I have run out of shits to give to people who demand from me
That which they don’t stand for to enrich themselves.
Grasping cold straws to fill the void of cold life, they stand
For control over my body my life, my choice, which does
Not fill them with anything other than bitterness.
Continue reading “Taking – a poem”
A dark force plays with abandon tearing apart your soul; you cannot admit that
your legacy is blackened and unripe fruit. Treading on it yields neither wine nor juice;
Bottled up, it festers into logic and reason that must needs be denied.
Assumption of superiority helps sooth the waters of turbulent reason while
The bile and fear lap at your toes, calmed only by casting your eyes towards heaven
It is a test you must pass, denying qualms, signs and portents, extinguishing candles lighting the path
Your hair shirt, your denial of the senses; as you cook and then bite into the sadness which you feed
to your child who inherits the fear and the pain wrapped in a bright shell of promise
(A tribute to someone who I no longer have to give a shit about)
The Good Plates
You own a “good” dinner set that you can’t allow yourself to use
You excuse and are obtuse as to why not, you are excessive
In the face of opposition.
Your position is that your mission is to keep it nice,
unbroken, unsullied, unused and so another set is purchased;
The second best set.
And these ones you allow to get wet, but you still expect reverence.
They’re delicate but not untouchable and still quite valuable
You calculate, and hesitate to even place these before
those undeserving and unnerving, who you don’t let yourself respect
Mostly they get to eat off the the third-best set.
Hey what do you know, I also illustrate!
Under the bed, between the walls
These little creatures are
They use your toys, they use your balls
They do not take them far
Continue reading “The tooth – illustrated prose for children”
I have created some statements in English, put them through a translator to Klingon, then back to English. It makes a type of poetry. I’m pretty pleased with this.
There is always a small cat.
It is, and they call the blind man, ran, and be happy.
But then the wolves.
Continue reading “Klingon Poetry – Poetry”
This poem brought to you by hormonal fatigue, before a solution was implemented
On waking up I throw the hook
That latches to the end of the day
I pull it tight and haul myself to
I tell my body it must obey Continue reading “Tired – prose (about menopause)”
I live in an echo chamber
The people I choose to be around me
Are the ones who reflect my opinions
Ideas, judgments, have my set of values
Of a world that is better Continue reading “Echo Chamber – prose”