Landa Lynae Ruen

“ripe dandelions for the picking”

cup of peace.

This is my cup

A little filled with peace

But just a cup

No more, no less

This is my cup that rests in the palm of the world

Nonexistent, fictional


Wake up dear Alice

One moment, two moments

Seconds apart

This little cup filled with peace

Little cup filled with peace

Sits in the palm of my hand

Sturdy yet fragile

One move and it shatters

A cup no more, peace dried up

Nothing left but shards

No proof of peace

Weight gone from my palm

This little cup filled with peace

Knows what we must save

What must be done to save the world

But it is just a cup.

-or is it.

Demon-Monkey Toes

A sandal with woven weeds

My broken hands, garbage-ridden eyes

Necklaces laced with seeds


My teardrop ears and demon-monkey toes

Weavings for my socks

A sandal with woven weeds


He says, he thinks he knows

Around the corner, down two blocks

Necklaces laced with seeds


My ready, red-ripened cherry pose

The dying man caresses thin threads of the clock

A sandal with woven weeds


Every pointed needle grows

Like a thimble, cold stone rock

Necklaces laced with seeds


From this choppy earth his heart arose

A bracelet to break the block

Necklaces laced with seeds

A sandal with woven weeds

Maples Swear There Will Be Better Days

Light graces the earth as

Robert awakes the night

Dropping in from time to time

Shallow waters wash my mind

robert awakes the night

Hell is asleep; while burids chirp

And light graces our life

Tugboats float on rippling tides

Whle hopeless hearts weep for purging hell

Old hope brings nothing to life

Achieve your mother's success

maybe it will warm the icy light

Maple trees swear there will be better days

As you sour your drink at the saloon

Plastic hearts, burning eyes cannot

See the lips of God.

Moon Craters and Icebergs

Her heavy weighted eyes toying and torturing his mind

An iceberg floating on the cool deep waters of the Pepsi cup

Her barge-like eyes cannot even break this berg

Moon craters upon her helpless arm, from the chill of the calm waters.

His paper-cutout legs criss-cross in that oak fold-back chair

“hold your book,” she thinks, though she, herself, has no book.

He then gives her those eyes and

She falls back into dreamland

She goes again,

Back to those tiny hairs on end.

Laura, her sister, strolls through her mind

And the Moon Craters return, just as her ears begin to fail

“Mister,” the young sibling says, “please remove these heavy weights from my mother’s helpless eyes”

“she is tired, let my sister sleep”

The iceberg melts and the waters now soft and sweet

His book now closed and eyes quarter awake

His paper-cutout legs deteriorate and dissolve

As she holds his book

And comes back from dreamland.

Gone in a While

Assumptions that present an idea

Illegible for most, that is, those not connected

Unclassified to me, because all those assumptions mean nothing

There are places we must save

This assumption truth; illegible to most

Till we all open our ignorant stained eyes

Twisted by “reality” we assume illegible means of destruction

Flush this from your “save” file

These places will be gone in a while

While, is my present idea that means something

Classified as my murmur

That too will be gone in a short while

Because assumptions present an idea

Rich in mur and mur dumped into our pooled ears.

At this point reality is illegible

And singly strains my murmur, where “places” once


(alone in the whispers of Doobah)

Dear September 8th, 2009

This is my writing time.

There will be a day when all will fade unto the sea (then you can see)

My mere words are simple sounds that fret and frighten those that will always forget the massive envelope at your door.

My willow will bend until you arrive at my door.

When a willow blows you will only know of the breaking song.

One that was once written to songbirds and doves

Where and how can I ever know of the unwinding tale that chirps and clasps the light.

Swarms of indigo eyes and marvelous monks hide, cowering in a corner that is not alive.

Noon will sing and bring you something of a tale.

Not one that you have heard before, but one that sways and wonders.

How will it look when you have not the marbles to throw, or break.

Cordial words, I love you.

Marching Along, part 1

Marching along

Quarter hearted response

Until you have filled my ears brim full

I will wait

Marching along for you

Here in the haven I will wait

Has there ever been such a love

To last till the streams are drought

Till the mountains are sand

Here I am

Marching along

For you.

Marching Along, part 2

Marching along for you.

Hoping for a solitary song

You will sing it in my ears

Then I will understand what you said all those years.

Unhappiness and water under the bridge

When is understanding negligence

Heartache has only lasted all the years without you.

Here I will march along

Someone will rescue me and bring me to that place where I belong

Toes to the Wind

Many hours until the end, but the toes can still twist.

Hours and hour will pass

My heartfelt conscious will remember only one thing

I cannot see, see my own words

To those that hate to see

To those that spend hours and hours

Twisting only toes that see the wind


Pitch patch drinks

Catch this dealio

Salsa dance in my mouth

Beat it up

Beat it down

Take me to that place Charlie brown

Many hours until the dance begins

My toes will twist and shout, barf it out

This is my deal-I-yo

Catch this? Have I convinced you south?

My own words hate those stupid hours spent

Only toes to the wind

I have started again, bitches brew burns in my head

Beat it up

Break it down

Take me to that place Charlie brown

Fucking penguins

Signs of the Old Ways

By Landa Ruen

Whether on a farm

Or whether withering down an old dirt road

Signs tell of the old ways

Harboring those ideals and moments most important to us

Whether we still create

Or whether we remember thimbles and heartaches

Signs crumble under this old moon

While we wait for the grass to grow

Whether there is another day

Or whether all will perish

We are the creators and goldsmiths

Harboring wealth and happiness

While moments most important to us vanish

In the eastern winds

Like many days before

While withering down an old dirt road

I remember.


By Landa Ruen

I have sailed before, on a path just like this

To those that have never seen clouds or mists of rain

I do hope you might see it some day.


I have saied before on an autumn breeze

While the waters run deep and shallow waves rock the seas

How will I ever escape.


To those that have never seen clouds like this, days before

I show you those that are truth.

Never surpassed or guaranteed truth

Just a mouthful of anything you want to believe


I do hope you might see it someday

On an autumn day such as this

I wonder if you will ever know.


Barefoot we Discover

By Landa Ruen


Barefoot, we walked upon the gravel

Tearing against our toes, we didn’t mind though

Free to discover our own world

We set out to the yard, filled with dandelions

Once a golden meadow, now considered weeds to be poisoned


We walked upon the earth

Twisting the dirt between our toes, like it was our own

OUR world, now just a place to visit every once in a while.


A mindful of lazy days, in the grass we spoke

Conquering the world, stabilized by hope

Characters we knew, are not so familiar still

Grass is just a blade, marketable, profitable


Daisies and dandelions scared my mind

With fragrances of youth

Life drenched with pain,

Distinguished by creative character.

While hopeful all the same.


Barefoot, we discovered

the world beneath our feet.

One Night

                     - Landa

One night I said, “Its been a while since I have been where the corn cribs grow.”

Still rings these ears true.

Where have the days gone; when we were little…you and I

Where do we call home while the little trees blow

A light is on where I sleep at night

You are frightened by what may be

Though you preach perfection

I have finally been able to see through that façade

My art has not made me rich nor made me poor

But I know where the wind blows and the corn cribs grow

Weeds are daisies

If I could tell you that I may change the world

Would you believe me?

I doubt change will ever reach you.

Today is not as cold as it was before

Lying in the snow with my face touching the sky

I have flown here before

Perfect silence, emptiness is in the air

I am engulfed by the snow

It is like my mother or father now, holding me tight

Still cradled, I feel like I have just fallen into a new world

That no one has ever known

It is just for me.

I hear my breath, deep, crisp to my ears

My frozen body stares up into the sky

Maybe I will stay here forever, I think

Perhaps I am actually warm, safe from the abrasive wind

The sun is setting, and the gray sky meets darkness

Time to go in

Leave my new harbor of the ocean sky

I'll wait for just a moment

Just for one more

Sound it out


Reference sentence


All my words, indefinable



Heart ache

Heart break

Smart mouth

Crafty bastard

When in doubt

Centipede in the weeds

Crazy bastard

Coo-coo's nest

Bowl of sunshine

Warped meow

Causing my spelling


Those you always wanted to know

Idefinable, your hope


Noisy crap

There goes my shoe again

Tides rippling down the staircase

Hosiery, tight, mimic what you used to be

Stupefied by your wall and abusive words

Sound it out

You little brat

When will you trust me

Cozy as the wind blows

Songbird, angel, harpoon


Crunchy toast

Burnt jam

Snow ball brigade

Crafted by perfection then told what to do on a daily basis

Could someone please explain this narcissistic nature

Behold, you and I never separated

Do I ever really understand?

Off in a Million Moons

Repo man come take my trash

Maybe someone would be there

I'm off in a million moons

Dressing for disaster in the most beautiful way


Pressing my chest against the wind

Like butter, I melt while reaching the sun

Going back inside my head to find the soliloquies

I count,

One, in a crumbling city

Two, I've gone too far and seen too much

Three is that magical place where the sky is blue and the yellow daisies bloom

I am running, swimming through the soft, sweet air


When the sun touches the trees the painter begins walking

Repo man come take my treasures

Look, see what I have left you.

Just a Hand

Years from now


Raining-verb, present participle

I will not relinquish my smiling accounts

Like I have done too many days before


Caught in my apple sauce soup

Sand trap, pit I can't sit in

Castles are few and far between

Staring aimlessly at the wall

Could the ravines calm this clutter

Or did the ravines start this landslide

I don't want any of it at the moment

Just a hand

Poem (aka Lollipops and rocks)

 Well, beyond all that I know 

 All that I might understand 

 Restless sleep and harder days win 


 It seems that I am at times lost 

 Gone to another time and place 

 Swimming in the stars 


 Laughter hasn't failed me yet 

 Today will be better than that 

 I will sing a new song 


 And beyond all that you know 

 I will grow 

 Sleep will be my dreamland 


 An empty book awaits my chapter 

 What will she write, lollipops and rocks 

 Collected in that old treasure box 

 Entwined by cordial notes 

 Smile, your smile 

 Ha, I might have written your first word 

 Taken and placed in a dust bowl, crushing my bones 

 My mind, my freedom. 

Sweet cookie

 Cartoons and Macaroons, 

 This is how we play the game 

 Cradled emotions. Learning to crawl 

 Do not worry about the fall 

 Quiet your emotions until the levy breaks 

 Uncontrollable are the motions that move me 

 When you said hello 

 Please wake up and reach for the words 

 To complete this world you have created   

Dear December 2010

 Days from now you will be a new year 

 Will you miss what you could have had 

 Will you dream about tomorrow 


 How will you be? 


 I imagine that you soar off, floating into the night sky 

 Shoulder back touching the wind


 There were things once so simple as I recall

 Moon beams and chocolate covered berries

 But now,

 Things are different


 Seagulls swarm the open seas and fill my mind with nonsense

 Particle dreams of one-plus-two and mark your steps


 Sitting at my computer, on a night like this, I used to dream about my present moment

 How did I feel, what did I write.

 The quiet room felt like my world for just, what….


 You could tell me that we all forget

 And that things always move as they do


 But what is lost in our innocence and rapture

 Who will fill the moonbeams and dance with the dandelion queens?


 How could I swallow such a large sip on a night like this


 Dear December 2010