Tuesday, July 14, 2015

WHAT IS POETRY?

What is poetry?
Who decides?
Every time I think I've found the answer
New questions arrive
Is it a series of syncopated rhymes, an observation and dissertation of a particular mind, or is it deep, so deep I can't understand it so I feel inferior, so coded one must decrypt it
Or is it music made with words only
Where the heart and emotions tell the story
What is poetry
And how can I tell if there's a poet in me?

Sunday, April 5, 2015

APRIL'S FOOL




It's a beautiful day, and I'm feeling blue. I'm wearing yellow the happy color, with any luck, this will improve my pallor. It's Peka's birthday today. Happy birthday Princess. Wish I could hug you, show you I love you, but your dad would expire, he's been cruel and I'm tired. So I retired from fighting him, he's done too much and not of the right thing, I'm too tired to fight him. No more. No more. No more. 

Friday, March 27, 2015

Whole Again


Yesterday I bought another skagen watch. I was wearing the first when I fell and broke my arm. Ironically, I had just looked at my wrist and admired how beautiful and dainty it looked, then I fell and it looked deformed, then it shriveled up and began to die. I had an operation on Dec 8th 2011. The doctor had to cut me, and go in to straiten my bones, and add some screws to keep them in place. It took me six months after that to use my arm again. I felt like God let me fall (disappointed me), when I was flying high, he brought me low. 
     I just stepped out the shower, and lotioned myself. I picked out my panties and thought of the scar that Peka's birth left me (another time when the creator let me down). I brought forth all my fruits, so why did he let them cut me? I suppose if they hadn't, I would have continued populating the earth in misery. Either way, this morning the sight of this watch on my wrist brought me back full circle. Looking at my arm again, thinking how I had lost it, but now it's returned. Is it perfect? No. Is it the same arm? No, but I am whole. 
     I hated my stomach after the C-section, I didn't want anyone to see it. It was ugly, and my body would never be the same again. I especially didn't want to have sex. But time healed my body. Both scars are still there, but I'm still whole, and I 💘 my body again. Life is a strange brew. Fear and wonder.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Devotion devoured her
Like steel wool it scoured her
Like an innocent he deflowered
Hiding like a coward behind 
Sweet words and galant gestures
To address her
That later festers like an infected wound