Friday, November 27, 2009


Always they talk about my hair
Long curls spun from the sun
Easily I was lost in the woods
Looking for flowers for Mother
The smell of porridge was so inviting
I knocked and there was no answer
I tried the door, I know it was wrong
Into the house I went undaunted
The smell of sweet honey and oats
Reminded me I had not eaten
A little taste could not hurt
Sated I needed a rest
How could I know it was not
Strong enough to hold me
A nap was needed before
I went back into the woods
They woke me, growling
Frightened I ran out of the house
Out of the woods I found my
Way back to my home
Mother punished me and said
I was lying when I told her
Of the house in the middle of
The woods, too many fairy stories
Is what she said, time to grow up
Bears do not live in houses,
Wolves do not speak to little girls lost
No prince would choose a peasant
So I faced the reality of my life
Where fairy godmothers do not grant wishes
And peasant girls like me grow
Into farmers’ wives and barmaids
And raise little peasant girls and boys
To take our places when we move on

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Get rid of aunts

No more red lipstick stains
Cheeks go unpinched
No awkward moments
When they try to remember
Your name, your birth number
No smelly perfumes
Mixed with mothballs
And cigarettes
No hairy places
You are supposed
To not see
Get rid of aunts
And maybe
Uncles too

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

group effort

So Monday, we did a little class exercise. We each wrote a line or two and passed it around the class so that everyone wrote at least one line and then we wrote an ending. Some were pretty funny and I wish I could remember them or had copies to post here. The assignment we were given was to take these poems, such as they were, and revise them. The only caveat is that we had to leave at least *2* words from each person.

This is what I ended up with at school - The black text is mine and I will use a different text color for each person's contribution.


The azure sky was interrupted
A saffron burst of light
glared from afar, slightly blinded
each man standing along the bridge of burden
there be just a twinkle of fright
as it is undertaken, steadfast they stand
anxiously waiting for the reaper to grant them release
Firetruck, run over this concrete squirrel madness of city and rust
leave your men for burnt nights
Days are ablaze now, the city an ash of nothing
Burn down the very walls of my being
End me in a sheet of copper

This is what I revised it to for tomorrow

Schizophrenic Pyromania

Azure sky
Saffron burst
Glared blinded
Bridge of burden
Twinkle fright
Undertaken stand
Reaper release
Burnt nights
Days ablaze
City ash
Burn down
Sheets of copper
Bask nothingness

Monday, November 23, 2009

I Am Purple

I am purple, vibrant and bold
You are a washed out gray
I face my sepia world armed
With a box of bright crayons
You face your world ready
To drain all the color away
I prefer bold hues
You prefer subdued shades
I live for the red, the orange times
You live for the muted pink

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Why is there nothing new here?

I can't post the first poem I wrote for tomorrow because it is a collage poem and I don't own a scanner (if I get a chance to scan it at school, I might) and I can't post the second poem since I haven't written it yet. I may post one of the poems I wrote for my other poetry class (yes, I am taking two poetry classes, no I am not completely insane....yet) but not right now as I should be sleeping since I have to get up early tomorrow and write a poem.

Friday, November 13, 2009

the accident

My God why did he slam on the brake?

He gave me no room to stop

Probably some stupid old guy

He was going too slow anyway

Now I'm going to be late for work.

Why didn't she watch the road

In front of her? Stupid blonde,

I bet she was text sending

Or doing something stupid

They shouldn't let young bimbos

Drive big jeeps like that.

Is anyone hurt? It doesn't look

Like it, thank goodness

I can't believe she

Was not paying attention

To the traffic, doesn't look like

Either car has too much

Damage Good I don't

Want to be involved

I will just keep walking

I know the cops would

Find some way to

Make it my fault

They'll call me

A stupid drunk

Bum again and

Tell me I smell

Just keep walking.

Wow an accident!

Any one hurt? No.

The vehicles aren't

Even damaged that

Bad If you're going

To back up traffic

You should at least

Give me something

To look at so I have

A Story for when I

Get to that damn

Boring office No

One wants to

Hear "but everyone

Was okay" it's not

Juicy enough to

Earn a cup of coffee

Yet alone to distract

People from the

Firings they know

I have to do soon.

Not another accident

I've got to get

My kids to school

Come on get it off the

Road, got to drop

The kids off, got to

Get to work, got

To stop first and get

The bagels, damn I

Wish I had not

Forgotten to get

Them last night

Damn Timmy getting

Sick like that. God

I'm an awful father

What is wrong with

Me? At least I'm not

That stupid blonde in

The jeep, I hope

She doesn't have

Any kids, she's

Obviously too stupid

To handle them.

Stay calm stay calm

The traffic will

Move soon, the traffic

Will move soon

Then I will get

To the hotel

And he will be

Waiting for me

He always waits

Did she hit him or

Did he hit her?

It had to be

Her hitting him

Her car was behind

His, mine behind

Hers, so glad it

Wasn't my car

I don't need that

John would ask

What I was doing

All the way over

Here this time of


The little stone house

The stone house down the road

Where the fire was lit by the

Farmer's wife while he tended

The livestock and planted the

Crops to fill the cupboards, crops to

Sell to buy the fancy window

Hangings she fancied down at

The general store that made her

Feel as if the house wasn't so

Plain and the floor weren't cheap

Planks loose here and there that

Creaked each time the children

Ran through the house stopping

Only long enough to grab a quick

Bite and change out of their

Fancy school clothes into their

Chore clothes, she barely saw

The children now they were older

Except for Sundays after they

Did their knee time down at the

Church, they'd fill the little

House back up with laughter,

The fire would be lit,

Papa would sit in his rocking

Chair near enough to singe

His whiskers, he had no

Idea how old he looked

Nor did she, they had

An unspoken agreement not

To let any looking glasses into the

House, the small house which

Creaked and groaned its

Loneliness in the night

The kitchen which never

Saw a hungry child

The big room in the front

Where they gathered in the

Cold nights around the fire

Before going to one of the two

Little bedrooms to sleep

Warmed by the closeness of

Each other dreading the

Call of nature in the middle

Of the night having to get

Dressed and creak along

The house, out the back

Door, down the little path

To the little shack hoping

There was still a page of

The Sears catalogue left

And then back in the house

Every plank letting the rest

Of the family know you

Made back in safe

And sound into the

Little stone house

That was so cold

In the winters

Yet was so

Warm in their


Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Near North Side

My life is a slum neighborhood
Prime for gentrification
Gone will be the unsightly
Gone too will be the flavor
Safety will increase
Personality will die
The uniqueness washed clean
Bland faceless facades
Replace ramshackle row houses
Gone will be the corner store
Swallowed by the corporate behemouth
What price betterment?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009


This poem is a little geeky, I decided to use library science jargon.


Your call number is unclear, your place in the stack unknown

What is your ISBN, I must order more of you

I cannot find you in the catalog

Even with my information literacy, I am left without a clue

Are you desiderata? Controlled vocabulary will not help

Has a patron checked you out or put you on hold?

Never Daddy

A quick explanation - I had to write prose poetry this week for class, so this is a little different in form. I personally do not care for prose poetry, but I don't run the class.

Never Daddy

O father, I hate you. You know my birthday? No. Tell me my middle name if you can. Mother why did you stay so long? Shelter after shelter. Deny my paternity. My visage betrays me. Beat me until I behave. My child's will stronger than your. Your death came much too late. Your body, a gift to science. A gift the six agreed. Let the bastard do some good as he has never for us. Miraculous liver. Years without time soaked in the milk of demons. Five years of cancer you survived. Regrew hair you lost long ago. Your personality far worse than the colostomy bag. Less than one year Mom had. Even at her memorial your son from the first family wanted you in her place. Long ago he's cured the doctor cried. Take him home. The children are safe. Siblings shivering as my diaper bursts. His only fatherhood. A dry diaper while they cry locked outside. Appeal to the reasoning of a mad man who shuts out his beloved and shuts in his which is not his. Forgive you father, for you have sinned. Forsake aspirations of paternal love or even regard. Deny me your love, I will thrive on malnutrition. Dangle me over the railing. (What was the girl's name who fell and bit her tongue off?) Mother, forbid me the cycle

Sunday, November 1, 2009


Whine to me and
Tell me she is the one
You really love and
Miss while I let my
Heart suffer more
Than I should for
A man who does
Not think of me

the ties that blind

A little lie is all
You can give me
At least at this
Little liasion
I will accept
It as truth

Mother tree

Rejoice tree, embrace your loneliness
Your apples have fallen
Fulfilled their purpose
Rejecting your love


Bing, bang, boom
Meow goes zoom
Woof goes crack
Woof gets snack


At right – the might burned off the testament

Unashamed of their flag-flying hatred

Their brains so weak, their reasoning a new low

They quote an unreliable source –report it as gospel

Their cronies in Washington allow their crime

To flourish free from the steel gaze of truth

While spineless men behave as human cattle.

They have two choices they can see, only two.

One is the brainless following of right wing;

Fat cats and clods, feeble nimrods, the lies

Stacking up clinging to their minds and souls.

The other is thinking in a new way.

They hate the idea, the freethinking anger,

And the way, they get lost in finding views

Gays, taxes, economy, and foreign trade,

Crippling thoughts of chaos that they breed.