September 3rd, 2014 Posted in My Writing | No Comments »

Merman by Betty Leigh Verbeke


to the man I met on land

who asked me out for a swim…


we drove to the coast & shed our clothes

we walked naked into the ocean

eyes open & arms wide

letting the sea swallow us whole


we willingly sank to the bottom, unafraid

we danced with the clams & let the salt water fill our lungs full

we grew gills & held hands,

exploring the dark unknown together


we laughed

we played hide & seek in the coral reefs

we sprouted scaled tails & you braided my hair with seaweed


we had no definite plans for the future & we had endless time

yet somehow, anticipation found us there at the bottom of the ocean


maybe it was the shimmer of that sailboat you spotted

or maybe it was the memory of sunshine between our toes,

either way, we decided to surface again


once back on land, our gills disappeared & our tails split at their ends

oxygen refilled our lungs & it was a pleasurable burn

our fingers unfurled from one another & we took separate paths off the shore

gaze now focused anew on the city,

no longer lost in our sweet adventure through the depths of the sea


today, visiting the beach is a different kind of fun

the friends I bring like to splash and play chase the waves

without words, “it’s too risky to dive deep,” is what we say to each other

instead we build sandcastles & smile

we let the sun shine between our toes


but when I dream, I repeatedly swim back into the coral caverns, seeking my hiding Merman

the memory allows me to hear the bubbles we made while laughing

when I awake, I find salt in my ears & dried seaweed braided in my hair


I wonder if one day I will find another man who likes to dance with the clams



Naked Diver

November 13th, 2013 Posted in My Writing | No Comments »

Naked Diver by Betty Leigh Verbeke


standing on a cliff’s edge

the tide beckons below

wanting you to dive in

wearing nothing but skin


the waters crave to rush over you

and find each crevice

to leave specks of salt

in all pores

to compress your lungs

till they are completely absent of air


traces of sensation

from your last plummet

moons ago

remain in the shadow of your mind


you know you can swim

and will surface again

but there is no predetermined measure

on how deep you’ll get this time


you may touch bottom

and want to stay


terrifying and thrilling

you want it badly

trusting how it can hurt yet soothe


contemplating the leap

may take seconds or days


you start to undress


taking off your shoes

one lace at a time

then socks and pants

off goes the jacket

discarded in the wind

and the blouse you wear follows


the waves lap against the rocks

singing your name

willing you to dance


a few more steps

and sways of the hip

panties fall to the dirt

feeling vulnerable

hands rub up your body

and to your back

bra unclasps

and slides off your shoulders


completely raw now to the eye of the ocean

it roars angry with lust


dive, please, dive

it pleads you


breathe deep

before you submerge

it reminds you


no matter how far down you go this time

it’ll be ok

it lulls you














it’s alright

naked diver

you will surface again

if you want to

the sea reassures you


icy warmth pricks every inch of flesh

the immediate panic of calm sets in

swimming till you feel nothing

but your inner radiant light

filling the darkness


you enjoy the rush

the comfort

the love

the unknown

of the ocean




Miss B. Haven’s Obituary

November 28th, 2012 Posted in My Writing, Thoughts & Thanks | 2 Comments »

Miss B. Haven, a well-loved orange Honda Fit, died Sunday November 18th, 2012.

In an unfortunate event, a large 8-point buck decided to end it all, for he had been suffering from chronic depression by being teased all his days for his deformed antlers.  It is believed that he was unaware that his suicide would take another life, the life of a sweet little car.

Miss B. Haven led a good life, being owned, and now surviving in memory, by Betty Leigh Verbeke.  Betty adopted Miss B. Haven in 2006, right out of the womb of the automobile industry.

Over the last six years, the two of them spent many hours on the road together, approximately 81,000 miles worth.  Miss B. Haven was able to see much of Texas and had a few long road trips through the United States, one of which was to Florida and back, just car & owner, a bonding experience never to be forgotten.

If you’re wondering where Miss B. Haven got her name, she was deemed such in the last year of her life for her rather debaucherous and fun life style she led with Betty.  Such occasions will not be elaborated on.

However, not all of Miss B. Haven’s life was a luxurious road to wheel experience, she had been in a few accidents before the final blow of the horn.  She had encountered a stop sign, a concrete wall, a large tree limb falling after a storm, and sadly enough, another small deer a few years before.

In summation of her life, through the rough and the wonderful, she was a well cared for and loved vehicle.  She took on many passengers and kindly assisted friends & family in moving from one location to another.  She will be missed and always remembered.

Cheers to you, Miss B. Haven, may your engine forever roar in Honda Heaven.



June 26th, 2012 Posted in My Writing | No Comments »

Sunbathing by Betty Leigh Verbeke


I feel your stare crawl up the length of my body

Like ants in a single file line on the kitchen counter

Leading to my mouth of a sugar bowl

Astronomer’s studies heavily freckle my arms

Depthless galaxies settle on my shoulders

The Milky Way sweeps across the bridge of my nose and cheek bones

Faintly twinkling under the bright ice gaze of my Neptune-blue eyes

Tan lines mark the edges of the wrapping paper to my body’s gifts

Soft cream cashmere cuddled with buds of pink rose

Thoughts of your tongue tracing my petal’s edges roll around in your mouth like a delicious hard candy

Sucking slowly, not swallowing the daydream before extracting every drop of flavor

Beads of fresh sweat rise on my skin

Following trails leading to shallow pools collecting in my crevices

You want to dive in

Have my private ocean’s salt water sting your eyes

Desire burns in you hotter than the sun under which I am bathing

The rays you are emitting penetrate deep beneath my skin

Your flaming gaze catches my exposed flesh on fire

You inhale deep as you extinguish the igniting look

Unseen smoke fills up your lungs with my scent

An aroma of melted stars and crisp roses escapes as you exhale slowly


Back On The Shelf

April 24th, 2012 Posted in My Writing | No Comments »

Back On The Shelf by Betty Leigh Verbeke


I’d apologize,

But I’m not sorry.

You just weren’t what I was looking for.

Yes, I know,

I picked you up.

Out of a row of many books,

I chose you.

But the choice was based purely on your title,

Your author’s name,

And your intriguing color.

Yes, I handled you with care.

You felt the support of my palm on your spine,

And the strength of my hand holding you.

I appreciated your cover.

I read your back,

Getting a little preview of what you were all about.

I even read your reviews;

They were great.

While I lightly skimmed your story,

Your edges felt my fingertips.

The smell of my perfume hovered around us.

You felt my warm breath soak through your thin papers,

Beyond the ink printed on the surface.

I read a few lines from page 52,

Then some on page 127,

And part of your last chapter on page 386.

I absorbed your words,

And made an assessment.

I quietly closed you,

And put you in my basket.

I carried you around while I shopped for other books.

I leafed through your companions;

Some of them joined you in my basket.

You saw that I treat all books the same,

With honest care and consideration.

But before I went to the check-out,

I made a second evaluation of my choices.

I picked you up again,

And re-read your back.

Again you felt my hand holding you,

My palm supporting your spine.

Yes, I walked with you,

Pressed between my arm and chest,

A firm grip kept you safe from falling to the floor.

But instead of buying you,

I put you back on the shelf,

In the same place I found you.

Thank you so much for sharing yourself with me,

But you just weren’t what I was looking for.


Unspoken Words

April 8th, 2012 Posted in My Writing | No Comments »

Unspoken Words by Betty Leigh Verbeke


I am your reflection

And you are mine

While we enjoy this moment

Basking in our beauty

Our unspoken words

Cast shadows on the ground

They dance in silence

Sharing secrets long forgotten

And future moments ready to unfold



An Artist’s Thoughts

February 26th, 2012 Posted in My Writing | No Comments »

An Artist’s Thoughts by Betty Leigh Verbeke


I’m an artist

When I draw your outline and fill it with paint

I do it carefully


It takes time


As you become a better muse,

I become a better artist

And as I become a better artist,

You become a better muse


Right now, I am still in the process of sketching

I’m keeping the paint in the cans

I haven’t picked the colors yet

You will know

When the easel comes out

When the brushes are ready

When the canvas has been set

So calm down

It’s all part of the process

Art is a process

And I am still in the process of sketching


All the sketches are thrown away at the end of the night

Those angles will not again cast the same shadows


But the final portrait you will hang on your wall

Still wet, dripping with fresh inspiration


It will be the most divine piece of art you have ever seen,

Have ever been a part of


But you have to wait for it

Because I am the artist

And you are the muse

And I am still in the process of sketching


December 21st, 2011 Posted in My Writing | No Comments »

High by Betty Leigh Verbeke


I’m high

All the time

Not on weed

Or coke

Or booze

Or caffeine


Ok, maybe caffeine

I do have coffee

Almost every morning


But that still isn’t the high I’m talking about


I’m high on life


On the fact I was once in two places

An egg

And a sperm


Waiting to fertilize


I’m high


High on that I live

Every day

Every second

Every inhale

And exhale

I’m here

And I get to share it with you all


My mind is fucking blown


I make my reality

I shape it

Like a potter and their clay


Everything, I choose

And I always have the choice


I am so high on choice

Choices to act

To feel

To think

To learn

To share

To be here, now


So high I can’t even function


Giddy on the fumes of yesterday

And tomorrow on the rocks

With a twist of today


So high I don’t even know what I’m talking about


Un-fucking-believably high

On life


And maybe caffeine



No Question

November 23rd, 2011 Posted in My Writing | 2 Comments »

No Question by Betty Leigh Verbeke


Last time I was here,

I wanted to ask you

If you felt it was necessary

To feel pain

To produce “stage-worthy” poetry.


But before I formed

The proper placement of words,

I already knew my answer.


See, I choose to exercise my free will.

That’s right,

I am an optimist.

I am the conscious creator of my thoughts,


And actions.

I understand and utilize

My autonomy

To better my life

And those in it.


I love your poetry

And I am moved

By your pain.


Now give me a chance

To move you

By my triumph.


My life IS rainbows,

And butterflies,

Blue skies,

And watching the sun rise,

But I see it fall too.


I find beauty in its departure

And appreciation in its absence.


There is no yin

Without the yang.

A bird does not sing

Without a song to sing to,

Without another bird to listen.


I am here to hear your words.

Mine are:



And the pursuit of happiness.


I am my own role model

And I am damn proud

Of who I am.


The past gives inspiration,

But the future gives opportunity.

Which do you prefer?


May 24th, 2011 Posted in My Writing | No Comments »

Anguilla by Betty Leigh Verbeke

Night tucks us in under a blanket of rain

Waking beneath a light sheet of clouds as cover

Not to let it be pulled over our eyes

The unforgiving sun is back to blister by cocktail hour

Past the pebbled sands and tall palms,

Coral serenades us into its home

Housing schools of fish and other creatures of unimaginable shades of color

The edgeless blue greets with a friend’s cooling touch

Having us leave our shoes at the door

The tide kindly sucks the sands from between our toes

A bruschetta island

The center topped thick with jungle foliage

The crusts composed of cliffs and beaches

Little markets of smiles and pleasant greetings are found at the end of dirt roads

Wisps of sea and weed float down the air streams

Cargo carrying canoes of island scent headed toward our nostril caverns

Food fresher than clean laundry

So succulent and savory

Flavors too vast in range for our vocabulary

Water more blue than all Arian eyes

Sands softer than silk

Hiding shells fit for Titan

Serenity is all encompassing

Sounds of birds and waves become our ear’s ring

Whispering its poetry, the island our only muse

A true paradise