Look! over yonder
what a beautiful
field of wildpoems
Personal Journal
Flex-ability
Sometimes you just need to be open to the universe’s alternate plans for you.
Reclamation
I tried – to marry Happiness –
but he Dumped me – at the Vows –
he sought – a Sadder Heart to lift –
and Left me – for someone Else –
so I Hitched up – with Solitude –
and Honeymooned – by Myself –
INFj autopsy
the autopsy will find —
coloured flowers in my grey matter
still-beating poetry in my heart
unspent ink in every organ
blood saturated with love
bones mineral’d by life’s rough days
muscles fiber’d by courage and fear intertwined
and a slightly crushed but glittering soul
Rejoice, lament, meander
black eyes and broken bones
rainbows and sugared donuts
overthinking and over-loving
have gotten me to this point
and still I’ve never yet made
a five-year freaking plan —
and even if I did — nothing
ever actually goes
according
to
plan
anyway
A million invisible nothings
Sometimes I get overwhelmed by nothing.
Splat!
I don’t cry over spilt milk, but a fallen scoop of ice cream is enough to ruin my whole day.
Poems that stick with me
Watering the hibiscus
this afternoon —
its weary
parched-green leaves
wilting
in this too-early April heat —
I saw a gecko
who
climbed up the side
of the splintering planter box.
My first split-second
thought —
Alice Walker’s garden gecko.
Crouching,
perfectly still —
the both of us —
I stared at it
and took in
the wonder
of it all.
It didn’t move —
was it asking
for some water?
This bliss,
it was my Paradise.
Gray, rough-coated
nature —
staring right back at me
a foot from my face.
Slowly I moved the hose
just an inch in its direction.
Walker — I’d already
named it Walker —
disappeared so fast
I didn’t even see
it go.
I wish it would’ve stayed.
I had water to give
and troubles
to wash clean.
referencing my favorite Alice Walker poem — “Going Out to the Garden,” 2011, in The World Will Follow Joy: Turning Madness Into Flowers, 2013
Cozy
hiding in my winter cocoon
not coming out again until June
Sixty-nine degrees
bliss runs wild with the breeze today—
this moment a delicious autumn cake
frosted with october’s dulcet bouquet—
worries let serenity breathe and play
while sweet nature gladness partakes
Revenant
O! how many ghosts in a wound of war.
Insomniacaholic
I’m an insomniacaholic
if there is such a thing
well, I know there is —
I am one, and their king!
journal, age fifteen
Sweet life
age split a cherry
midlife is the pit
sweet and ripe surround