Category: Poetry

  • The Teacher. . . . (The Socratic Departure). . . .

      The Teacher   (The Socratic Departure) I will drink this cup of gall, swallowing the bitterness setting fire to earth’s waste. But first I caress this chalice. Its depth mirrors my heart, shaking the foundations of my very own selves. Now splendid trepidation challenge the ultimatums by which the earth rocks. Challenge me, o gods,…

  • A Monk In Brown Burlap . . . 1790. . .

      How Not To Attach The Fabric Of The Global House. . . They say. . You have to keep it singular. . . You have to keep it nuclear. . . You have to keep it private. . . and remembering different in any way is not good. I tell you. . . You…

  • A Way For Me. . . when body balks. .bread for the day. . .

    March 3, 2024. . . I do what is foreign to me now.  I am putting  with only some editing whole journal entries with feedback from my teachers.  For those inclined to scoff at what is given, I say just try to do it.  I came into this life with a foot still in my…

  • A Sanctuary Moment. . . last bird sings . . .

      A sanctuary moment. . . In looking back the words I hear in closing the front door are, be careful what you say.  That was from the time I have memory  forming words, being told in essence to stop talking .  Even now, this late in the day I am told to stop and…

  • From My Heart’s Pocket . . .

      Word reaches that there are issues with some of my posts that are unreal;  that perhaps I don’t know how the real world works! I write what I know, not hope or pretend.  As Lawrence O’Donnell commented on  President Biden’s Inaugural, experience is  not taught. We always knew it, I think,  just never applied…

  • At A High Cost . . . .

      When I was younger and found footing in my woman’s novels, I came across soon to be a favorite writer.  It was a time when the library was my sons and my main excursion to replenish our idea resources. Marcia  Willett was her name and a favorite book ‘A Week In Winter’  was a…

  • A Warm Hug. . .

    \I was just 16 when my younger sister caught me in a lie leaving me so embarrassed that on the spot I knew that I would forever tell the truth.  And from that moment on, I became a truth teller.  I alibied  others or as my sister said, made excuses for  them, but was hard…

  • Life’s Adjuncts . . . like me. . . .

    Life’s Adjuncts  . . .  It seems I drive my family crazy trying to follow my thinking.  My mate of many years said too many times that George did not say what  I repeated  George said.  I looked my mate straight in the eye and said then I elevated George’s thinking.  Eyebrows shot up and…

  • And is god enough . . . . .of course. . .

      So Who Cares. . . Nobody they say. . . Except you know you do. . . All it takes is just one I hear, to look for the sun to rise each morning. . . . to look at the moon at night and wonder, . . . . where home is. .…

  • Always the Empty Chair. . . Times Such as These. . .

     It  is late.  And I am an old woman.  I sit here and cannot see the keys of the keyboard because  I weep.  I have delayed coming and writing this again which seems to be a signature poem of mine and it is not an honor I wish to claim.  In differing times I took…