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There once was a man who said I’d chased him away, with words of affection spoken in too harsh a tone. This may have been true, or he may have missed something in the translation. I wish I’d loved him so much I’d have missed him when he was gone, or lost or dead and done. I should have loved him as if he were someone who mattered more than the sunrise. How would it feel to love someone so deeply that saying their name could make me feel complete? How I wish I had loved you so much that…
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I was feeling disconnected from this womanin the knitting group I had joined,she was telling us how often she had “knitted for hours in the car as she was driving”, most recently on a trip she’d made to Ann Arbor. Now, knitting while you are driving was not something I was familiar with; I felt lost in my mind ‘til in my thinking, I removed myself from the driver’s seat, took my hands off of the steering wheel and firmly grasped the needles. My eyes left the road, my gaze shifting to the work spread across across my lap, I took a few moments to look outside the…
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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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There once was a woman killed in the woods by a bear she’d caught and trained to dance to songs she’d written for him. The lyrics were slightly strained, but he was most pissed off by the music, for if he was to dance, he wanted to do it to songs of his own. Bears have music of their own, much better than that written for them, At first he hadn’t meant to kill her, just to get away, but during the escape he saw himself within her, so she simply had to go. I knew the moment I saw…
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Sometimes you want to sharea poem you wrotenot because you want to prove to others or yourself that you’re a poet, not because you want to show how good it is, but because in writing it you found out something about yourself, or someone else, or an incident, something you knew butdidn’t know you knew,until within the poem it was revealed, a crackerjack surpriseyou want to share. Poetry is like that,like meditation or therapy;sometimes,not always,it can reveal a mystery.magic.
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She was suffocating my soul. The pillow used was made of ice, frozen ice on my lips melted to salt, lingering drops tickling my chin, tasting of sin sparkling, trickling, pinching my nostrils, crackling as it hit and broke my heart open. When done, I peeled it open like a screaming onion that farted and flew away. It was said James Laidley had lived and died right here in Yellow Springs, Ohio, but he’d never been here; James was still alive, at least that’s what was rumored; it may have been a lie, if it mattered at all. The point…
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My high school teachersaid don’t be so boy crazy.I preyed, to capture somedaythe perfect mate, but I failed.Crazy cat lady, today. Tanka
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After a traffic accident, in which a drunk driver hit a local family’s car, killing the father and injuring the mother and their two children, our village responded with all the help it could, including love and money for the supporting family, friends and the survivors. We tend to think of loss in the immediacy of the trauma, especially since the children were there when it happened. We think of their loss in terms of living the rest of their lives without their father. But there’s this other thing going on, inside in the here and now, and if you…
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That first morning I awokeafter that first night I’d left and sleptaloneI thought your body was stillbesideme, I’d slept so deeply myright armwas dead weight that had takenyour place.Not quite fifty years later, it’s still here, a morecompatible other,resting by my side.
Words from Inside My Head 