the carpet in front of the TV and follow Bob’s instructions. Grandma was a painter, and even though Bob was a cheater, she wasn’t going to deter a budding artist on her living room floor. She did however tell me, “real painting is not that easy.”

I remember all the other kids could sleep a lot longer and a lot more soundly than I could. Which meant nap time was extra time were it was just me and Grandma. I’d be quiet and watch whatever was on PBS while Grandma would sit in her recliner, quietly observing, while working on crosswords or chatting on the phone with friends.

Grandma and all her Girls!

Grandma’s house always felt like a sanctuary; like a safe haven where you could shed all the cares and worries of the world at the door, come right in and just be yourself. I remember the green davenport, loving to sit and rock in it, “not so fast, not so hard.” Her bathroom was so giant! I loved standing in front of the mirror, putting on fancy things, and pretending to be a movie star.

Grandma would never fill the tub full with water, “you are just in here to get clean hunny, you don’t need so much water to get clean.” The first memory I have of Grandma bathing me, a wash cloth in hand, scrubbing my arms, back, legs - it was heavenly, safe, and relaxing. Even in just a few small inches of water. I wonder if Grandma thought I was strange for always wanting her to give me a bath when I visited?

I am sure it wasn’t such a strange thing though. I mean, she did help raise me and she understood me better than I think my own parents may have. Being born as sick as I was, the doctors prescribed a liquid medicine I had to take every day. The disgusting taste it came with is indescribably horrid, so much so that just my memory of it makes my taste buds cringe and my brain begin to prepare my body for the coming onslaught. My Father use to hold me down, while I screamed and struggled, as my mother tried to put a spoonful of medicine in my mouth.

"It was so horrendous to watch," Grandma said, "I always felt so sorry for you."

Then one day my parents went out on a date and Grandma had to give me the medicine. She knew she couldn’t hold me down and force it into me. She also knew I had to have it or I would get sick again. So Grandma did, what every good grandmother of an overly analytic child does, she put me on the kitchen counter and reasoned with me.

Now that we were eye to eye, equal, Grandma began, “now Tigress, you have to take your medicine and I can’t force you to …” and by the time she was finished, I was ready. I took my medicine, made the most horrible face, and Grandma never had to struggle with me. Grandma knew exactly how to handle me, when so many others could never seem to get it.

She held a buttercup under my chin one day, in her backyard, and then told me, “you love butter!”

"I do?"

"Yep, see," she held the buttercup under Trisha’s chin and the yellow glowed off of her skin. "A buttercup knows when someone loves butter. If you love butter your skin will glow yellow."

I proceeded to run inside, open the yellow margarine tub, and eat some directly from it with a spoon. I had to know if I really loved butter or not. I had to know if Grandma’s buttercup science was correct. It was, I did love eating that butter!

"What are you doing!" Grandma laughed with a loud voice as she took the butter from me.

"You are right Grandma, I do love butter!"

She just laughed, I don’t think I remember Grandma ever being mad at me. Just smiling and reasoning with me.

Grandma (far right) with Grandpa and friends at Portland’s Rose Room - 1943ish.

Grandma loved bowling so much! Every time we went to her house I was always hopeful we would get to go bowling. I sucked at it, I still do. Yet Grandma was a bowling magician! She could get a strike almost every time. She knew how to bowl and she always tried to teach us the moves. Sometimes I would get it right, most of the time I just spent laughing with my sisters, my cousins, my Grandma.

If I didn’t have my Grandma in my life, I don’t think I would really understand the meaning of unconditional love. After college, when I moved back to Oregon, I spent a lot of time at Grandma’s house. She was therapy to me. She was a place of happiness. I needed her love so much.

I told her about my life, things I don’t like to talk about, and for the first time, this woman who just never showed any unhappiness, told me about hers. Just the bits that she could share to let me know she understood. It made me realize that in life, you can choose to be bitter over what harshness you are handed -or- you can choose to just love being alive! That is the greatest lesson Grandma taught me - to just love everything and everyone that comes in and out of your life. Regardless of what hardship our happiness it brings.

I can only hope to live in honor of my Grandma’s legacy by bringing and being this kind of love in the world, in the life I have been given. If we are reincarnations, we are simply reincarnations of those we came from. I feel overwhelmingly blessed to have come from Hazel, my Grandma, who is the one female in my life who showed me exactly what it means to love unconditionally and to love everyone; regardless.


Grandma Hazel & her little sister Leola


It Isn’t All Glass Slippers Ladies
by TigressSky ©July 23, 2014

I can’t even begin to imagine
What it would have been like
To be worthy of a Cinderella story
Swept out of the poverty
And into the abundance

No need to work
No need to push
No need to try




All the time
In the world
To work on nothing
Besides that which makes me


by TigressSky ©July 23, 2014

It is at the core of being that the child lays. Put to bed, to find an endless sleep, by the constant drive to grow up, and grow up I did.

To truly enjoy life, to truly get the most out of it, you can never put the child to bed. You just can’t. She has got to get up with you every morning, look in the mirror at the old which you have become, and make you laugh at it.

She has got to ride to work with you, sit in your grey cube, and give you the courage to dream of what it will take to get out of there. She should laugh at the ridiculousness of it all - for, and with you. She should inspire you to try all the new things you can, because one of them may be the best thing you have ever done.

In the end, it is she that will be there holding your hand, while all that is in this life fades away … as it always does; in everything, in every way.

Sad Poe

Sad Poe

dive inside

She’s putting herself fully into her own care.

It is a revolutionary step for her. Far too long, she’d been separated from her own body, heart and soul wisdom. She’d lived on borrowed intelligence, alienated from her original longing. Her many journeys underground has helped her separate her genuine voice from the counterfiet one. She’s not willing to live a soul sapping life anymore. She’s stepping out of the only life she’d known.

She’s putting her trust and vote in her deepest truth. She cannot yet pinpoint her longing. It’s still shaky for her. All she knows is the feeling of rightness in her bones.She’s not sure where she’s leading herself in her outside world. It does not make complete sense yet. She only knows that every decision is taking her closer to her centre. She’s walking through each of her fears of survival ~ her heart melting, her eyes limpid pools of vulnerability.

She can feel her spirit igniting, and she’s willingly sacrificing herself in the fire of her longing.

She’s going back to innocence.

by: Sukhvinder Sircar