Why

Slowly the life is draining out of me

Bit by bit

Things I'd had always believed to be true

Are twisted into ugliness 

and my leporacy oozes everywhere

 When the people who normally champion

My causes become critics

Of my breathing

Of my intent

Of my glances

The joy naturally drains

I can not find it any more

I'm not even sure I want to

April 5, poem 5

For today’s prompt, write a discovery poem. The narrator could discover an object, a person, an animal, a dishonorable deed, or any number of things. Poets can focus on the discovery, examine the aftermath, or even just mention it in passing.

Discovering age

being dirty dishwater blond affords one
special attention and powerful amenities
deemed down to earth, real and unaltered

people irrationally trust unaltered woman

beauty fades with time and even dirty blonds
find themselves highlighting their assets
playing up the beauty in sun kissed hair

people battle against unwarranted privilege

age means better, stronger mirrors that
magnify ten times normal sight and reveals
the light has been flickering on silver, not gold

April 4, poem 4

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Since (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Since the Last Time I Smoked,” “Since You Said Please,” and “Since When.”

Since the last time

almost dying is my talent
the last time changed me
in subtle ways
where numbers do not make cents
where money infuriates my sense
where words drip with meanings
and comprehension rolls away from me

like marbles dropped
in a jar to count the behaviors
I want more of

Since the last time

almost dying danced with me
and changed me completely
when attacking appendixes becomes
a barren middle aged woman
the news spilled accidentally in recovery
yet I still manage to have more
children than society feels appropriate

like little people left
off in hospitals or foster care ought to be
hidden in the crevices not minivans

Since the last time

almost dying lost

April 3, poem 3

meaning sometimes crawls
from places long abandoned

my heart knows

refuting lustfully, robustly
that pure moment where

truth dawns

sometimes messages are
never meant to be heard

but experienced

and then swallowed hard
with burning bile of disbelief

April 2 poem 2

traveling without headlights
the way home is a muscle memory
turn left, turn right and follow the road

home is in the cul de sac

always

bad news use to be an announcement
shared from one person to another

a ringing phone
and a Daddy lost

a morning bathroom break
and a best friend gone

but technology shatters the soft cushioning
of; "I'm so sorry but they are gone."

while your parents worried over telling you
a social media post broke the news of your friend's
chosen journey to death

and

suddenly I was traveling without headlights
counting on my muscle memory to carry you

Last firsts

the normal progression of youth
maturation reached and celebrated

however

each time she succeeds in losing
her babyhood, I mourn the quiet
passing of my youngest baby

no more:
bottles
toddler clothes
blankies
binkies

no more training wheels

each week steals away pieces
of her and leaves

a girl, a human completely incomplete
and
each week brims with another last first

first things, last things

Once I had a poetry blog and then someone hijacked it, made it private and did not invite me to read.  I have spent oddles of time trying to convince the Google Lords that it is mine and I should be able to have it back.    Since I can not provide them with the right information I can not get back the lost copies of my poems.

Word Dancing

It makes me sad because of course, although I had copies them all to my hard drive, that hard drive crashed.  So much of poetry is one's soul ripped open for others to read.

I can even prove that I authored it but it means nothing to Google.  There isn't even a way to contact a live person there.

The hacker changed all my security answers and thus, it is lost.


If anyone is still a reader please let me know.

one thing

If I could tell you just one thing
it would be make your little girls
wear leggings, always
without fail

there are not safer things
than leggings, in today's world

other than a chastity belt
or pants that do not slide
revealing dimples, backs or
curves or cracks which drive

my children mad

oh they seem sweet, I agree
and one day, innocence may lap
at their heals again like a kitten
cleaning it's paws, for now

the past waits to pounce on
anything that stirs them
like the wind, or panties under skirts

Desert Gales

Howling wildly, riding

the swing set petulantly 

childhood tantrums ripping 

body slamming sideways

into hardwood frames

rattling John Deer green 

chains and empty

Sunflower yellow seats

taunting anxious babies

who wait, poised for 

their chance to play

origin

It began softly, stealthy thief
thumping softly within my bowels

tolerance
ignorance

it conquered life's origin, quietly
with bizarre eloquence and humor

not of my flesh
seven of my heart

naked

beyond the door lies
misty dreams waiting
deeply within the loneliness

holiness hides in shame
the church is not God
Holy is not shamed

His tender voice
still whispers to me
blowing softly in the leaves

His fingers still caress
the child's check hidden
behind the the woman's face

The Holy Fire dances
when I admit to no one, everyone
alone is not lonely

But truly, I believe in
the nakedness of alone
we are all a little lonely

Old love

candlelight dances amused across
the ceiling and shears, taunting me

it's glow shattering the silkiness of our room

sweet spice lingers heavy, like our breath
and my thighs laced with sticky sweat

silence

pure silence fills us. easily threatening
to make you laugh or me snort

comfort means knowing where the edges

lies

knowing when to

stop

but even years later, sometimes

it is fun to forget to stop
and to wake up the baby.

Happy Mother's Day

Prayers

Surrounded by every tender jester

he makes, every tear he dries

contained by every pat on the head

or confidently spoken rebuttal

the boy you nurtured, your baby

is now raising his babies whilst

wearing the loving clothes

of manhood you prepared for him

(near the place called home

contained within his Mother’s heart)

he teaches his children

and he naturally falls back

to his roots, hopeful to assist

his saplings to mature

and faithfully we include

Grandma in our prayers

Christina

This is my official first since they are ours now...

Wishes

my dreams are longing and reaching:
wispy, fragrant spices seeping into
open windows of today
bringing me quickly back to

innocent yesterday
where ribbon and lace
weave itself softly into the folds
of my blondness and boldness

she comes to me in my dreams
bearing gifts of juice and the ever
generous

Chicken Noodle Soup, to cure me
to fix me
repair the damages that have been
rendered

the Wishes she desires may
be secret and forlorn, or perhaps
like her habit is; she will forget to wish

at all

but my wish for her?
dream on
dream on
wish on
wish on

How do I woo thee?

With a sigh of warm love trickling over your shoulders
my body rubs against the soft, musky fragrances of yesterday

imprinted in the chocolate Egyptian sheets
where legs and arms are safely cocooned
butterflied as lover's hearts in candy

to be presented as a gift
perfectly savored, tasted

regret dances not in our bed
past lovers leap not in our mind's eyes
as passion envelopes me sweetly, secretly

And you return to me ~ encouraged by heat
moistness and desire, ripe for the plucking















~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

My entry into Judith's Artsy Essay Contest! Try it yourself, I keep trying and have yet to win...

Dust

When it becomes too personal will I miss it?
Will the light bounce softly over footprints
yesterday tracked in the carpet or will it
shine too brightly, highlighting the stubborn
stains worn into my fiber?

When it becomes too personal will I shift
heavy in my chair and look away, consumed
by worry that someone may open the closet
or sneak under the beds, finding the dirty dishes
old pizza boxes and tootsies roll wrappers I
hurriedly stashed there. Will the light shift and
fall open the dirty fingerprints someone's kids
left on my virginal window panes?

When it becomes too personal will sigh deeply
exhaling regret and fear as they wander over
to peer at the stains in my sink, wondering
exactly which brand of mint we prefer?

Will I miss it?

Miss the opportunity to shine brightly; to be a lamp
where You shine threw to our guest.

The wind

our boat is in the waves
full cream sails are just beginning
to bloom with wind

the thrusting is delightful, powerful
deep fears are not realized

while salt and seagulls perch, at the ready
and water whips at seven taunt backs

praying with diligence that ne'er do wells
and swelling pride do not capsize us
the newly formed and painted bow

declares our sailboat freshly christened

The Browns

Writing Word club

rebirth covers me
defying my grave again
wrapped within You

umphf

What, no one liked the poem?
No one was brave enough to tell me yuck?

Simple Love

passion grabs my sleeve
tugging urgently, heatedly
the voice I hear is
not soft , gentle or warm
but guff, breathy and raspy
like a man who smokes too much

and who knows what fun is

And then suddenly the heat
overcomes us both
as our marriage bed
sucks us under