A roar
Like rushing water
Fills my head
It’s all encompassing
enveloping me in a frenzy of fear
impossible to break free
The river rages and heightens until the flood waters peak
and I drift slowly back down
to reality.
Categories
Category: Poems
It’s amazing, you know.
The extent to which women’s work is undervalued.
Take the Bayeux Tapestry
A stunning piece of work, handmade circa the 11th Century.
The tapestry tells a tale of knights and battles and victories and failings. A tale of kings and their conquests.
What remains? Steel and Armor?
No. Cotton and linen. Threaded and knotted and spliced and faded. It’s stalwart against the greedy hands of time.
Men. They are the ones remembered. Odo and Harold and Hastings probably. A tale of men, created by women. A history where the historians are forgotten.
Not the skills passed down from the old to the young. Not the time and effort and artistry. Not the artist(s) and historians and knowledge makers and holders.
Not the women. They are…overlooked.
But the tapestry remains. And so too does their memory, if you choose to look.
Love is an ugly word.
One that makes the mouth contort and twist round itself.
First the tongue must backbend before springing off the roof of the mouth to hover in midair.
Next, bared teeth bite the lip; scraping skin before the sweet release.
And the word floats like a promise of peace in the wake of violence.
Categories
15 Years
She was born in the quiet hush of a snowstorm. Fifteen years later, there’s nothing quiet about her.
She’s as fierce as a tsunami and loud as a tornado.
Snow shrinks before the spring, and she, she is the raging river that’s left behind.
What will the memories of this past year be? Perhaps, one of the hardest years of my life.
Will they be filled with the rose colored tinge of nostalgia, like the pain of childbirth that time and contentment erase?
Or will they darken the day, coming in as sharp, stinging nettles in the surprise of their remembrance?
It’s easy to think
I’m abstract terms about “struggle”
But much harder
When your child is hundreds of miles away
And crying on the phone
Categories
Lonely Satisfaction
Loneliness
It’s a feeling we’re all familiar with
But have you heard
Of lonely satisfaction?
It’s the feeling of newly unwrapped presents
The chill of first snow
The scent of your lovers sweatshirt
Found, tossed aside, in the corner of your house.
Lonely satisfaction is
Coming home from vacation
Or 501 pm on a Friday
It’s things accomplished
But a future
Not yet materialized.
In America
Kids are always the battle ground
What they read
What we teach them
How we raise them
Yet in our hubris
We allowed 8 million of them
To be stricken with grief
You see
We were too busy arguing
To care about the consequence
There are times where life
Shows you the road not traveled
By resurrecting
Someone you dated
At the most awkward of times
Those jarring moments
Are the fates little tricks
Nothing to do but laugh and
Steer clear of their gaze
Silhouetted trees
Black against a neon sky
Sway in a cool breeze
Summer is waning
Which heightens the nostalgia
Of teen years long passed.
Hipstory 