a word
              whispers
                                another
a steady obbligato
pinging
on the window of my mind

a CRACK
of lightning
as charged particles of concept
are drawn up into ideas

and a trickle
becomes white water

every writer
finds a voice
that whispers
to them the clearest

Who is your word?

Just another morning
unwilling bones
crack their way out of bed
begging for caffeine
to wash down
a heaping bowl
of matte-gray sameness.

I'm performing
exploratory surgery;
plunging a scalpel
in the interstice
between my discontent
and my gratitude.

they made me
from a soulful longing,
a sad desperation..
of hopeful reincarnation

they made me
after a birthday celebration
once the wine was drunk
the cake eaten,
the other kids bedded down
they clambered into bed
to make a baby girl

they made me
to replace my oldest sister
born too early, too blue, too still

they made us all to replace her
but the next two, came as boys

so they made me
their last try,
a rhesus baby
requiring three months bed rest,
coming three weeks early
a girl, that solved nothing

when,
they made me
they made hope,
a fragile seed
for a family tree
gloriously completed

but it was not to be
i could not compete
against the phantom branch
whose life mere seconds long
held the potential ,
i could never have achieved

they made me,
i destroyed them....
not with intention
or malice, not with
action or word,
but by being compared
to a figment of a happy time.

by being flesh and blood
with failings and faults

they made me
they hated  me
they loved me
they made me

I love them still...