Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, December 30, 2013

I Wanted To Say: For Andrea

I wanted to say
that you inspire me
to speak the truth
I wanted to say
that you are so strong
and brave
that you make me feel
strong and brave too
I wanted to say
that I admire
your forthrightness
and your total lack of bullshit
I wanted to say
that your words
are beautiful
and sad
and uncomfortable
and challenging
and meaningful
I wanted to say
that you have opened my mind
and my heart
I wanted to say
that I'm a 50 year-old straight woman
wife and mother
who has a wicked crush on you
I wanted to say
that you look a little thin, sweetie
and I'd love to invite you to my place
for pasta and homemade sauce
(bring your adorable dog too!)
I wanted to say
thank you
for reminding me
that words matter
and that poetry is powerful
I wanted to say all that
and more
but when I saw you in person
all I could say was
"Can I give you a hug?"
Thank you
for saying "yes."

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Sunday, December 22, 2013


photo by MyBlackPrince
Her mama called her Angel
even though she was conceived in sin
Never knew her daddy
Her mother never saw him again
She was the prettiest baby in town
Never cried when mama brought the men around
She just looked out her window
and listened to the city's sounds

How can angels fly
when they're born with a weight on their wings?
The closest Angel got to Heaven
was when she heard her mama sing
a sad song about flying away
They'd go together some day
Until then, be a good girl
Be an angel

Angel went to school
but she didn't have too many friends
Couldn't bring them home 'cause
she never knew her mama's plans
Sometimes she found a man behind the door
or her mama passed out on the kitchen floor
Angel saw the worst of Hell
and quickly learned to ignore

How can angels fly
when they're born with a weight on their wings?
The closest Angel got to Heaven
was when she heard the radio sing
a sad song about running away
Someone would take her one day
Until then, she'd just pretend
There were angels

Angel was sixteen 
when she saw the guy on her street
He told her she was pretty
talked to her so low and sweet
Angel thought he'd give her a new life
She didn't know that he already had a wife
He gave her some cash then
told her to forget his name

How can angels fly
when they're born with a weight on their wings?
The closest Angel got to Heaven
was when she heard the church bells ring
She prayed forgiveness for her sin
Sometimes you end up right where you begin
Angel had a daughter
who never knew her daddy's name.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

A Very Fine W(h)ine

It tastes like cherries and sadness
With just a hint of despair
The plum notes contain certain madness
that releases when it breathes the air

The body is quite melancholy
It lingers with a pronounced dread
To drink it would be total folly
Let it age well like any good red

When you try it, I'm sure you'll agree
It has a distinctive bouquet
that tickles the nose with ennui
from terroir with a subtle dismay

Grown on a most morose vine
These grapes make a very fine w(h)ine.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge, All In the Family in which we were to ask for a poetic first line from a family member and then write the rest of the poem. This first line came from my daughter, Baby Mouse (17).

Saturday, December 14, 2013

The Seventh Crow

Seven Crows by Merlyn-Gabriel

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.
 I am
the frenzied heartbeat
the whispered gossip you can almost hear
the gibbering beggar on your corner

I am
the madman in your basement
the lady with vulgarly smeared lipstick
the lunatic in your attic

I am
the eleventh toe
the devil in the details
the feather in your pillow that pokes your dreams

I am
the frayed wire
the kink in the system
the unaverted catastrophe

I am
the sinkhole of irrationality into which you slide
bit by bit
180 degrees from okay.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Get Listed with FB

Friday, December 6, 2013


Did you know
that there are over 100 words
for "outsider?"
Each word 
conveys a subtlely different meaning
from every other word

Take "nigger," for instance
This word and "cracker"
both refer to skin color
However, each is a different shade
of hate

Then we have "kike" and "hebe"
I've had both terms
applied to myself,
my religion
I've flinched
in a slightly different way
when each was said

Since this is a poem,
let's rhyme -
"Dyke" rhymes with "kike"
You could even call someone
a "kike dyke"
This would refer
to a particular type of lesbian,
should you be a particular type of bigot

As long as we're discussing
sexual orientations,
how about "fag," "queer," or "tranny?"
So many labels for "different" and "unacceptable"

Let's not forget
"wop," "chink," "wetback," "camel jockey," "frog"
So many ways to say
"You are not one of us."

Isn't language wonderfully fascinating?
And did you know
that the Eskimos have
over 100 words for....?

submitted with apologies if I offended anyone's sense of decorum to Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Out of Standard with Izy, Eskimo

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Ribbons of Red

Ribbons of red to celebrate
the holidays, good times ahead
We wish, count down the days, and wait
Ribbons of red

I'm thinking of you, instead
How your numbers are of late
Hope you're well on the new meds

Whether chance or whether fate
connected us with life's fine thread
To you, my prayers I dedicate
Ribbons of red.