Cupboard under the stairs
Dark, damp and desolate.
Little child alone;
hears key turn in lock.
Cupboard under the stairs
There was a young girl from Belgrave,
Who was incredibly brave.
She went into the fire
To rescue young Maia
It was good that her life, she did save.
April is National Poetry Month, at least in the USA, and the eighteenth is the day we’re supposed to acknowledge the poems we carry in our pockets. Most of my clothes don’t even have pockets, and the only poetry I write is not for public consumption, but I’ve loved poetry since I was young enough [...]
A bubbling seed embraced in the breast of a world
Forming roots within the beauty of its surroundings
Patiently awaiting due season, a time to unfold
The art of new being
The candle which guided you through the tunnel was never meant to light up your day.
The idea comes one rainy Sunday
when we take a break from antique hunting,
head to Blue Kangaroo Coffee. You pick up
a wadded piece of paper left on the chair, smooth
it flat. Read the last line out loud, Sally,
it’s time to leave. I’ve not been happy for years.
Hidden in between
the thoughts of regret
is all the love that
we forgot to give
and all the love
we refused to receive.
I survived a ten hour work shift knowing
you no longer love me.
Here I am yelling at my phone for not ringing.
“Let me play in your shoes,”
my daughter asked,
clomping in high heels.
“You look lovely,” I said.
She danced down peace,
plucked a few white stars
with two pink-tipped fingers
The scarlet rim of the world
lures me down
to this wind swept shore.
The ocean booms and shushes
hushing my soul.
Enticingly curly and unruly
Gently moving in the soft breeze
The early afternoon sun splits the clouds
and sets ablaze the sugar pine
bending to her pregnancy
Tossed by the sea
on some foreign shore,
naked, I stand
and wondering at the forest
of brilliant flowers,
drunk with their perfume,
senses lost in a haze
of too much.
I have to be honest: I’m a very logical person – an ENTJ in the Meyers-Briggs world. As I’ve grown older, though, my mind has begun to wrap around the understanding that some things of the world aren’t 100% explainable. I could never say that faith or love can be worked out to a scientific [...]
In the small hours of the night
she dragged a lawn chair into the open,
cast her eyes
at the sky.
At the beginning
a great whirlwind
swept the land.
Mothers will say “I gave life to that child”
I will say “that child gave life to me”
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