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sandra wyllie Jun 2020
is the year
we had no year
the year the world shut down
isolating me from my son
the year the world was stunned
cancelled vacations
excessive alterations
the year of masks and distancing
witnessing a black man killed by a cop
the stock market drop
people lost their jobs
riots and mobs
the year of lies and Trump
people dump all this on 5g and the deep state
ugly prejudice and hate
fake news
home schooling
do you choose to be controlled by the government?
this is all an experiment
empty hearts and empty stores
looking desperately for a cure
the year I turned to drinking and ****
the year of scorn
2020 –
I will not miss you
you didn’t serve me well
a year of hell
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
Morrison looking for the whisky bar
Joplin searching for a piece of her heart
Where are they now?
They lived fast and short
I wonder what color Winehouse is
She left in black in front of all of us
Hendrix smoking purple haze
in his grave
couldn’t stave off the black hawk
People still talk
never will be forgot
the talented 27
God Bless
all of them
sandra wyllie Oct 2019
set up in a hotel room
he’s still fast asleep
he had a busy day
after he brushed his teeth

3 thousand miles
she’s loving him in her head
she’s thinking about the next time
they’ll meet again

3 thousand miles
seems a long way away
maybe so in feet
but if you measure it in heartbeats
it’s as close as his sleeve
sandra wyllie May 2019
this chain-link coat
this mesh of steel
the surrounding moat
I’m an electric eel

Don’t come too close
You’ll get a shock
600 volts
will stop a heart

A heart that’s been
Black as sin
Thick as waste
Sticky as a tube of toothpaste

Wires for veins
Gizzards for brains

If you’re looking for
a contribution
You’ll get it in the form
of electrocution
sandra wyllie Jul 2019
I told him my dream –
a room within a room
67 dollars
for 4 minutes
he looked serious
it was my father
I sat on the couch
because last session
the chair farted
it was good for a laugh
but not much else
I don’t take myself seriously
these days
I dissociate with *****
and play music
on my laptop while
I’m stringing out
another line
and sending it out
for more rejections
heck
I’m use to them
said I was born in 65
that would make me 2
in 67
that’s when
“it happened”
but neither of us
knows what “it is”
only that it ****** up
my life for sure
that is
sandra wyllie Feb 2019
Its opulence
lies in its poverty.
Its beauty
lies in its deformity.
Its strength
lies in its meekness.
Its immortality
lies in its death.
sandra wyllie Aug 2020
hail me the power
to go on a vacation –
but this country is frowned
upon by others. We just can’t

bring down our numbers. I’m
not gonna pay the price! **** this ****
with head lice. After 14 years! I
book a trip! and box the toys and whips!
sandra wyllie Aug 2019
His mother would make him
kneel in the corner, with his face
to the wall until his knees got sore. But he
had to wait there until his father got home. And

she knew what he’d do, what little Jim was in for. He
could barely stand after kneeling all day on a hard
wooden floor. His legs gave way as he tried to
get up. But he must be brave. He wouldn’t

give the old man the satisfaction of fear as he took off
his belt and yelled “get over here”
He made him take all his clothes off – just like a slave
He whacked his back so hard it bled as if it were cut

by a razorblade. He buried his tear-streaked
face in the pillow and prayed to God he would survive
until the next day. There’s a reason these men go into
this profession – doctor heal thyself , a true confession
sandra wyllie Jul 2019
on the shelf
waiting for someone to
set eyes on me
waiting for them
to open me up
and read
one among many
as a sardine
we’re all pushed together
with only our spine to
align each other
been closed too long
never chose
just as in high school
without a date for the prom
just as shy and scared
a soul to bare
without a body
words to spare
crass and shoddy
they put me on the
lower shelf
after months of
going nowhere else
out of eye range
just hanging out
seeing others go
and new ones come
my comrades have homes
I
none
can’t tell the date
of spring. Look for a shy blade
of grass poking out of
the wet earth. See the buds

pop out on the branches
like a sneeze. Listen to a kite
as it ***** in the breeze. Hear
the children running to catch it

as it gets tangled
in the trees. Smell the pulpy
squeezed lemons from the girls
on the corner, the waft of

the burgers on the grill,
and the buns getting warmer. The robin
chick staging a dance as it tries
to fly. But all it can do is prance,

as the bunny hopping by. The crack
of the bat as it drops to
the ground. The clang of the bell
as the ice-cream truck turns around.
sandra wyllie Feb 2019
I used to cry soft gentle rain that toddled pitter-patter on the window pane. No one answered. No one came.

I used to cry barrages of torrents in my white canopy bed. Someone screamed obscenities from the other room “Shut the F**K Up” Someone whacked me on the head.

I used to cry with my face burrowed in my pillow, as a prairie dog. No one answered. No one heard. My tears corroded every word.

I don’t cry anymore
sandra wyllie Oct 2019
dropping from the sky as pellets. An angry
God shooting bullets from the trees, aiming
right at me. They hit me ******* the
head. I shake my fist and say to them

stop! I can’t concentrate from the kerplunk,
the ******* noise you nuts make. Can’t sit
on my deck without them dancing a
pirouette. Can’t walk across the boards without

falling to the floor. The ******* things are rolling
underneath my feet. And making a frigging
mess as we speak. It’s smells like nuttiness. Thank
goodness no one here has a food allergy! I’m going

to get my tennis racket and hit them back
at the tree, whence the rough cupped caps came
flying at me. The squirrels can have a ball. I hope
they collect them all before tomorrow morning.
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
I drink from this pairing couplet
daring from the onset
I hope that you too -
can drink from this couplet
I brew
sandra wyllie Nov 2020
makes an omelet.
A broken cookie
is for sharing.
A hole in your roof
let’s the light in.
A fallen nut
is dinner to the squirrel.

I'm not afraid
to crack
or break
or fall.
The more holes
the more light shines –
sandra wyllie Jun 2019
is all I’m asking for
forever is romantic lore
held by people trying to desperately hold onto
something elusive as this
waiting for the stars to align
I’d give up my last breath to have
one more day without time
A day where I could look deep
inside your soul
A day we would mold our imperfect bodies
into one misshapen hapless love
A day without our bodies
A day two spirits ride the wind
A day is all I’m asking
but I’ll take
a moment
sandra wyllie May 31
is like the moon
swallowed the sun
for breakfast. And the
crest of the mountain
was a zit. And I popped
it with my fingertip.

A day without you
is like all the colors
bled into a basin. And I
was chasing them down
until I drowned.

A day without you
is like all the flowers
wilted. And their petals
fell. And my head was stuck
in a bell that was ringing,
until I was swinging
like a carousel.

A day without you
is like a kite
tangled in a tree. A boy
pulls the string. But the spine
snaps in half. And the tail *****
in the breeze.
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
is a drip
from the size of it
it could go plop
and jump
on top
an unsuspecting bird
wetting his feathers

perturbed
that the wetness
makes his feathers
stick together
for this
gleans him
no pleasure
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
there’s too much
of this -
too much work
and paying bills

not enough playing
and finding thrills
in sand pies
made at the beach

and silly
jabberwocky speech
too much worrying
about this and that

not enough funning
lends you a life
perpetually flat
cannot remove the mats
and tangles of this life. The prongs
are broken on the pulls. The knots
are raging as the bulls. The handle’s

broken off.  It wasn’t a quarter
the cost. So, you cut it off,
like you did as a child. But the tattered
splits make you look wild.
sandra wyllie Apr 2020
my clothes to the surfaces
of the tables in the laundromat. So, I
fold them outside in my crammed
car. Isn’t that bizarre!

Afraid to touch
the door handle to
walk in. A stranger
touched it. Their germs
have left an imprint.

Afraid to touch
the ten-dollar bill -
a million germs on it still. But
the machines won't work
without money.

Afraid to touch
my eye to scratch an itch. My hand
might carry the germ from
the door. Now my eye has a twitch
from an itch. And
I’m going to sneeze!

Afraid to touch
my sock that fell
on the floor. Afraid to
go out into the street. I'll
meet more people I can't
stop and talk to without
a bullhorn.
sandra wyllie Apr 2020
my clothes to the surfaces
of the tables in the laundromat. So, I
fold them outside in my crammed
car. Isn’t that bizarre!

Afraid to touch
the door handle to
walk in. A stranger
touched it. Their germs
have left an imprint.

Afraid to touch
the ten-dollar bill -
a million germs on it still. But
the machines won't work
without money.

Afraid to touch
my eye to scratch an itch. My hand
might carry the germ from
the door. Now my eye has a twitch
from an itch. And
I’m going to sneeze!

Afraid to touch
my sock that fell
on the floor. Afraid to
go out into the street. I'll
meet more people I can't
stop and talk to without
a bullhorn.
sandra wyllie Feb 18
is simple. It croaks
and splashes in the pond
from dusk to dawn. To be
glad jumping from lily pad

to lily pad, not on
the run. To catch my meal
by sticking out my
tongue!
sandra wyllie Jul 2019
I can’t say what the truth is
can’t tell you what is mine
or which way I am going
only that I don’t want it to end
even though I say I do
on those days my breath lingers
on the windowpane –
opaqueness on translucency
that’s what makes me realize
I’m materialized
but then it vaporizes as quickly

It’s this tendril of hope that I stretch
out like a girdle
around my middle
and pray
tomorrow will turn into
something
and I fiddle with that thought
a lot
while this goof
d
o
w
n
s
100 proof
sandra wyllie Mar 2019
Place your guns back in the holster
This is over
These egos we need to bolster
Love’s hangover
leaves me dry as a desert in July

We took a long, cold bloodbath
It’s freezing
Each their own/their own wrath
And teasing
the feelings of yesterday is the way
sandra wyllie Jun 2019
I was born a windstorm
with a squall as my blanket
and a scud for a cap I’d spent hours
taking a blustery nap.

I met you in a blast.
You were such a shock wave –
two spirits concaved
in a tempestuous puff we doused the light

a tumultuous rush had us blacken
the white
blow after blow, we were a flurry
I was your gale; you my eddy
The turbulence worn thin
as a wafer

I ate you for breakfast
and deadened the flavor
now you hang over me as mist
and I stand as a tempest
in need of a kiss.
sandra wyllie Oct 2019
in only a moment
it takes.
Someone ends up crying.
This wretched heart
knows not
its part.
Sadly, so  complying.
By God is it time
we're only buying?
Abandon me,  forsaken?
After such a arousal
you have waken.
And then to leave it stranded!
Does one not see
what you have abandoned?
Callous, cold in time you fold
you ended up taken back.
As old your soul dies, decrepit
I’ve kept it
here with mine
sandra wyllie Dec 2019
Gonna hold me back
Tell me what to do
Ain’t gonna take no flack
You don’t like it –
*****

I am larger than life
Gonna rise to the top
Like the yeast in a bread
I’m not gonna stop
No matter what people said

You give me no
I’ll turn it around –
To on
Aint no one
Gonna bring me down
sandra wyllie Mar 2019
Why does everyone want
to avoid conflict? Harmony can
not be achieved by always
agreeing. Air out the differences.

You open a window
to get fresh air in your home.
Open the window to your
relationship as well; air it out.

There will be hurt.
Talk through it. Don’t hold
back. You won't get much air
from a window opened a crack.
sandra wyllie Jan 2019
Lately I feel weighed down
as chocolate coated brown.
I taste sweet, a cherry lollipop,
fizzy as orange soda-pop.
But inside I’m dissonant ebony,
masked in shrouds of revelry.
I bask all day in purple haze.
Run amok in a cornfield maze,
behind yellow walls of acid rain,
indelible as a port-wine stain.
Smell the smokiness of me.
I’m a jar of potpourri.
sandra wyllie Sep 2019
will deaden you. It’s a slow
trip to hell –
It takes away your
memory. Makes you do

stupid things.   Gives you a big
head.  Makes you puke. Eats away at
your brain. Causes damage to your
liver and other organs.

Stops a heart from beating.

It took away my friend –
sandra wyllie May 30
loosens from
the Oak, full of burnt orange,
crimson and gold. At the point
it does is not known. Then it is blown

by the wind. In the direction
it travels is not known. It
can lay around for days. Be trampled
on, raked and bagged. Picked up

by a girl or boy, and carried home
full of joy. If this is so
is not known. But as spring sings
a new leaf has grown.
sandra wyllie Jan 15
when a woman stands alone. She’s
no rock, just the locks of hair
she cuts from his head. He’s twisted
his ankle. She’s twisted her

head to see behind her. She can’t
hold it. It snaps back to the front,
as an elastic flung at lunch at
a skinny kid in a schoolhouse

for the dead. Her “friends”
lips curl as her hair. They’re slippery
as a banana peel. She learns this
more than English or arithmetic. But it’ll

take years. And it doesn’t land her
a degree. She falls into the leaves –
heavy as a stone.
sandra wyllie Feb 2019
He examined it with his eyes first. Took in the shape,
the texture, the smell, the color. He processed all that
in a matter of seconds. He wouldn’t pick it up
with his hands. He attacked that pretty, innocent cupcake

sitting on his plate like a kamikaze. With his head bowed
down he nosedived into the buttercream frosting
like he was free-falling through a cloud. The sweet cream
would get inside his nostrils and plug up

his nose. The white frosting gave him the appearance
of a Santa Claus beard, with thick swirls of icing
climbing up to his ears. The vanilla alone would
intoxicate him. I’m not even sure if he got

any of the cake part on the first bite. But he dived in
repeatedly until he left a hole in the center. The process
of laying the cupcake to waste was so invigorating
he needed a nap afterwards.
sandra wyllie Nov 2020
is all we need
a little red and green
some lights and tinsel
a shining star
or angel bright
singing carols into the night
a little appreciation
a celebration
eggnog and wine
some ragtime served with the bird
the jokes can be stale –
but not the rolls
I won’t wear pantyhose
the only thing tight
wrapped around my waist
are those arms
sandra wyllie Feb 2019
Why walk
Skip
Less talk
Strip

Why worry
Play
Less flurry
Stay

Why Hide
Be
Less pride
Agree?

Why wait
Amour
Less Hate
For sure!
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
They cry inside their dressing rooms
Inside the long-withered spoons
Inside their undercoats hide pins
Inside their eyes weather-vanes spin
in all directions

They make us laugh
with their foibles and fumbles
stupor and rumbles
and side way winks
as they blink back the tears
Yes, my child
it’s OK to cry
All Clowns cry
Sigh
sandra wyllie May 2020
in red satin
down to her feet
thirsty to greet him
at the door

with a copy of Dickinson
in hand –
page 593/1381
I suppose the time will come

She said “hinder it a little”
if we can hinder a little of us
without a fuss
the corn in silk will dress

the jay will giggle
when it looks behind –
halting this
woman in dress
is "a doll"
a pretty face
the flashing smile
round pointed mounds
and curvy hips
my cherry lips
not my wit

All he saw
is my rage
a pink panther
pacing in her cage
the inferno that bit him
like a lion
not that I'm trying
to cover up the pain
and that I'm dying
slowly every day

All he saw
is a dinosaur
I'm extinct in his head
my poetry dead -
he wouldn’t lend to thieves!
not that I'm prolific and gifted
and colorful as the autumn leaves
sandra wyllie Aug 2019
And it’s blank
So, I fill it up every day
With something
Meaningful to say
And then I release it
Out there
I hope that you will
Catch it
Before it disappears
I hope that you will
Hold it
Up against your heart
I hope that you will
Take of it
Something that
You can use
You know I’m only
Too willing
To give it all
To you
sandra wyllie Sep 2019
when I’m joyful. I sing my lungs
out. And the hubster says “shut up”
and the son says “who shot the squirrel”

All I need is a song
when I’m sad and my heart is cut
up like a coffee cake but doesn’t taste
as delicious. I’ll bawl my eyes out
doing the dishes to the blues

All I need is a song
when I’m in the shower. Makes me
sing much louder. And the hubster
leaves the house for some peace. And
the son puts his headphones on to drown
me out

All I need is a song
when I’m on the ***** doing my
business of *******. I don’t bring in
magazines. Who has the time to read?
sandra wyllie May 2020
They point down
They dart from side to side
They’re covered by glasses and hair
They stare
In shades of brown, green and blue
They walk the streets alone
They huddle on their phone
They’re jumpy as they twitch
But none can scratch the itch
Eyes on the street
In the grocery store – apart six feet
Eyes bored
Pain and discord
Eyes glazed over in drink
Like shutters blink
How do they see this world?
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
resolve
not to always agree -
or give up what we believe
get involved
it’s called acceptance
support
encouragement
to go our own way
without fear
or conformity
I’m a whole person
with parts
not parts of a person
looking for
another person
to put my parts together
as if I’m a puzzle
there are no halves
or middles
or common ground
compromise - compromises
I can be with you
in your territory
no surprises
without changing my belief
a smidgen
we don’t need
a carrier pigeon
we can do this -
sandra wyllie Jun 2019
I don’t want a lot of money
I’ve gotten by on bread and beer
I don’t want a big mansion
I could live inside a square -
four corners and roof

I don’t need a stage to sing on
I only want to sing to you
I don’t need fine jewelry
or a trip to Hollywood

I don’t want designer clothes
jeans and a tee will do
I love walking barefoot in the snow
Holding hands in the woods
All I want is for you to care
Do you think that you could?
sandra wyllie Jan 2019
I give my all.
No less.
But my all
is far from best.

I take nothing.
No more!
Because nothing
is near the worst
of practicalities.
That is my reality.
sandra wyllie Sep 2019
is wanting some of you,
hoping not to ask for more
than my fill. I know you're
taken. But this love

we share can't be denied. It
makes our time together have
purpose because it's so limited  -
but my dear the rest of my week

seems worthless, because the sun
only shines from your smile. And the
stars only glow in your eyes. And I
only know this moment -
locked in your arms tonight
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
and you’re plain, so smart
you borrowed every girl’s heart, including mine
but this time this one’s wiser

the hurt made it stronger
it will no longer wander where the eyes take her

where the heart rakes her over castles in the clouds
both feet are on the ground
sandra wyllie Aug 22
as a baby was my
index finger. Wrapping
your tiny fingers around it
snug. I fell in-love with

the squeeze of your
touch. I was amazed by
the strength of your
hand, how it curled tightly

like a strand of hair. And your soft
little nails looked so pale. And now
with that same hand you can pick
me up.

When my dear, did you
grow up?
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
I am,
what I
do. It
self-
soothes. I
spawn
into
flat screens
carried through
media
means.
And
seen through-
out. Only
in
that way
am I
part of
something
else.
sandra wyllie Aug 2019
is something I am,
not something
I do. I’m alone inside myself
even when I’m with other

people. Alone with my thoughts
and fantasies, alone with my fears
and discrepancies. No one seems
to understand the places that

I travel in my mind, the unreachable
corners that are hard to find. So, I smile
at them and nod and pretend to go along -
on the outside anyway. But I notice most

people don’t want to reach deeper. And I would
just about do anything to bring someone
into my space. But I do fear they wouldn’t travel
well, judging from my past overtures –
not too many got further
sandra wyllie Mar 2019
I dip in my bowl of juxtaposition
to see what I got swimming. I stir the letters
around with my spoon. I look for the headers. Wait
for the broth to cool. Just when I find A, the B

is somewhere underneath. And all that floats
up top is X Y and Z. I grow very angry because
my stomach is hurting. It's myself that I'm serving
and because of this I got burned. And cut on the

hand with the lid of the can. Still puzzled I try
to find the right word in a free-form style. But I can and
do not. And because I can't smile. This all brings
back painful memories. And I think to myself the letters
just tease.
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