Open

The catharsis of my recent post was intoxicating. I have likely fallen off the radar of any regular readership, if such a thing ever existed, but it doesn’t really matter. So here’s a poem to keep the momentum going. “Open” The part I like least Is my fear of the other side Where grass is…

Ante Meridiem

As warm hands Curl around curves and Caution yields to abandon Grind and fill Take it in slow My morning fix **The Match challenged me to write a poem about two of my favorite things. Can you guess what they are?

Treasure Chest

Most of the time… I write to ward off the forgetting, To crystallize the moment, To graffiti the hero With mustache and rabbit ears, For my memory is kinder to me Than I deserve. But sometimes… I write to build monuments, Ineffable, flawed memorials To the sweetly fleeting moments, The trappings of nascent love, For…

I Want to Write, But…

I want to write, but my brain is stretched thin, like getting eight more cookies out of five cookies’ worth of dough. Like squeezing into that cheap-ass dress a size too small — the one with a price I couldn’t resist. Like the shoulder seams of my favorite t-shirt, held together less by thread than…

A Scene From The Office

I’m wearing a bright scarf today, Looped twice, draped loosely, Too bright maybe. Orange and purple, pink and blue, But mostly orange. With coral lips and a hint of doubt. “Is it too much — all this color?” I ask. “Definitely not,” they assure me, These older women, Whose staunch philosophies Involve never leaving the…

Silent Rhythms

If I am a river, You are a tributary, Mingling your waters with mine, Flowing into, amongst, then away, To become a cloud Whose shape reminds me of you. If I am a path, You are a crossroad, Forcing unforeseen choices, Intersecting my progress with pleasure, The geometry of us, Diverging points on a compass…

Quit This.

I want to push boundaries. Mostly my own, But yours, too. A child with a lens Tilted just so in the sun, I’ll watch as you squirm, Trying to evade My beam of intrusion. I want to demolish walls. Mostly my own, But yours, too. Hands on the controls, Mad gleam in my eye, As…

Get Comfortable With Uncomfortable

My anger isn’t anger. It’s love, Marinated in disappointment, Wrapped in upset, and Drizzled with exasperation. My sadness isn’t sadness. It’s love, Steeped in anxiety, Blended with fear, and Garnished with hurt. My sad-angry-love isn’t peaceful, A tangled heap of conflict I hold with open palms. Breathe in, breathe out. Get comfortable With uncomfortable.  

Haunted by the Ghosts of Words

“Speech Delay” The words we don’t say Haunt the words we do say With their ghosts. The words we don’t say, can’t say, Mouths poised to speak Form only silent screams. _______________________ It appears this has become one of those blogs in which my poetry may now make an occasional appearance. But I’m not sorry….