#MicropoetryMonday – September 11 – 17, 2017

Me, Vampire – Courtesy of Snapchat filters

Hey everyone! Are you feeling Halloween in the air like I am? My decorations are going to have to come out soon. The nights here are leaning closer to sweater weather so I’m getting Autumn vibes. I miss up north and seeing the colors change but I can still visualize in my mind and write about it. It’ll do.

My nerve pain is officially the worst it’s ever been but if I type slowly I can manage. I’m faring better with a pen some days but mostly I sit here frustrated. I want to do more. But I should be happy with what I have produced. And I am. Believe me. I am.

I’ve been reading Anne Sexton poetry this week. I haven’t really sat down and read her for about ten years and I of course found the way I read her to be different than how it was back then. I’m in love with her still. I also find most of her work to be more relatable to me now than ever. A new found appreciation for an old flame. I’ve read a few novels this week too. I’m trying to tackle Michael Schmidt’s “Lives of the Poets” but it’s so huge and I can’t lift it or read it comfortably at the moment. I should get a book stand or something. Or just get the Kindle version. Little annoyances from this big annoyance known as being sick forever.

I’ve been sucked into The Vampire Diaries and starting to watch whatever horror is on Netflix. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by some I’ve watched. My brain lacks the name of titles right now. It’s my way of getting that Halloween feeling like I mentioned earlier. I want so badly to feel well and I’m not and it’s disheartening but I can do things to make myself as happy as possible. If not, I’m going to wither away in my mind too and I don’t want that. I spend enough time gritting my teeth and staring at walls. At least I can imagine in there. Rest is not so easy to come by when you’re born creative.

I’m here though. I’m doing what I can. I’m going to try to go see Mother! with my husband this upcoming weekend. I’m going to have to make doctor appointments again soon. (I’m so tired of doctor appointments that don’t seem to matter really.) I’m listening to good music. I’m relying on God and prayer. I’m trying to make some decisions about what to do with my writing. I don’t think I want to call it work anymore. It takes the fun out of it. πŸ˜‰ I’m toying around with releasing my chapbook in print form. I’m toying around with a lot of ideas really and I don’t know if any of it will really happen. I don’t know if I’m just going to be “someone who wrote a lot of online poetry for her entire life” or “insert something cool and authorly”. I don’t know if I care or if I should care or if I’m supposed to care about this as a writer. It’s not money. It’s never been money. I would have quit a long time ago if it were about money. I just don’t know anymore. I just know it’s becoming physically more difficult to do much of anything for too long. I’m ill. I can’t deny it. I just have so much more to write.

Alright, I’m going now before I end up deleting all I just painfully wrote. Take it easy this week everyone! Love and be love. ❀


Losing count
of wake fires,
years smoldered
still burn bright

Each flame
deep set
in the eyes
of my family

to remind us


My secret heart
forgives your emotion based mistakes

Concealed truth
out in open plains you tried to overtake

Justified actions
bend & break


broken bond
so torn up
& apart
we used our remnants
to cling to
to keep afloat
in distant rivers
to return to
the ocean together


instead of looking
we applied to be
mannequins behind
glass windows
we stopped passing
became the passed
this was transcendence


Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

Watching Rosemary’s Baby at 6 AM


Mia sits like a china cup
chipping away at French manicured nails
Wild printed woman, 30 years her senior,
speaks with a table shaking voice


it’s serene
familiar scene

i’m the red clad lamb
being led to slaughter

time ticks
i reminisce
what did they give me?


polished & forgiven
too yellow morning awakening

accusation lingers on the skin
marked & bitten

tea bag evidence
an open window invitation


Parts of my mother

I found them
in headstones laid on my chest

In sobbing breaths,
in appearing statuesque
when being yelled at


I caught you crying in the jade garden
Don’t worry
No one can keep an orchid alive
You held my face like an apple
You’re my core


People can’t fathom
how patient I’ve been

for identity

for answers

Silent mother,
who is my father?

I’ve grown


All the beaches blend together
A mouth full of sand, salt spray, tears
Gulls shriek, blocking out echoes
Of screams that won’t go away


as if we were objects
as if we were metal & wood
but livewire flesh
blood spilled (accidents happen)
& bone thin holds well


Vapor calm

I make myself a wisp
so I can fade to a soothing scent

These dreams
are sedation induced
because I can’t move


Made of the icy sting of metal
Under heat, under pressure
Born in distress, boiling over
A scorched servant of suffering


You’ve made me

the stones
of your house
I have a skylight
& firm foundation
I’m a view of a yard now
watching you
in the moonlight


I want to ask if the Falls
held a spectral mirage
like grandma said,
but you don’t believe in ghosts

Just how to haunt like one


when the water’s high
go to the attic
you said
the higher we are
the lower the rest

wind like a whale song
sings of change


Laid out
Laid in
Skin like
surface of a cutting board
Like every hand
they forced you to show
Laid down
Bet it all
Clear the table


Blame is shed
Here is
fragile acceptance
& a delicate surrendering
to the deterioration of your well being;
Still, we live as well
as we can


A decade of stormy weather

I sit
waiting for light

with a spirit so alive
it can’t be contained
inside this shell


It may take
my whole lifetime
to recover
from being born

I’m remembering
the celestial chute,
fluorescent fear
& how to scream


Sing of your blurred dreams
even if they’re not completely yours.
Is anything really yours? Do you know
ownership? You’re letting go of it.


Leave the scenery outside
next time
There are desert mountains
in your eyes
Painted flecks of gold
like the sunrise


I follow a snowstorm
under my skin

An avalanche tremor
of muscles
A rabbit twitch

With my little
bone finger

& believe in healing


Summer’s end proving to be tumultuous
Brisk winds hint of better days
They soothe me at night
I want to fall completely this time


I can trace death in my open palm
Creases keep changing
Feelings run deeper
Follow these streams
Veins of disease

I can swim
if I keep calm


Death drama today

It isn’t my fault that the lightning
within me wants to take me

I like the grey clouds
most find threatening

Muted pain


The light comes to you
when you’re too afraid to
speak anymore

I can feel the knocking
softly on my door
but I can’t hear

sounds so near


Strength in the tides,
in the changing,
the unstoppable flow,
forces of healing moonlight,
eroding me like sand,
making me new


This overactive cage,
so tender, so finicky

I struggle against
forced immobility

I pay for it too heavily
in eyelids, and frustrated rage


The quiet is calling
I’ll find peace in it,
retreat into it


Recovering from falling
into the chaos noise
still ringing in my voice


I saw vital organs blossom,
take over bellies
& every step walked

I’ve seen one consumed
from the inside;
Here I am at the mirror


We charmed her like Wendy
She drank deep,
merrily chasing the green fairy
French girl sings from a piano
Her smoke rings look scary
Don’t go


I saw angels in the funhouse mirror
I saw my cousin through five layers of glass
waving wildly
my stuffed souvenir at his feet
He rescued us


A kind of betrothal
between old & new

I’m piecing past & present
together to save a future

I don’t really believe in
tomorrow, only now


I found your rain slicker auspicious
Aloft, gulls warn us away from the water
Back to your boathouse
Tea mugs warm us
Ever closer


I wake up
like the stage magician’s
assistant turned victim

He’s left me
sawed in half
to try to find myself again


I dreamt of the green clad lady,
electric and dying

There was a race between who would
plug her in first

Fiber optic dust follicles
lit up


Let’s watch the sunset
Wild rose will settle & still for that
I worry about her losing all her petals
In this light she buds again


Alone in this
I summon bliss
Floating in starlight
Waning crescent kiss
Back to the body
The pulse of nighttime
Alive in the abyss


VSS (Very Short Stories):

One’s misfortune, another one’s success.
Gift wrapped in guilt. Accepted.


One foot in the ocean on the brink of a tropical depression. She crosses a moment off her bucket list, longs to be swept away.


WIP (Works in Progress):

I wrote of birth and sorrows earlier. The beginning of creation and transformation with everyΒ brand new day. Yesterday’s you is over.


Pain so bad
soft sheets leave scrapes
Someone has replaced
all the cotton threads with needles,
lined my clothing with thorny barbs


4 thoughts on “#MicropoetryMonday – September 11 – 17, 2017

  1. *hugs* I think I write something every time I watch it. haha

    Yeah, doctors' appointments for me equal “a paper trail for proof that 'hey I'm still sick and probably a burden on your society'” or something cynical like that. πŸ˜‰ When I'm at a point where they can help me, I'll of course be thankful for them. For now, it's just extra energy I have to expend for them to say, “Well, that all sucks. Sorry.” lol


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