If I could go anywhere,
and anywhen,
I’d visit Nerues,
with his 50 daughters
dancing around him,
in the Aegean Sea,
hair the color of azure,
gifted with prophecy,
hoping he won’t change shape,
and escape my gaze,
I’d ask and he’d answer truthfully:
will I ever have a baby?
Dear Author
It’s not fair,
to end my story,
here.
Tell me there’s an epilogue,
before long,
or a sequel,
where I get free will.
I need more pages,
of your imagination.
I need more time,
in your mind.
Dear Character,
I’m afraid,
I can’t be swayed,
Your storyline’s through,
I have no words,
left for you.
I have Band-Aids to heal wounds from knives,
and should have thought twices,
I have alcohol wipes, to reduce the risk,
that anything sticks.
I have gauze, to wrap a wound,
of any cause, to include
burns, and bees, and
the clumsiness of me.
I have cold compresses, for hot messes,
or heating pads, for muscles mad.
I have pills to hold the hurt,
or curse words to let it burst,
But I have nothing,
nothing,
to heal,
the painful parts,
of my heart.
How much I still want you to know,
before I go,
how much I wish,
you could live in my heart and feel this:
That your light is infinite,
like the love I give.
Broken or not,
you should know what I forgot:
The universe is beautiful with you in it,
better because you exist.
Still working on this poem, but posting anyway!
This earth
absorbing
your blood,
to give rise,
to new life.
For years
capturing
your tears,
to bring waves,
of change.
Your hands,
imprinting
on this land,
deserving most,
the promise owed.
Your skin,
collecting
in the dust,
coating the very structures,
built to keep you contained.
But the steady heartbeat,
of your feet,
are battle cries,
that the Earth,
who has mothered your dead,
recognizes and liberalizes.
Reading some Mary Oliver poems have inspired a few poems out of me today. Love her poems and need to buy some of her books.
Morning
When I dare to wake up early,
still half asleep and groggy,
doubt ripples like the breaking sun—
What have I done?
Then—
the cardinal call tells,
the trees to rise like citadels,
and all the strange shadows,
repose,
into familiar things.
My slumbering dreams,
long forgotten,
as the world blossoms—
and everything seems possible.
Breeze
I find solace,
in the way,
the wind whispers,
through the trees,
as if you,
are haunting,
me.
Today’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) prompt is: Write a poem that features forgotten technology. (Photo is of my refurbished 1938 Underwood Champion!)
Sometimes,
I feel as obsolete,
as an antique,
typewriter—
My stories used to delight her,
until I fell out of favor.
Today’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) prompt is: Write a poem of over-the-top compliments. Not feeling inspired today, so kept it easy.
I am sure,
there are many ways your,
imperfect,
but at the surface,
I don’t see them yet,
to my regret.
Today’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) prompt is: Write a poem inspired by your favorite kind of music.
Okay, clearly I am way behind on NaPoWriMo, but I have a decent reason. I had to focus on finishing my capstone and graduating with my Master’s in Health Systems Administration (not easy going back to school in your 30s, but I am DONE!). This means I have more time to focus on my writing now, and I plan to still finish NaPoWriMo, albeit later.
So, back to the prompt, my favorite genre of music is country. I imagine this poem being sung in the style of Girl Crush by Little Big Town. I don’t know why, but that song was in my head when I wrote it, and I do love the song!
I’m lovesick,
there’s no cure for this,
as much as I wish,
I can’t get over it.
I’m achin’ for your touch,
my body’s heating up,
it’s serious, I’m delirious,
thinking of you,
there’s nothing I can do,
I’m lovesick for you.
I wish I could recover,
find another lover,
to feel less weak,
and find some peace,
but there’s no relief.
My head hurts from all the thinking,
dreaming, and make believing,
I’ve forgotten what’s it’s like,
to not have you infecting my mind.
I’m lovesick,
there’s no cure for this,
if you only knew how,
I’m suffering now,
put me out of my misery,
and say you’ll never love me.
Today’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) prompt is: Write a poem that deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems. So, I was excited to see this prompt because I immediately thought of Gerald Callahan’s essay, Chimera. This essay has inspired so much of my writing since I have a creative writing and health/science background – and his essay was the first piece I ever read that drew on both fields. Years after reading the essay, I wrote a poem inspired by it. See below!
Some of our DNA
are relics of viruses
from past infections
so scientists say.
Envelope viruses like the flu,
carry lipids, protein,
and the stuff of genes,
from the hosts they travel through.
I like to think,
this means:
After years of sharing a home,
and conceivably the flu,
I’ve collected pieces of you,
stored in my chromosomes and genome.
You are not lost, you see,
You make up parts of me, literally,
saved in my “immunological memory.”
unwrithings 