eagerly
eagerly as a baby robin
falls from the tree
in spring
before
it earns
its wings

I could fall for you softly
softly as
a summer
rain shower
in the late
afternoon

I could fall for you fast
fast as
a crystal snowflake
during a
driving blizzard

I could fall for you easily
easily as
the leaves
when they reach
their peek colors
in a sequence of
red, orange and
yellow

I think I’m pretty terrific!
I like my body.
I like my style.
I like my hair wild.
I love my poetry.
I love my femininity.
Love, Love, Love my creativity.

People don’t have to like me.
That is OK.
Doesn’t change the way
I think about myself.
Doesn’t change a thing.
What matters to me
is the people I love
including myself.

Some might think
that’s narcissistic.
I think that’s
Terrific!
If only more people
believed in themselves
they wouldn't grieve
as hard as they do.
Insecurity’s a thief
that robs you!

You, the mountain. But when
I poked holes in you, you spilled out
as a fountain. And the reds all
bled into a pool of liver green that stank

so high and lost the sheen. I couldn't move
myself, bathed in the bath. I couldn't find
my footpath. My skin so wrinkled. The light
dimmed. I lost my twinkle. And my wings,

waterlogged. So, bogged down
the colors caked like make-up on
a clown. I washed them off in the sherry. And
also, ***** just to vary. I couldn't move

the hands of time back to the day
I climbed the mountain with the dizzying
view and threw myself off. I fell. But in the falling
I flew. And in the fluttering my wings lifted me
beyond mountains.

on like a train going from
one destination to another.  Like
***** swimming past all the others.

I couldn't move
like a tree held firmly
by the roots. After you, were no
substitutes.

I couldn't move
like a deer frozen in the headlights
on a dark road in the middle of winter. Couldn't
move - all my pieces were splintered.

I couldn't move
like sinking in quicksand, up to
my neck, burying my hands.

Once I moved
like ice in a blender, caught in
the blades and chopped up -
sold to the vendor.

I Could Tell You a Story

that would fill your eyes with
condensation. You would drop
your head. Your chin sitting on your neck,
almost a bow of respect for what I went
through.
But I wouldn’t do that to you.

I could tell you a story
that would have your fingers scrunched
tightly in a ball, with your nails digging
themselves in your palm. That would have your
hair stand to attention on your arm.
But I wouldn’t do that to you.

I could tell you a story
that would make you think about people
you thought you knew. That would have your head
going around in circles. That would leave you
shaking and perspiring as if you had the flu. I would
even include me in the story.
But I wouldn’t do that to you.

if I was an eraser
and you were chalk
on the blackboard,
until you were a billowing
mass of dust. And I’d inhale
you as a cigarette and smoke the rust.

I could wipe you clean
if I was a sponge
and you were a spill
on the granite counter.
I’d soak you up through
my pores. You wouldn’t lay
cold and flat, so the ants can dance
around you. The smell of you
inside of me, dearie has me
singing as a canary.

I could wipe you clean
if I was soap
and you were the dirt
that stuck on me
as a mud pie. You’d
stain my bathwater as you came off
and I'd sit in it lost
as a pickle  in a jar of juice.

I could wipe you clean
but not out of my head
if a man splattered my brains –
you’d break out
but I’d be dead!

I count

As much as a rock star
The greatest czar
The earl of Kent
The president
A doctor or a lawyer
Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer
Dickens or Thoreau
I’m not letting this go

I count

As much as barrels full of money
Don’t need to be someone’s honey
I count as one single, sensational person
Even when things worsen
I count even more
I count from sea to shore

I count

You better hear me
Let me say this nice and clearly
You ain’t gonna stop me
Just watch me!

my eyes with blue powder
that cakes on after an hour. I
cover my hurt with a smile. And I flirt
when I feel like a child. I cover up


my *** with spandex so tight
because it stretches over the lumpy
cellulite.  My life’s like a soap opera. So, I
cover it up with *****. I cover my

crimes very well. Haven’t yet been
thrown in a cell. I cover up my lies with
excuses. No one accuses me of lacking
originality. But I can’t cover the love

I feel in my heart for you. Try as I do,
It’s no use. I can dress these lines like
a turkey. But they always come out loud
and quirky.

your lips
in soft satin
kisses till the tongues entwined
like roses on the vine

I covered
your lies
in cherry wine
till they left a port stain
on the bed frame

I covered
your screams
in chocolate-chip ice-cream
till the gallon emptied

I covered
your past
in a fossil
how's it possible that I
dug it up
under that much dust?

running rivers.
and flowing chocolate streams.
I cried Rocky Mountains
eating quarts of rocky road ice-cream.
Cried after my mother beat me,
leaving welts on my lily soft behind.
And when I bought the house
all the papers I signed.
I cried in my martini.
Cried in my tight leopard-skinned pants.
Walking the beach in my striped string bikini.
At my howdy doody wedding
during the father-daughter dance.
I cried pushing out my son.
And again, at age four when the paramedics
raced him out the door on a black leather stretcher.
And as I was ***** willow *****
by a  amniotic Freudian letcher.
I cried after his beating,
when I saw his black eye.
There hasn't been a day
that my eyes been dried.

in my glass
because it salted my drink
and dissolved in the liquid
like octopus’ ink

I cried
in my hands
because his hands are busy
wiping up the tears of so many
I grew dizzy

I cried
by myself
because people cannot stand to hear
a grown-up woman
shed so many tears

I cried enough
nights to drown
in my sheets, so, I made
a swimming pool from my head
to my feet.

I cried enough
brine to salt the roast beef. So,
I invited some friends over
for the feast!

I cried enough
tears, so I built me a raft
to sail to the end of this world
and back.

I cried enough
over him, never to let myself
be a victim again.

a solitary drop that fell
with a thud from my heart. It bore
a hole in the floor the size of a
quarter when everything in my life
was out of order.

I cried me
a rivulet that cut a crevice
in my carpet. I lost many dreams
inside of it seems.

I cried me
a pond when everything I had
was gone. I stood emotionless
beside it. And thought of maybe jumping
face down to drown.

that cut my face. The lines
you see aren’t wrinkles. They’re
cracks from the hacks of
the silver blades.

I cry splinters
that poke my face. The holes
you see aren’t pockmarks. They’re
pits from men throwing darts
made from planks. I’ve those men
to thank!

I cry icicles
once was tears. But frozen
hard through the years.

I Descry

in each of them –
Something
The first one –
Benevolence
He sang it until he lost his breath
The second one –
Neurosis
He buried himself with the wooden angst he tied below his waist
The third one –
Timorousness
He played a single note of trepidation on his tuning fork

as red and golden
leaves in fall. I'd swirl and hover
in the air as a hummingbird. And then
I'd drift. But I couldn't get back my lift.

I'd fall
as raindrops on the window,
streaking the glass with every pass
in beaded pearls as a girl. But now I
swallow the pain, holding in the rain.

I'd fall
and scrape my knee. Lost my footing
on used to be's. No mommy kisses for boo
boos. Only blood on my new shoes. But I'd rise
as early morn just to fall back on a rosebush of thorns.

I'd fall
for the lines of men
over and again. All my foes looked
like friends. Now I write lines with pen,
sending them off with smile and quaff!

him as he was
when time was on his side
and he was young
green as spring
when roses bud
so, I could thaw him out
and he could melt
in a strawberry puddle
in my mouth

I'd freeze
myself as I was
when butterflies danced
in my tummy
and stars sparkled
in hazel eyes
and the world
surprised me
all the time

I'd freeze
us as we were
warm as a pair of mittens
nestled and snug
purring as sleeping kittens
milky and downy
life was a plate
of chocolate brownies

A spider has eight legs
spends its day spinning webs

An ant has six legs
spends its day carrying dirt

The deer has four
spends its day outdoors

hunted by the man –
who has two
with a gun in his hand

The snake hasn’t any
but never sees the sky

The bird has wings –
I’d give up my legs
if I could fly

I had no say in the matter
whether I was an accident
or planned. I was born into
this world a helpless baby

girl. I depended on you,
the adult, to take care
of me. I couldn’t walk
or talk. I didn’t have teeth. If I

was too much a burden
on you the parent, I shouldn’t
be shamed by your lack
of care. I shouldn’t have to

visit a therapist for sixteen
years! I shouldn’t have to undo
all the damage you’ve done! You’re
dead now; but my life still goes on. You should

have known to get help/should have
listened to your best friend. She warned
you. But no, you didn’t want to face that
or anything else. So, you put on a mask

and hid your real self. And many
believed you. Your performance
was grand! Even my best friends
couldn’t understand years later

when we’ve all grown up
that although the physical abuse
was healed, my internal scarring grew
roots so deep from the emotional

abuse that I will die with the
secrets inside. Because I’ve been shamed
so much not to talk. I didn’t ask to
be born. You didn’t want me. You

should have aborted me. But the legend
of pain lives on.

because I wanted to hold you
in the last place we were together. I wanted

to keep that intact. I wanted it to linger
as a fine wine on the palette of your tongue,

as a robin awaiting the hatching of her
young. I didn’t want to be another clamorous

cloud that pulled on your waistcoat every time
you would bow. It’s not that your voice wouldn’t

have been music to these numb ears. I only wanted
to carry the tune of the last one, I fear.

till I looked behind me
that the sun is blinding
a fly lit up my path
the streams all had a laugh

I didn’t know
till I stopped
the sunflower’s head
is cropped
the sky is grey as Bristol
his words are liquid crystal

I didn't know
till I listened
the ground is christened
with every step he takes
made this chest concave

I didn’t know
till I turned the corner
I’m a foreigner

goodbye. I just slipped off
like I do my shoes, shake loose.
Everything has to breathe –
even feet.

I didn’t say
I'm in pain. The grass without
the rain turns to hay. Everything
has to be watered –
even the meat to be slaughtered.

I didn’t say
“I told you” None
like a smart-***. I held my head up
high and let it pass.

I say the most when I don’t.

on the canvas. I was
wet and dripping like a feral
kitten. My creator didn’t lay me
out in the sun. And so, my colors

run. The red and blues
look purple. The mother’s milk
curdled. Throwing me up as *****. And so,
I left a stain. Beaten by the brush

I lost my sense of touch. Now
I’m oily. I’m a spill in a broken
frame. I hang on the wall as
a flower. None admire me. But I haven’t
nerves to leave.

telling him it’s killing me
that I’m drinking heavy
and I can’t stand this anymore

I didn’t want to be the one
to say I don’t want to live another day
without seeing his face
or holding him
I can’t live in isolation

the instant I see you
on the street. I lower my face
so, our eyes don’t meet. I act as if
we are strangers, and my insides flutter
like butterflies flitting from flower
to flower. You have that power over me.

I die
in the blackness of night
shadows on the wall
my tormented dreams, I
see as real. But it
isn’t as it seems.

I die
as I stare at the picture
of you, that electric smile
and eyes sea blue. The olive skin
and ebony hair, the swing
of arms flying in the air.

I die
as a memory pops up
of the walks through
the park, you cupping my hand,
the talks we shared of
all our plans. The wind waltzing
through the trees, and the crunch of
red leaves under our feet.

in his eyes. A thousand years and
a thousand tears I have shed. Now
my face has ballooned like a big
waterbed. You can say I'm the walking

dead. I was once alive, a flying
butterfly. He broke me out of my
cocoon and sent me straight to
the moon. Left me to orbit

in space. I'm lost in this galaxy. He
dropped the chase.  No longer covered
in stardust. My silky wings turned
to rust. The violet has tarnished. I'm burnt-

orange. I don't reflect the sun. I cannot
move. I'm numb. I see women flutter, as I once did
before my head was cluttered with overgrown
weeds. I'm not flowering. I've run to seed.

like him to suffer,
ride a colliding train
without a buffer.
I'd like him to roast

as a pig
over a firepit,
revolving til charred,
pierced with a spit. I'd like

his bed as a wooden rack. And
his limbs pulled tight with
a rope till they detach. Whip
his back like whites of

an egg till he screams
and he begs. Pull his eyes
out of the sockets. Dump scorpions
in both his shirt pockets. And even so

after all of this
it doesn’t come close
to all that he did.

Black
Ebony as the keys
on my baby grand.
White is so bland.

I’d like it to snow
Red
Scarlet as my cousin’s head.
Heavy as
the bloodshed from war.
White is just a bore.

I’d like it to snow
Purple
Prince said purple rain –
I’d like to see snow the same.
White is too plain.

in the woods with the dancing trees
and melodic birds than on the streets
hearing the cutting words of men.

I’d like to be alone
on the shore with the spraying ocean breeze
and the seagulls at my feet
than falling for the same thing again.

I'd like to be alone
by the stream hearing the trickle
of water running over the rocks
than in the presence of fickle men.

I'd like to be alone
atop a mountain looking out
at the azure sky, seeing the eagle
fly with paper and pen.

down this rage. It’s growing
for days. It started small as a ping-pong
ball. Then climbed the size of
a watermelon. I smashed it with

a bat. But it grew back. The seeds
rooted in the dirt. Now my rage is big
as the earth. I swallowed the sun and breathed

out fire. I burned man, every coward
and liar. My rage became rampant as a forest
in flames.  A path of collapse none
can tame. My red rage covers the sky

in a ****** blanket of sighs. Now it's pelting
execration. And stands in formation of
every line I pen. It's a blend of bat **** and
cockroaches hidden in nostrils, and dancing
in gritted teeth. A smoldering ember underneath.

off his back. Pull
the buttons from his shirt and
the snaps. Break all the teeth
in his zipper, till he's naked

as a stripper. Hang him by his
pant legs upside-down. Fry him
like an egg/paint him as a clown. Take
off his shoes and string them on

a wire. Gag him with his socks,
expose this rotten liar. Use his ****
strap as a sling. Place his oversized head

in and fling it in the fire. Roll him out
onto the city streets just like a tire. Stand
back to view the show. See the horror
and the shock of the many men he knows.

paint it
fire-engine red
taint the hail
with rounded steel
so, it knocks off a couple heads

I’d like to take the sky
rowing a boat
and if I tire
I can sit back
and see the clouds just float

I’d like to take the sky
bring it down
to the earth
so, the men and woman
that can’t reach it
are saddled with its girth

as red lipstick on fat cheeks
it’d run down my face in streaks
and leak into a puddle on the floor
I’d mop it up, so it’d be no more

I'd like to wipe it clean
as chalk on the blackboard
my eraser as my sword
and be rid of every word

I’d like to wipe it clean
as a stain on my blouse
I’d douse it in laundry detergent
till the spot came off in the wash
and be rid of the big thick blotch

I'd like to wipe it clean
as the tide rolling in
knocking the sandcastle down    
as a bowling pin to the ground

in the rain. His kiss was a stain –
the stain of adultery.
But I let it hale. And so, grew the tale
of lover’s woe. I’d love to

kiss him in the snow. When the flakes
were thicker than us and all this
broken trust. We’d traipse through heavy slush
using as sleds our tongues. I’d love to

kiss in the sun, when the heat of the day
was young. We would bake our bodies
as bread and got drunk on love till we both
grinned from our foolish sin. I’d love to

kiss him in the wind, when my hair
was pinned against his cheeks and caught
between my teeth. We held each other tighter
when we knew our love was fleeting. I’d love

to kiss him every season.

which I love
though it brings me woe
from people I don’t know
though it gives me not
recognition
or commission

I do
it gladly
for it was meant for me
it’s my dream
and I must chase it
though it leads me by the tail
like a puppy
I hold onto the leash
Isn’t it lovely?
I never know where it lead me
But one thing for sure –
It’ll never feed me

unless it is for childbirth
to push the infant out. Otherwise
contractions will not come out
of this mouth. There is no use

for don’t, won’t or can’t. I will
not tolerate this negative type
of chant. Shouldn’t, couldn’t,
wouldn’t all have a fatalistic

slant. I will not be restricted
in any way. Limitations are for
those who are afraid of setting
goals. The apostrophe is not my

friend. He’s very possessive, thinking
he owns it all to himself. Unfriendly
chap that kicks letters out by thinking
only in the derogative. It is my prerogative

to send him on his way! I Do! I
Will! I Can! Take that, my pessimistic
friend.

if you read this
or not. I’m going to
send it off. You can scroll
right past it and read
others. I don’t care if
you hate my work
think I’m crazy or
a ****. I don’t care if
you talk about me
behind my back,
say I’m lazy
or fat. I’m going to
do what I want
to do
without
your approval
or recognition –
cause baby
I don’t live
My Life
By other
people’s
conditions

because of the *** of gold.
I chase them for their color.
Without them
my life would be duller

I don’t chase stars
because they shine.
They’re bouncy little spots.
I chase them –
to connect the dots.

I don’t chase dreams
because I have not one.
They chase me
when I don’t stand still.
Because I’m having fun.
They come at will.

for lines anymore. Once I
clung to them, walking the tight
rope. Man was I a dope! Spooling
piece of thread.  Till I strangled myself
as it wrapped around my head.

I don't fall
for bodies anymore. Buffed
six-packs and lean. They're not
real. They're all machines! No flab
or cellulite. And all their clothes fit
tight. I've parted with men looking like
they walked off the red carpet. Their egos
fill the room like smoky fumes.

I don't fall
for degrees anymore. Hanging on the wall
with emblems in gold. If I must carry
a dictionary as we speak bury me
in a week!

I don't fall
for money anymore. Sports cars
driving at dizzying speeds. Custom-made
suits made of silky tweed. Houses so large
I must carry a map, or I'm lost as I
proceed.

I don't fall
for chemistry, buckling knees,
or floating butterflies in my
stomach. They only make me
plummet. Walking around like a zombie
I can't see straight ahead of me.

I rise
now I see with both my eyes!

the opportunities others have
but I make the most of what I do

I spit out every day something gritty
something they can read or watch *******

I feed them sugar and human juice
I give them no excuse not to return

to where they can delve in carnal rides
without seats or belts but whipping posts

and ****** screams from cut-up junk of
an old woman’s dream

in me today. My get up
and go has run away. My mind's
spinning circles like a spinning
wheel. I cannot jot down

what it is I feel. My fingers lie
flatly on the keys. My eyes looking
out the window at the bare naked
trees. The branches scratch

my windowpane that's coated
in this morning's rain. And the blankness
on my lab top screen is snow white. So, today
is a day I don’t think that I’ll write!

to your timetable. You don’t have
my complications or problems. Everybody’s  
set of circumstances are different. Why are
you persistent in telling me how I’ll feel? I’ll

feel the way I do. I don’t know how
that will be tomorrow or next year. I’ve been
carrying this hurt for years. So far it hasn’t
escaped me. It hasn’t lessened with time

as people are so quick to say. In fact, it’s
only grown bigger with each passing day. It’s
chained to my heart, so it pulls me in every
direction. Sometimes it just hangs limp while

other times its stiff as an *******. But I haven’t
felt joy in over ten years. So, please think again
before you tell me how to heal.

But the low ones are just lovely. They’re
soft woolen blankets that cover me. Sparks
will burn out after the blast. But what I have will be
here when all else has passed. I don’t hit

the high notes. They’re short and they’re screechy. They
scream and the whittle beneath me. They’re like pepper
that makes one sneeze. I prefer the salt of the earth,
the strength of the sea. I don’t hit

the high notes. They’re not sustainable. Sure, I’ll admit
the lure of them is attractive -
until they fall flat and become inactive.

I’ve held up. When my chariot is
a horse named Charlie, who’s attached to
my leg with a peg of barely.

I don’t know how
I’ve mustered a smile when my gun’s
half-cocked and my laugh’s thrown off by
a maladjusted man.

I don’t know how
I haven’t drowned in ethanol when my only
friend is a cracked bookend that doesn’t
have a mate to confiscate the lines.

I don’t know how
I keep doing this?  My amateur **** is
a slur to their wits. It’s concentrated and
yellow like a climbing honeysuckle.

is more dried out –
the fruit in my aunt’s fruit bread
or her vaginal lips instead?

I don’t know which
is thicker
mom’s homemade cranberry jelly
or my dad’s dilapidated belly?

I don’t know which
has fallen faster
the snow outside
or my mom’s saggy *******
that she swings in protest?

I don’t know which
I prefer –
stupid talk
going outside for a walk
or this day to be over!

Someone is always talking about
someone, or else asking questions
I’d rather not answer, making small talk
over wine and pining about someone or

something that they lost. All those artificial
smiles and the insincere talk and the pretentious
jabberwocky that goes along with the
décor of dips and chips makes me sick. I’d rather

spend my evenings alone, with my quilt and
my book of good poems in my pajamas and
woolly socks, all curled up on the chocolate sofa
with the cat on my lap and a cup of hot tea. No

chitter-chat or late nights for me.

because they put on the spot.  I’m not
into small talk. Questions make me
stumble. They make me nervous. I’m a private
person, quite reserved. I prefer to keep things to

myself. You could say I’m insecure. I
don’t like sharing with the world what I
do. Because I know one question
leads into two, and so on, and so forth

until it’s as if I’m being interviewed. Some
people enjoy talking about themselves. But
it makes me uncomfortable. I know people judge
me by the answers to the questions they

impose. And once it’s started there’s no
where to go.  I’m trapped in the rhetoric and
lacking the cleverness to escape. I want the earth
to open up and swallow me until the imposition
leaves the rendition in my final wake.

am not well learned or
political. I wear my hair big -
80’s style
I spread my thoughts wide -
nautical miles
I must write every day
put these thoughts on page
get them out there through the screen
it’s my way of mingling
without being shamed
you have a piece of me
I could commit suicide
if you don’t like me
because my writing is
my lover
my family
my friend
the host of the party
the only mingling
I do

a fin
to swim
I have twin
arms and legs
takes me
out of the dregs

I don’t need
a shell
to hide
I camouflage
with the trees
in my brown dungarees

I don’t need
wings
to fly
I’ve springs
on my feet
a belief
in myself
propels me
up high

I’ve got my pocketbook. It carries
my lipstick, eyeshadow, hairbrush
spray, toothbrush and toothpaste. I’ve
got my magnifying mirror and tweezers

to pluck the hairs on my face. I’ve my
cellphone and nail-polish, not to mention
my overstuffed wallet. There’s a automatic
umbrella to save my hair when it starts

to rain or snow out there. I need my mp3
player as well to listen to my favorite
tunes. There’s a special pouch for alcohol
nips that has a zippered pocket. And I always

pack chocolate in case I’m hungry and
need a snack. I’ve a small bottle of perfume
to make me smell sweet as roses if I’m
near someone special. There’s only one

problem with this. I have to empty everything
out if I need to find something I’m looking
for. This can become a cumbersome chore!