POEM: goodbye

undulating skin
round areola
pale pink
softness
surrounding the
generous nipple
pleasure
milk
I will miss you
he will miss you
we will miss you
I am sorry
forgive me
I will try
to forgive you
goodbye

POEM: losing my grip

everything falls flat
the sounds I hear
are missing a certain tone
the scenery lacks depth
vivid shades of color
are lost
my voice faint
barely discernable
amidst the din
of this loud disease
I am fading away
bit by bit
before I have even begun
to fight
how will I ever find
the strength to go on
without myself
to hold on to?

POEM: too late to revel in the glory

look at your breasts

see them anew
for me

if they are whole
are healthy
are both still intact
please know what I did not
that they are a treasure
know how lucky you are

enjoy them
cherish them
love them
no matter what you used to think

round and firm,
the blessing of youth
a gentle sloping curve,
the gift of maturity
small and unassuming
or large and cumbersome
generous
pendulous
drooping
pointy
compact
unyielding

they are all so amazing
so beautiful
so unique
so utterly precious

and sadly, fragile, too

my wish for any woman
is to know her breasts as a blessing
a simple gift
and to do what she can
to keep them safe

my wish for myself
is to forget all that now
and let go
too late to revel in the glory

POEM: The Flow

Today I want to write
some days that is all I really want to do
admittedly, almost shamefully
not to mother
nor to be a wife
not even a friend
but just to sit with pen and paper
or keyboard and screen
and write
pour words out like drops of blood
empty my veins
release the flow
cleansed by getting out the thoughts
before they disappear and become lost
unfamiliar, mutated
like a tangled clot

Yet the very distractions
that keep me from the page
are what give my voice
something to say

Strange beast, this writing thing
without the pull away from it
I would never be able to come back
the longing would be filled
with other things, perhaps
the pull would be away
from other places
that flow would be redirected
and I would bleed no more
but I think
the wound would somehow still be missed
like a phantom limb
haunting my memory
but without remembering

POEM: voice

I’ve found my voice
I recognize it
as if it were always mine,
only lost for a while
Yet I know that all it speaks
is different now,
a quality that is new
emerging
from the center
this midpoint that lies
between all there is for me
and all there has been
My new voice recognizes me
and knows we belong together

POEM: waking words

poetry doesn't let me sleep

it tickles my dreams

and pricks my tongue

to speak of morning

POEM: snowflakes from my pen

my words

falling like snowflakes

from my pen

catch them on my tongue

the page

before they hit the ground

and melt away

POEM: Hungry Muse

Feed the Muse

give Her books

poetry and art

movies and shows

even websites and blogs

to devour

to distract

a filling detour

She will be hungry for Them

an immense appetite

unquenchable thirst

elixir

to prime the Pump

and churn out Work

the reward

satiation

brief

it's feeding time again all too soon

an empty plate

equals an empty page

POEM: Tidbits

I like small poems

seemingly harmless

they are tasty soundbites

torn off in small portions

nibbling

at thoughts and realizations

little by little

barely noticed

until there's nothing left

devoured

bones revealed

no scraps

no leftovers

only crumbs remain

POEM: Black Gold

My mother leaves my coffee can open

morning is stale, flat, weak

She uses the last slice of bread

noon is empty, unfullfilled, hungry

My mother put rotten food back in my refrigerator

my evening is disturbed

Why?

She says she didn't know where I wanted to put it

thought I had a special place

for things spoiled

I do

my childhood memories make handy containers

my dreams compost the scraps

slumbering, steaming, changing

awake I sift through the clumps

and enrich my writing with the best

of the worst

POEM: Alice in Writer-land

Poetry is easy

just follow the rabbit

and trust that the hole

leads somewhere

Fiction is hard

you have to convince

someone that there was a rabbit

and describe the hole

without revealing too much all at once

letting the reader follow you instead

and discover Wonderland for themselves

POEM: I am

I am

words, thoughts, stories
what is right, what is wrong
embracing arms, stroking hands
flowing milk, tender lips
harsh voice, singing voice, silly voice
tears, shallow breath, unquiet mind
loose thoughts, dark places, wild
siren-song, high-pitched,wailing
regret, love, blocked, obstacle
dreams, hopes, fears, sorrow
lies, truth, painful, free

me

more

now

POEM: Shelf Life

Poetry doesn't keep
you can't put it on hold


that first thought
word
image
can't be put aside
it must be written down quickly
lest it fly away

The trail must be followed
leading you to the end
or you will get hopelessly lost
and never find your way again

Poetry is a dish best served hot
it goes bad quickly
one millisecond past the expiration date
and it is spoiled
rotten
barely resembling it's original form
inedible

POEM: Morning Pages

Straight from sleep

my thoughts are deep

they will not keep

from my pen, they seep

POEM: Brighid's Song

You are the cauldron and it’s hearthstone home
Both water and wellspring from whence it’s drawn
You are seed,

the bloom,

the heavy fruited vine
The hopeful sharpened plow and waiting fallow field
You are the green shaft of grain, the nourishing dark loaf
The Smith’s glowing forge and malleable iron both
A swift pointed arrow and the unknowing mark it seeks
The pen

the unsung words

the terrible white page, still blank
You are the candle and the flame it bravely bears
You are the mirror gazed upon…and the relection I see