Poet's Notes: This was written in response to a journal prompt by Pixie Lighthorse from her book, "Prayers of Honoring Grief." The question was: How can I honor what I've been through?
Poet's Notes: I rarely write rhyming poems, unless I'm writing song lyrics, and even then they are more loose and lyrical. This is not technically perfect rhyming or meter, I just wanted to try and express an idea this way. It's a good exercise, and sometimes the limitations of rhyme lead to more concise metaphor, or at least, to keeping one on a more defined track. Also, there is irony in this topic being expressed within the confines of an imposed 'meter', which is apropos, and somewhat amusing to my geeky brain.
Sometimes a little says a lot. This one was just too big to do it any other way.
Here is a piece I wrote about being an almost step-monster.
As the Camp Fire continues to burn in Northern California, the San Francisco greater Bay Area is dramatically effected by Unhealthy Air Quality levels, which is effecting some of our health, especially those in sensitive groups, like myself. Many local poets are writing about this to deal with their experiences, and I am no exception. … Continue reading The Tower (a page poem)
Friends always say, "Of course!" when they promise to keep in touch, keep the friendship alive, when a new mate is found. But I know you. Your hunger is so big, you struggle often to be anything else, and it's hard to think when you're starving. I know starving. Her name is Diana, you said. … Continue reading A Blessing for The Hunters
Sometimes the jolts of pain in my guts feel like flashes of dying. Mortality and I are very close. I won't say we're friends but we respect each other. We know the power each of us has and the potential cost of playing. Lightning bolts in my capillaries and thunder in my soft tissues; A … Continue reading Dear Doulas
Life goes on, and your memory lives in hidden moments that catch me when I'm not looking and tug at the heart you helped make bigger. The brazen, ruthless grief is undeniable. But the subtle times and the little things; those are the places where my feet stumble. I am glad to stumble, though, because … Continue reading For She Who Taught Me Love
This is my second acrostic, in poem form, first letter of each line to spell the word. The word was given to me, and I found it stirring up deeper, more conflicted material with straggling pieces still in need of healing. I wrote this about the experience of being injured by an emotional abuser who used … Continue reading On Confronting Beauty’s Shadow: Another Acrostic Challenge