Monday, January 15, 2018


Not those eyes
Electric; the raindrop
From a palm

The waiter sees
The tip on the
Table. Walks away.

Aware the service
Was gratifying
And picking it up

Has no hurry
Pockets full of
Many tips tonight.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Burnt Ink

Burnt ink
Burnt carrots
Burnt out mind
Burnt out heart

She sits by iron
Ocean waves
And asks
“Write my poetry”

Burnt ink
As I decipher what
She would wish
I could say

Burt ink
Words fall like
Salt water, crusting
Eyes and power lines

Burnt carrots
Feed the nimble
Fingers that
Tell of thoughts

Burt carrots
Drip from
Rotted pans
And neglected

She sits by the
Making sure
All the rot is gone

Burnt out mind
As the pen writes
More words
Than coffee can provide

Burnt out mind
Drugs and alcohol
Nimble and calm
As they race inside

Burnt out heart
Loves another
Fails another
Matches another

Burnt out heart
Another word
Another time
Disappears into the

Burnt Ink
Not what you- 

Kittens and Milk

The kittens are in the barn
Drinking milk from 
The plastic containers
My grandmother used
For for both: food storage
And feeding kittens
In the cow barn.

We were not lawyers Dr’s,
Or born thinkers,
I realized this when I entered
And exited

The family did not
Spend hours waxing poetic
About the millions of meanings of words
Or like the prime minsters men
Sitting around the table
Discussing discussions

I needed a way to express myself
To get the words out of my
Mouth while listeners
Waited and frustrated
Wouldn’t let me finish
So I learned to type out

What was happening in my mind.

Friday, January 12, 2018

Roll off the Heart

SO: when I was university, I wrote two plays by sitting down and writing two plays. I did a basic edit of them but really I wrote them in less than an hour. They were original and pretty tight. If I might say so myself.

And that was it for doing plays in one night. Tonight, I was at an Open Mic and a brought my poems, with topics like murder, soldiers, rape, drugs and one cutie little one about soul mates. I as people were walking in that this wasn’t the crowd and energy to do these poems. I scratched my name off the performers list and thought about other things.

“Why” kept coming up. Why can some people do it and some people can’t? Why didn’t I just get up and do the poems and not care about how the room of older men and 13 year old’s would feel, what if I inspired them, moved them, and made them think. That’s what I want my poems to do isn’t it? Wait why do I write poetry? Because I like to come up with interesting images and sounds and make them intense.

I realized at one point, in this jumble of open, yet silent thoughts, I would be yet another under-rehearsed, reveal of unreached potential like the guitar player who doesn’t seem to own a metronome or think about phrasing. I knew, I did not do all the work I needed to present my work to a live audience. I couldn’t sit at the front of the room and wonder what I should be reading- I needed to have been working on these poems all week, so I was at my best.

“What” kept coming up too. What was my message? The last time I stood up I was just a soul trying to get out of depression, mixing words and sounds and not really worried about the message. Tonight, for the most part, there was a message in my poems, that I wasn’t ready to share with this audience, last months audience, which was what I was expecting: yes, but not tonight’s. It wasn’t right.
The last two months I haven’t really written much at all. Life took a huge shift and I started learning a new job and hanging out with new people at new lunch times that had new patterns.

I’ve also been dwelling in why I can’t write like I did (twice) 20 years ago. Tonight my answer was; I’m not that same person.

I’m no longer struggling inside myself and trying to get up in the morning. I’m seeing the world around me interacting with people and “Yes” I can wake up in the morning. So it only makes sense that I would think differently about my poetry and it’s presentation. That I’m going to start to think about what the message is, what do I want to say, need to say, need other people hear, rather than just a words that sounded like music rolling off my heart onto the page.

Now, I can start a written piece with a “sweet couple lines” that come up in my head. Or I will play with ideas and feeling directly and write pieces out of solid ideas. And it can take as long and be as complicated (or simple) as I want it to be.

Monday, January 1, 2018

Someone elses Poetry

Kind Sir: This is an old game
that we played when we were eight and ten.
Sometimes on The Island, in down Maine,
in late August, when the cold fog blew in
off the ocean, the forest between Dingley Dell
and grandfather's cottage grew white and strange.
It was as if every pine tree were a brown pole
we did not know; as if day had rearranged
into night and bats flew in sun. It was a trick
to turn around once and know you were lost;
knowing the crow's horn was crying in the dark,
knowing that supper would never come, that the coast's
cry of doom from that far away bell buoy's bell
your nursemaid is gone
. O Mademoiselle,
the rowboat rocked over. Then you were dead.
Turn around once, eyes tight, the thought in your head.
Kind Sir: Lost and of your same kind
I have turned around twice with my eyes sealed
and the woods were white and my night mind
saw such strange happenings, untold and unreal.
And opening my eyes, I am afraid of course
to look-this inward look that society scorns-
Still, I search these woods and find nothing worse
than myself, caught between the grapes and the thorns.
Anne Sexton :

Blind Fold

There I am. 

It’ve been seven years walking in the forest of the call centre's AQ world. A path I had come to understand and take for granted. I picked the fruit and knew it was safe. I was tempted a few months ago for another path. And like Thoreau said, I became blind folded and turned around once. 

It doesn’t take much to get a human lost, says Thoreau, and the line is echoed on the foggy shore by Anne Sexton in “Kind Sir:…”

I like the idea that it doesn’t take much to get a human lost. I like that I am normal and extraordinary all wrapped up in one package. And although standing in the same call centre, I was handed a blind fold by new rules and co workers, twisted around in the centre of a tornado and commanded to run forward, not only by those around me, but myself.

I’ve got to be strong, this is new. I took on a challenge and voluntarily entered the new foggyness and although I am physically and mentally healthier than ever before; it will take me a while to stand straight and tall, to find the fruit on the path that isn’t poison or crusted with thorns and infested with spiders. To see te pit holes through the over grown bushes and toppled trees.

Kind Sir, it must be a new path that I’m on for it is more of a challenge than what I believed it would be.

Sunday, December 31, 2017


This year I debunk “that” myth. 

The one I read about in a self help book 20 years ago, that said "it is better to have as many friends as I can. To be fair and nice to everyone and keep myself quiet and let things work themselves out." This year Karma may get a little push. When people hurt me I will not immediately make excuses for them, I will heal myself from the verbal stab they have injured me with. I may even stand up for and defend myself.

I’m looking at the person I was in my twenties, the person that I “just was.” Sure, I tired to search my soul and understand who I was inside, but a lot of what I did was impulsive and: just who I was. Now I search through all the crap that was surrounding the impulsive me, and I can say that was the genuine me vs that was me being some that I wanted everyone to like. I understand better... what survived and what didn’t, why things happened the way they did. Justification. 

Maybe 2018 will be the year of justification?

I put up an event invitation for the march of women this year and one of my co workers from 20 years ago, (Even though I felt completely awkward and unconnected with most people back then.) that I’ve managed to hang onto through facebook, liked my post. “Yep that’s why I love her, that’s why she’s still there.” I said to myself.

We were all the same age in our twenties and the other people we worked with were older, and had been through their 20’s before. Now I’m working with people who are just getting to know me, who are younger “and wiser” then I am, and things are different.

SO it’s a new learning curve and new lessons. Lets go 2018.