Please someone tell me—
am I actually demented,
or just well-fermented?
terri guillemets
composed by yours truly
Fragmental
all my poems are starts
they begin but never end
yet do they abandon me
or do i abandon them?
Chilly bedtime thoughts
Winter is the slow-down
Winter is the search for self
Winter gives the silence we need to listen
Winter goes gray so we can see our own colors
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
Morning lover
I don’t party at night with alcohol. I party hard in the morning with coffee and oatmeal.
Spiraling
midlife changes curled-up
forties are fiddlehead ferns
it doesn’t look like much
until it becomes unfurled
and once we get it open
things may break apart —
eventually nests unwind
but will we bear fortitude
to turn that new life into
something just as beautiful
and yet even more free
spiraling towards fifty?
Vein
i bleed words,
ink drops, and
poetry merges —
blackish-crimson
autobiography
Monsoon love
for the harsh heat wave
wet apologetic gift
from clouds to tree roots
A million invisible nothings
Sometimes I get overwhelmed by nothing.
20/20
Hindsight —
a.k.a.
I was a fool,
such a fool!
Enclosed
Our bodies are meant
for the sun, the rain
the gusty winds
starlight and moon baths
fresh air and seasons —
so why do we trap ourselves
in indoor cages?
If we can’t hear birds sing
or feel invigorating breezes —
how are we to be refreshed
to heal, to know the world
beyond the borders
of our bodies?
Cheers!
Let’s drink to hope
and hope to drink!
Splat!
I don’t cry over spilt milk, but a fallen scoop of ice cream is enough to ruin my whole day.