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Tag: Poem

  • Cold Mother II

    Cold Mother II

    In Januarycold winds blew in cold baby, eyes like minea heart murmured, an objection that soonleft no trace I dip my toes infrigid sighing frozen seasjust beyond the topazthere is darkness I mistakedichotomies for choicesI segregateone thing from the other I prefera life lived bleeding into and out ofdrafty spacesthings without names Januarycold mothers with…

  • Sleeping Beauty

    I’d forgotten how hard blogs are. There’s a story to tell and I keep thinking it’s about Nepal. I should be writing about Nepal. I am supposed to be writing The Nepal Story, after all. So, why can I not write about Nepal? Dramatic sigh. I was once told by my mentor to trust my…

  • Lost Blossom

    There was a time when you mattered The last bloom On the Rose of Sharon Of The Season In which your spirit did not survive Another fall Falls near As the sky Or a petal from a poppy Or a child of God Did you really believe that? That there was a time when it…

  • Knowing the Dead

    In a sleep, the wound wept its tears Bloodshed Seeped from itself without knowing But I knew I saw your death a million times before you did But then you said In a sleep, all around was death, death, dea th You knew bloodshed Wept for us both before I ever did

  • beauty sleep

    When the petals died and the stem drooped, I slept Sleeping beauty sleep I awoke to gold Light too bright You offered me a dim corner When you drooped and died, Gold was gilded with light There is no sleeping beauty sleep now

  • vox poetica, baby

    I was featured on Annmarie Lockhart’s fantabulous poetry site, vox poetica, yesteray. http://poemblog.voxpoetica.com/ (a divination was the poem). Thanks, Annmarie for the shout out. 🙂

  • splatter

    I awoke to screaming lips a sigh beyond teeth clenched with an image in mind blood plastered image on my mind blood splattered image on my mind

  • Streamers

    caught up in the stream of things the streamers I made as a 10-year-old still hanging from the rec room ceiling where my father tacked them a long ago place never touched and now a new place that takes me back to when I was 21 and how much I couldn’t enjoy my life then

  • punch

    The punchline wasn’t the real punchline Or at least it wasn’t funny She wept. Like most things It’s what comes after the punchline that matters most She wept. For him.

  • the year of, part a & b

    part a this has been the year of guilt last year was the year of reckoning I go through cycles like the Chinese horoscopes I’m a horse I’m also a goat/fish tail in the regular astrological wheel I never liked goats I’m guilty I’m also depressed/manic-but-not-in-a-Patty-Duke-sort-of way I’m moving and surprisingly it doesn’t hurt. I…