-
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 being carried out feet first, but to make certainit’s not for us for whom this particular ambulance rolls. The heads of neighbors, younger than our own offspring, can be seen doing just that by those of us whose children are long ago grown and moved…
-
…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, I lived in my ownignorance, and I was not at all tuned in to what Greensborohad meant back in the 1960’s, let alone 1979, and that althoughthe event was a major news story at the time, I was mindlesslyunaware of it, back then and for years…
-
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 much like work. Published poets have to perform, don’t they? Or produce. I don’t want to do either of those, not anymore. I do like it when someone likes what I write, understands what I’m saying, identifies with it – broken relationships, recognized signs of…
-
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
-
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 arose, and this became a treasure hunt for jigsaw puzzle pieces with multi-colored feelings buried in the oddest places. 1970’s
-
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 is blank but it whispers to me. It says, get away or they will edit you down to the bone trying to find their own meaning in your marrow 1970’s
-
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 back. If I lie here long enough I will fade into the earth and you might never know how the hooves of the horse I tied you to cut me so deep. I will let you know. As I bleed silently underground,craftsmen will come and…
-
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 listening for him in seashells Grown, I walk the shore barefoot, at dusk looking for the teeth of the shark, tiny shells and bits of broken glass time has turned to jewels This all may be true but in my heart I am waiting for…
Words from Inside My Head 