Saturday, December 31, 2011

Welcoming The New Year

You slip up on me
stealthy as south wind.
Got a handful of promises
that glitter and shine.

But, behind your back
you're holding a sack
of fuckin' growth opportunities.

Since I cain't keep you out,
you might as well come in,
but don't go droppin' no balls
or singin' Auld Lang Syne.

Cause behind your back
I know you got a sack
of fuckin' growth opportunities.

Celebrating the New Year with dVerse!

Friday, December 30, 2011

All But One

The old sow went mad
in the midst of her labor
and began eating her young.
It was the winter I turned eleven.

For days, the air had been thick
with flu and flurries.
Fever had baked my brain and bones
in such hallucinatory heat
that I mistook my grandmother's cries
for dregs of dreams.
Still, I pulled on my boots
and waded out into the snow.

The sow that I had raised from a piglet
lay on her side in a sheltered corner of the lot.
Her newly concave sides shuddered with every breath.
Snot and mud crusted her snout.
The sad remains of her litter bloodied the churned snow.

She had ripped them to shreds.
All but one.

Thursday, December 29, 2011


A bell can toll.  A bell can ring.
A bell's a most peculiar thing.

Swinging stately from mourn to morn;
a bell for the dying, a bell for the born.

A couple of couplets for dVerse

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Safety Glass

Catching a glimpse
through a window
I've no need to walk by,
I'm stopped -
fingers to the frame,
breath against the pane -
until the glass fogs,
and I am saved from myself.

For the Wednesday Challenge at Real Toads

Monday, December 26, 2011

Another Line

I've yet to regret
a single word I've written you
although I suffer sickness
from dining on my heart.

Bloody lips
against the silver.
Half-closed eyes
as I surrender
another line.

And, I've yet to forget
a single word you've written me.
I often suffer sickness
from pining for your art.

My ready lips
tremble tender
and slightly part
as I remember
another line.

another line.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads
Linking to dVerse, as well

Saturday, December 24, 2011


I've made a home
of the sticks and stones
that were thrown at me.
Stitched a sampler of the insults;
it hangs above my bed.
I've choked down homemade venom
with olives and vermouth.
I've been a good girl, Santa.
That's the truth.

I've pretended ecstasy out of kindness.
I've pretended kindness
when ecstasy would rub it in.
I haven't said a tenth of the things I've thought
that were hateful and rude.
I've been a good girl, Santa.
That's the truth.

Five Minutes of Ecstasy for Real Toads and dVerse

Friday, December 23, 2011


The heat of my skin
melts your snowflake kisses
as fast as they fall
from your storm cloud lips.

Of such temporary lace
not a trace
will be left
by morning.

For the "contrast" prompt at dVerse

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Even You, Goth Girl

Lolamouse challenged me to write something to my younger self.  Okay, but she's not gonna listen!

Even You, Goth Girl

(breaking the news to my younger self)

Nowww . . .

Your hair's its natural color,
and your piercings are all gone.
No need to line your eyes;
you're sporting crow's feet.

And, when someone calls you "mama"
they're not trying to turn you on.
They're just whining
cause they want something to eat.

Can you believe you got so square?
Can you believe you just don't care
about being cool anymore?

I know you planned a wilder life,
a pretty corpse by twenty-five.
But, you just kept on living,
and the living kept getting real.
Forty's come and forty's gone,
and you have everything
you never wanted
when you wanted everything.

Can you believe you got so square?
Can you believe you just don't care
about being cool anymore?

Written for the Personal Challenge at Real Toads
Also, submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse

Monday, December 19, 2011

My Family Circus

Eight year old Baby Puppy is taking over today so her mother can make fudge.

Zen is like a charm.
Charm is a drop of water.
Zen is love.

---- by Baby Puppy

Submitted to Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Thursday, December 15, 2011


Plunge your hands into the blistering blizzard.
Dig your fingers blue, then black.
Claw at the ice
till your skin blooms roses.
You'll never get my cold heart back.

Pound your fists on the frozen ground.
Rest your head against the stone.
Touch my name,
etched deep and smooth.
My cold heart rests with my burning bones.

55 Words for my G-Man!

Wednesday, December 14, 2011


Between us, we have

a little girl,
a big mortgage,
and a single, perfect memory

of the sand castle we built
before we found ourselves
buried in it.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Status Update Blues

I saw your Facebook status.
Says you're a complicated man.
Well, I'm a simple woman.
The kind that gives a damn.

So, if you want to get your updates
in my inbox once again,
better change your status back
to what it was back when

we were tweetin'
and pokin' all night long.
Yeah, gotta change your status back, boy
or my profile is long gone.

You ain't that complicated.

A bit of silliness for Open Link Night at dVerse

Friday, December 9, 2011


You tell lies like a knife between the ribs.
Scandalize the town, 
I hear it from my friends.
You'd come around,
I'd turn the other cheek
and turn the covers down.
Like a fever in my brain,
I thought I'd make you change cause

you had a line
that crept right up on me.
Took my heart's desire
and laid it at my feet.
You seemed so fine
till I got in your skin
you were rotten inside.
You bled me dry.
Still I kept trying, and

in the name of love,
I forgave you.
With both eyes shut,
I damn near sainted you.
But, you were too cold,
and even a fool finds the end of the road.
You were a killing vice.
You supplied me.
I didn't want to kick the need then

I finally got a clue
that you're in love with you.
I can't believe it took me this long.
Now, I know what you're about,
and I've lost count
of all your second chances
so, baby, I'm gone.

A "departure" poem for Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads

Thursday, December 8, 2011

The Quiz

I took a quiz
in a book.
The results indicate
that I am not in touch with my feelings.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Okay, I admit that when the school counselor said,
"We think she has ADHD,"
I nodded, all calm and polite,
just as if my manicure wasn't maiming my palms so badly
that I would walk around with unacknowledged guilt stigmata
for a week.

And, sure, the last time I got a call that Mom was in the ER
I immediately fired up the old pipe of dreams
and started asking her doctor
if this drug or that drug might be right for her.

No, I didn't cry when Old Yeller died.

Still, I think I'm pretty in touch with my feelings.
I mean, I have to be.
How else am I going to push them away?

For the Emotion prompt at dVerse

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

On Reading That Poem

It was like being kissed.
Not the fumbling first kiss
of paragraphs and prose,
but a kiss so lyrical against my lips
that my skin sang in answer.

It was like being touched
by line
by line
until my breath came fast and rough.

It was like being loved.
Every phrase.
Every word.
It was like being loved.

Revealing how the gift of poetry arrived in my world for the prompt at Real Toads.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

The Wreath


Between the hours of two and four,
the wreath on the door
hangs like a noose,
and I walk the carpets threadbare
as if that can bring you home.

Between the hours of four and five,
the pine needles dry and die
and turn loose
leaving finely fading branches
bare as an old lover's bones.

Between the hours of five and six,
I come undone
and break to sticks
the hateful thing,
then weep
for the hours left to be alone.

For the Open Link at dVerse

Monday, December 5, 2011


Other daughters' mothers die.
Other women's husbands lie
and cheat
for thirteen years.
But, I don't fear
I'm like the others.

Other mothers' children hurt.
Other mothers' children learn
too soon
that life is pain.
That doesn't keep me awake
like the others.

Others live in other places.
Other names, other faces.
Not me, not mine.
I'm safe if I stay blind
and never find
I'm like the others.

A Magpie Tale
Submitted to Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Sunday, December 4, 2011

The Knees

tortured until it
yields and kneels, births a delicate
faith far too
tremulous to withstand the cold,
concrete commonsense of knees
that ache.

A Cameo for Real Toads.

Saturday, December 3, 2011


The gods seem unworthy
of worship.
A miracle is Jesus
on toast.
Comics are rarely
that funny.
I can't say which bothers
me most.

For Poetics at dVerse

Friday, December 2, 2011


I've nowhere left to sail this ship,
but I cannot make for shore.
I am anchored
by my fear
that no one mans the lighthouse.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Bread Crumbs

I left a trail of bread crumbs
to help me find my way back to you.
The birds ate all of my bread crumbs
so I sat and pondered what to do.
I guess I can only blame what happened next
on that I wasn't thinking too clear.
Following the bird shit led me here.

55 Words for my G-Man!