Tuesday, December 28, 2021

Winter in the Desert - Addendum

Just when I think
I'm grounded,
The slightest breeze
sends me tumbling
like a leaf
in the wind. 
Gravity is nonexistent,
reality is an illusion 
And there I am,
reaching for my past
of false security.


Normally I leave interpretation of my writing open to the reader; however, I feel the need to explain this one a little bit.  This is NOT in reference to my "muse', the inspiration of my sultry poetry phase, a phase which I am ecstatically still in.

This poem is a reflection of very brief moments of free-falling as result of PTSD brought on by having a spouse go on Hospice and helping them transition into new life.  They occur infrequently now, as I live very much in The Now, but when they visit, sometimes the words just need to be said.
All is very well.


Wednesday, August 11, 2021

 Don't look back - you're not going that way.
*Mary Engelbreit

Monday, June 21, 2021

We're writing our story
right now,
Whether I pick up the pen or not.
Our story is written
in the silence
of entwined limbs,
synchronized breaths,
The before, the during,
and the after;
Our Dead People
turned to ash,
and yet,
we cling to life.
The Now.


Thursday, February 4, 2021

Smooth Like Glass

Blue skies,
Smooth blue skies,
Smooth sailing.
We're as
smooth as wet grass,
smooth like the ice
floating in my glass
of bourbon.

Like the swirl of headiness
of one too many shots,
I never saw him coming.

Monday, September 28, 2020

Chasing the Moon

 The alfalfa’s been cut,
winter rye is coming soon;
Time keeps pace with the seasons,
And I’m out here just chasing the moon.

Saturday, August 22, 2020

A New Season of Life

It's called

I do what I want.

Retirement, BaeBae!

Thursday, August 20, 2020

Monday, July 6, 2020

Alive Again

I am that Rottweiler Bitch

Whose litter of puppies died

And I will find nine replacements, 

Be it a fuzzy slipper,

A stuffed animal

Or an abandoned baby squirrel 

And I will nurse it back to life

Because every single morning 

I wake up


Some may want me to carry 

The flame of eternal love,

An idealistic image of romance,

But let me tell you 

There is no romance in an empty bed,

No comfort in placing ones head

On an imaginary chest

Because every single night

I went to bed


Here in this little room

I can see what remains of my life;

I have held it in my hands

And watched it slip away

While I grieved what I had lost.

Lost no longer,

I have been found.

Broken and broken have come together

And for the first time in years

I sleep sound. 

Sunday, June 28, 2020

The Grave Robber

Who are you, he once asked.

For fear I’d scare him off,

I did not reply.

I’m your Spirit Animal, Baby.

I’m here to dirty dance you,

Romance you,

To breathe new life into you.

Take that foot out of the coffin

And claw your way back to the living

Cuz it ain’t your time to die.

I’m a night walker,

I’m a grave robber

Digging up the living dead

From where I used to dwell.

I’m gonna rattle your bones,

Linger on the humerus,

And shake the dust off your thighs.

And if you survive the resurrection,

We’re gonna coast, Baby, 

Cuz the grim reaper owes us that.

Who are you, he once asked,

And I demurely smiled.


Tuesday, June 23, 2020

Becoming Mighty

On second thought ...