thoughts coming from inside my head

  • For Whom the Ambulance Rolls

    If we’re competent and able to live on our own, we shouldn’t worry if we’re still significant but many of us do, especially upon hearing the sound of an ambulance as it approaches; our reactions are no longerto hustle and take a sneak peek from behind closed curtains to see which of the neighbors is

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  • Won’t You Be My Friend and Neighbor in Our Friendly Little Town?

    (just something written for social media posts, specific for our progressive but sometimes divided little town) If you intend to be my friend or neighbor you must sign a loyalty oath to agree to belong, though if you find in reading it that you do not concur, I have to say, you cannot stay, you’ll

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  • I May Have Become a Conspiracy Theorist

    …since coming to realize, nearly fifty years after the event that there had been an event;  the Greensboro Massacre,  which happened in November of 1979, almost exactly three years before the date I myself was sexually assaulted, something which also happened in Greensboro, North Carolina, in 1982. I’m embarrassed to admit that, at that time,

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  • Just A Poem About My Mother’s Advice To Me On Marriage

    There’s poetry inside your head if only you could write it downbefore it disappears And here I am, doing that, thoughI know that when I’m dead and gonesomeone will throw it all away, like uncle did, with grandma’s diaries because he hadn’tliked what he had read, thoughts she’d had but hadn’t kept inside her head, things he

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  • I’m only Printing here

    I’m only printing here the poetry I’ve written that I haven’t submitted somewhere for publication. And I have no expectation that anyone, anywhere will publish anything – nor do I know why I even want anything published. Why? I guess to be acknowledged as a published poet, but I actually don’t want that. It’s too

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  • Widow’s Walk

    Ocean’s edge toe deep wading along in shallow water. On the widow’s walk from the attic  a madwoman breaches, slamming doors  smashing windows with a fist of bleeding hearts. By the sea, I’m lying in the water facing toward the sky. 1970’s

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  • Shattered Soul

    I thought my soul had died, and become a small black stone, piercing my heart. I decided to dig it up to examine it, even though I feared I might bleed to death. Stumbling through  dark caverns I found my soul  wasn’t dead only shattered. As I searched for missing pieces, splintered fractured fairy tales 

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  • Who I Ought to Be

     I seek the advice of men,  looking for myself  in one of them, reflections of who I ought to be  what would be approved, I ask?  The public men, if they listen, ask the same.  The private men say “stay with me,  I’ll explain” I stand naked in front of the mirror  and notice it

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  • Tomb of the Abandoned woman

    This is my park. I have been here many times, sitting by the side of the road waiting patiently for Abandonment. You will be riding him following a route I’ve mapped out. I drop to the ground, listening for the sound of that faithful beast as he rumbles toward me carrying you strapped upon his

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  • In the dream

    In the dream I am a small child flowering in dresses and gleaming patent leather shoes. Love is the game played in and out of water, he’s teaching me to swim, as I wade in, he flies away, She sings of missing him while putting me to sleep, I lie face down on a blanket

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