Category: Poetry
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As a Child
As a child I wanted to be a doctor To cure people of disease As a teen I wanted to be a neurosurgeon To fix brains with a scalpel As a young woman I became a psychotherapist To fix troubled youth with broken lives With the exchange of spoken words I kept falling apart My…
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Chi flows, Wind Blows
Stockdale Wolfe’s work, both visual art and written word, is so stunning, I just had to share.
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Suicide Infanticide
Long, long ago When my son was very, very young I thought of killing myself But what about my son? I can’t leave him behind Well then, I’ll take him with me Oh, my God! That’s where it comes from That’s why mothers take their children’s lives When depressed and suicidal They do not want…
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Bad Mom
Bad mom Selfish mom Ineffective mom Permissive mom Bipolar mom At times, abusive mom At times, out of control mom At times, rageful mom She’s even hit her kid She’s even slapped her kid No excuse No excuse to hit a child No excuse to slap a child At my son’s request, I revised this poem,…
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The Rebel and His Mother
The Rebel When my son was a preschooler in daycare His class had a field trip to the local In ‘N Out As we walked back to the daycare center My son held my hand We walked in pairs down the sidewalk His daycare teacher said Everyone stay on sidewalk Do not step into the…
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Irritable
Irritable Headachy Not sleepy and it’s late Been bitchy Too critical On the rag Approaching menopause Mean Had a couple of days of clouds Of gloom Slept Now this Irritated Change again Back to sunny Too soon Too much Cannot take it Make up your fucking mind What is it?
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Terse, Too Terse, Way Too Terse
Woke up to a dream. In my dream, author Richard Milner, the leader of the writing group Sit Down, Shut Up, and Write and author of the novel The Vessel of Kali, handed me a sticky note with feedback on my writing. The sticky note simply stated: By the way, you can find Richard at richardmilnerauthor.com. Purchase his…
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Prose Poems
In a way, I write prose poems. Short jabs of non-fiction. A few words indicating where my thoughts are, where they may take me. Like a poem in that in few words, I do what? Do I communicate adequately in my terse interjections? Need I go into more detail? Can I? Does it suit me? Does…
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Postpartum
Thoughts and urges Never disclosed Never shared Until now Little baby boy Pretty rose between his legs So pretty Want to take him in my mouth So yummy Want to eat him up Unsettling urges No rhyme or reason Thoughts that pass Memory remains Urges not actions Still disturbing Is this what it means? “So…
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On Edge
On edge Fingers shaking Irritable Prickly Damn, what one missed med dose can do to one’s body