Poetry or Something

The year they took our pennies away I watched goodness die In an Ice storm. It blew across the country, Spurred on by frozen hearts.   In the year they took our luck away, So that they could nickel and dime us To death, The ones who warn us against hell Unleashed it in our cities.   In the year that Abe Lincoln Went out of circulation, He was replaced By a lily-white frost That...

I couldn’t see the snakes. When they came at night, Puffing and hissing around my bed. I slept on the ground Without a light Other than the stars. Glowing softly over my head. Beauty above. Death below. To sleep was an act of faith. Closing your eyes When well you know That fangs are coming. And sooner or later, you have to pee, Wearing chains.     Such a life does something to you. It...

Freedom covered me in bubble wrap To protect me from life Because that stuff would surely kill me. It took a while before it was safe to feel again. To look at my face in the mirror and count the bruises. It took a while before I believed That smiles were not a disguise To hide evil.   Freedom didn’t come with a map To help me find my way back home, Or to navigate...

Untethered, I float Buffeted by the winds of life Never feeling grounded

Misrepresented. The artistic renderings Had cast me as a saint. Separation Makes the heart grow fonder. But it doesn’t teach you how to paint A man you never really saw. The one that left never came back. I did.   No firetrucks came To put out my burning life. It was consumed like wood, hay and stubble. Deconstructed By hellfire missiles. As I sort through the rubble, At the bottom of that pile Is a...

I’m untouchable. People think my shadow Has PTSD land mines. They keep their distance, Heads down, Safe behind the line Of yellow Traumatic Hazard Tape. No one wants to get blown to hell. Look what it did to me.   Life gave me chains To wear on my ankles. I broke them and made wind chimes. They sing how the breeze doesn’t blow back But forward. That love always rhymes. I have my storms. Depressions...

On my beach Is a maternity room Where poems are born. As both mother and midwife I exist in the middle space; The balance Between gestating ideas And the arrival of Living words.   I don’t create truth. I painfully push it out, Cut it from my body, Wipe the blood from it, Measure its length and weight, Count its toes, Swaddle it in a blanket of words, Then lay it carefully in your arms....

How long can you go through the motions until the heart catches up? How long can you put up a brave face until it cracks? How long can you hold back tears until the dam breaks? How long can you be silent until a scream erupts? How long does it take for a heart to break?

Spring Oh that day That glorious day The birds were all atwitter and the flowers bloomed their best in pinks and purple, yellow and white and the trees blossomed their promise of plenty The children were laughing The people were smiling The wind caressed us tenderly on that day that the sun spread out her arms and embraced us with her warmth.  

Once upon a lonely morning facedown in the grass I layed when I saw a tiny little flower hiding under the tall blades   I was amazed at it’s perfection so hidden, so unseen too insignificant to give color to the world of green   Tenderly I touched the purple petals and wonder filled my heart because that tiny speck of color had made my loneliness depart