Tuesday, December 28, 2010


She never seemed to be without a man, feasting on the collars
and earlobes of the well-dressed and wealthy who tried to conquer her.

She wrapped them around her finger, a fresh mani festively playing
across their chests, exploring new territory and terrors every moment as

She sailed forward, a breezy sashay and certainty that only the fearless
-- only those who embrace Manifest Destiny -- can understand.

She wrote her manifesto in pink pen, a black book thick with names
and numbers, mapping her life and leaving no trace of love.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Nov PAD Day 12 -- forget what they say

By The Great Oz

You think you lack courage,
kind sir, but
I suspect you've got more
than you realize.

Many have possessed less gumption
than you, but
their chests are decorated nonetheless.
Forget what they

say about mettle, what heroes
wear over their
hearts doesn't matter as much
as what's inside.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Nov PAD Day 10 - a love poem


By the "Wicked" Witch of the West

They call us witches
but we were sisters
afterall, the bonds
of sibling love a
magic greater than
any spell either of
us had ever cast.

Nov PAD day 11 - No One Wants ...


Some say I'm wicked,
but I don't really care
I've done what I've done
and I've dared what I've dared
I've followed my heart
when others have been scared
And what do I get?
How have I fared?
A house on my head?!
For that, I wasn't prepared.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Three Word Wed -- gesture, immediate, treasure


There's something about the wag of a tail, and
a small treasure in the smile that curls along
the lipline of a furry muzzle.

There's something in those canine gestures that
provokes a Pavlovian response and immediately
curls my own lips into a stupid grin.

*RIP Beaux, my fave canine buddy who was put to sleep this morning*

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Carry on Tuesday -- Do you remember what we promised when we met...?


You walked into my life
and I was paralyzed.

You walked across the way
and loosened me up.

We promised to move forward
and journey.

Nov PAD Day 6 - Looking for ...


I've been told that this is the way
to all that I've been looking for;
that the answers to all my questions
can be found at the end of this road.

I've been told that if I just keep
the course I'll find my heart's desires:
a heart, some smarts, a little courage,
or the way that leads home.

Although, I've also been told that
the journey is the answer and the
questions all lead to more heart, smarts,
and courage. I've always been home.

And so we skip on.

Nov PAD Day 5 - metamorphosis

Inspired by Miss Ruby a week or so ago, I think I'm going to try to focus the rest of my Nov PAD Chapbook Challenge entries on the characters from the Wizard of Oz. Just for fun.


I never intended to become
the man who
hid behind a green curtain,

an all-powerful ruler and sage
whose magic lay
in fancy smoke and mirrors.

I never intended to deceive
the people who
wanted to believe in me,

but to give them something,
anything at all,
to put their faith into.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Nov PAD day 4 - containment


Mom kept all her worries
in a box on her desk. Bills
and baby pictures filled it,
ready to be filed in her
anxious heart.

Nov PAD day 3 - location


She held my hand as we walked
on sandy beaches and cobbled
sidewalks that wound through
European neighborhoods older
than our grandmothers.

We tiptoed, my muse and I,
past monoliths and monasteries
searching for god in the faces
and places of 9 countries and
3 continents.

We found it, though. Everywhere
we went, there was the love,
beauty, intelligence, and joy. Like
Dorothy's ruby slippers, we'd
brought the magic with us.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Nov PAD Day 2 - ready/not ready


Girls do not become women
at age 12. The maturation
of their ovaries rarely
match the maturation of
their self.

Here, we see 12 as a
gateway to adolescence,
the path to puberty which
will one day lead to a
womanly self.

No, a girl of 12 can't possibly
be ready to become a mother
or wife - a commonplace piece
of property no longer in control
of herself.

Nov PAD Day 1 - closing door/turning page


The door was never closed really.
At least, I don't remember it
happening that way. I never slammed
it after a fight and he never
cradled the knob in his hand as he
ever-so-carefully slid the big, windowed
beast into the jamb when he came
home late at night.

No, the door was never closed. It
simply sat there, an open invitation into
one anothers' lives, which we chose to
walk near but never through. Every day
the wake of our rushing would push the barrier
ever-so-slowly shut, until one day we
came home and couldn't get in.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Poetic Asides - cascade poem/We Write Poems - Wizard of Oz


If you're going to walk down golden roads
you should definitely do it in style.
Thank god you found me.

That gingham smock did nothing
for you, honey. You need some pizzazz
if you're going to walk down golden roads.

But you've got the right idea with
the little lapdog. When accessorizing with canines,
you should definitely do it in style.

Still, a pair of dazzling heels is what
you really need to turn heads in the Emerald City.
Thank god you found me.

Poetic Asides -- what I love about (blank)


The blank page is where I begin and end,
a world unwritten and unknown until
pen meets paper (or fingers meet keyboard)
and love is spoken into existence.

The blank stare is where I begin, and end
a world unwritten and unknown. Until
pen meets paper (or fingers meet keyboard),
love is broken from existence.

Three Word Wed -- fragile, rampant, tremor


His was a fragile ego,
the kind you tiptoed around
hoping not to squeak a floorboard
and wake the sleeping giant.

Hers was a living tremor,
the kind of rampant quake that
rattles your heart deep in your chest
and never lets you sleep.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Three Word Wed -- engulf, imminent, tamper


He tampered with her
braids as he sat behind
her in kindergarten.

Her temper was swift and
beautiful, a flaming handprint
engulfing his left cheek.

He tampered with her
heart as he played the
field in high school.

Her face flushed as she
landed the imminent blow that
smashed the smirk off his face.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Poetic Asides -- about a person


She held my hand
my first day of
kindergarten. Her
red curly hair
framed her freckled
face, enflamed with
dimples and the
most ferocious smile
you'd ever seen.

Carry on Tuesday - one misty moisty morning

7 A.M.

He fell out of my bed
one misty moisty morning
and said he no longer loved
the smell of my damp skin
or the freckles on my nose.

He fell out of my bed
and I felt the cool
deadness of the cotton sheets
that smelled moisty and misty
without his heat to warm them.

Three Word Wed - charm, feast, robust


I feasted on your charm,
a robust meal
of delectable deceit and emptiness.

I hung on your arm,
an empty delicacy
for men to feast upon.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Going back

It only takes a little
plutonium to get
back to the future, Marty.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

In my wake

I left a trail of
tears behind me.
Thankfully, they snuffed the fires.

A torrid affair

The heat of your skin
once seared my
flesh, branded by your love.

The salt of your tears
once mixed with
mine, snuffed that bright flame.

The ashes of our home
once covered the
ground, scattered in the wind.

My world is on fire

The smell of singed wood
still gives me
chills. Three years have past.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010


If it makes you happy,
who am I
to argue. It's your life.

Monday, August 23, 2010

...with a smile

Covered in grease, she walked down the aisle,
that brown-haired girl who had such style.
Coffee in hand, she hummed all the while.
And poured with a smile, poured with a smile.

He sat alone and asked for some cream,
that dark-skinned man who'd lost all his steam
just fighting for his right to redeem
the American dream, the American dream.


His friends and family gathered
to see him
smile just one more time.

Thursday, August 19, 2010


She knelt at his feet
and wiped them
with her long brown hair.

Her sister began to complain.
He told her
that this was real love.


She serviced men in the
truck stop restroom.
Never knew she deserved more.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010


The bitter words had barely
left my lips
before I wanted them back.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Chop Shop

24 times today
I've been sold
the Lap-Band

24 times I've
sold myself to
a band of thieves

24 times they
have lapped me
up like thirsty camels

who would shrink
my humps to fill
their own

Buy me

We shop for trays and
shop for praise.
Anything to fill the emptiness.

Monday, August 2, 2010


There was a time
when sweat covered
your back and
rolled off your
shoulders like a
glass of iced tea
perspiring in the
summer sun

There was a time
when the heat
in your eyes
sweltered like an
August afternoon
drenching our sheets
with the sweet
sweat of summer love

A tall drink of water

I drank you in
like a long sip of gin
from a sweating ice-filled tumbler

Wednesday, July 28, 2010


Your bare shoulders are shivering,
covered in goosebumps.
Please put on a sweater.

Monday, July 26, 2010

In the news

A short follow-up to Waves Goodbye

at the base of the
mountain of words
lies a death gone unnoticed

Friday, July 23, 2010

Waves goodbye

At the bottom of page B7
of the newspaper that day
were three short sentences
that detailed the death
of an underwater diver
whose body floated to 
the surface during a 
subsurface photograph
session in the caves 
below the waves of
South Florida. 

She clipped them carefully
and pasted them into 
the family Bible, so his
children might know that
he died doing something 
he loved and that somebody
had actually taken notice.

Thursday, July 22, 2010


He happily bows
my goddess temple

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

I made the Top 50!

Pretty excited about the fact that End of the Line made the Top 50 poems in the April PAD Challenge on Poetic Asides. Almost makes me feel like a real poet. ;)

So proud.

Friday, July 16, 2010


You fill up my senses

like the smell
of a wet, dirty dog

*I really need to get off this Lune kick!!

After the Rain

The smell of wet pavement
is better than
the lingering scent you left

Tuesday, July 13, 2010


He called her an ice queen.
Said she didn't
know how to open up.

He called her a frigid bitch.
Said her heart
wasn't warm enough to love.

But the melt of hot
tears revealed the
life beneath that Arctic exterior.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Life under melting Arctic ice

Life under melting Arctic ice

Walter pretended not to care
When his friends began dying
When his two sons began visiting less
And forgot that he was once their only family

Walter pretended not to see
how his hands began wavering
how his footsteps were a little shakier
And that his wife was no longer around to catch him

Walter pretended not to know
That what he began would soon be finished
And that the slow drip drip drip into the toilet
Was the Glacial meltwater of his life slipping away

THE EX-FACTOR (or The Many Voices of Lauryn Hill)

For this week's Poetic Asides prompt to use a headline.

THE EX-FACTOR (or The Many Voices of Lauryn Hill)

That thing she did
before five kids came along
began killing her softly

When it hurt so bad
she saw she had nowhere
left to turn

And her Miseducation
inspired a vacation from

Tuesday, July 6, 2010



She never had a chance
to explain where
she got that little apple



Her husband shared the tasty
fruit but wouldn't
share an ounce of blame

Wednesday, June 30, 2010



My ship is coming in.
I hope it
doesn't soak me this time.



Your hand on my back
tells me that
you might fall in love.



The force of his love
lingered on
her skin till it bruised

Friday, June 25, 2010

The meaning of bruised

Oh, you're gonna be wounded
Oh, you're gonna be my wound
Oh, you're gonna bruise too
Oh, I'm gonna be your bruise
~"The Word of Your Body" from Spring Awakening


Hips against hips
Until hips can't feel

Lips upon lips
Until lips start to peel

Ego over ego
Until one ego slips

Heart to heart
Until one heart rips

Thursday, June 24, 2010

The Mean-ings

Daddy never
beat her
but he
Mama plenty.

He had a
tongue like
a whip,
a loud crack
that could
catch you
by the ankle
and trip-topple
you like a tower.

One good
snap and she
wouldn't walk
straight for days,
the weight of
his temper
slung on
her shoulders
till she slouched
to the floor.

Daddy never
beat her
but he
Mama dead.

The poison pool

Listening in on a webinar about environmental toxins, which I learned a lot about while working at a beauty magazine. They're in cosmetics, shampoo, soap, pharmaceuticals (of course) . . . they're EVERYWHERE! So interesting.

I'm barraged by toxins
everywhere I turn
you assault me
with a pretty face
or as a tasty treat
and I reach for you
knowing you're the
poison apple that
made Snow White fall

Wednesday, June 23, 2010


Stuck on this kick, trying to work out a play on words with mean
(average) and mean (cruel). This little Laterne is all I've come up
with. Hopefully it's enough to get out of my head, so I can move on.


was her life
it seemed
almost cruel

The meaning of mashed potatoes

a post-lunch thought

lumpy bumpy
bowls of
smashed spuds
tickle my tongue
and make me smile


"He's cute"
means "I'd do him"
one night, no harm done, we'll have a good time

"I'll call you"
means "don't call me"
you're crazy, this ain't happening, please lose my number

"It's not you, it's me"
means "it's definitely you"
too much effort, not worth my time, I'm trying to be nice

"I need some time"
means "away from you"
you're sucking ... the life ... right out of me

Tuesday, June 22, 2010


Time passes like molasses
when you've got the flu

when molasses-like mucus
oozes unnaturally from your nose

and you're stuck at home
nosing through half-read books

that you once flew through
until you got sick and words began

oozing together like the mucus
infestation you're trying to forget about


He sticks
like gum
on my sole
my footsteps

into an un-
even stocatto

into the rhythm
of a life without



Smack dab
in the center
of my cerebellum
lies a stupid little diddy
that I heard on the radio
this morning

Tuesday, June 8, 2010


And in a flash
she was gone
a burning comet
crashing out of
his orbit and
out of his life

No longer would
she hover like
a satellite, pushed
and pulled by the
atmosphere of his
moods and mania

He would trample
her love with
those god damn
cloddhoppers of his
and let another
woman make him
her whole world

Friday, May 28, 2010


out damn spot
my hands are too cold
lifeless and raw
from the scrubbing
and purging of
sins not my own

Friday, April 30, 2010


In his dinosaur pajamas
he fights invisible foes
jumping from sofa to floor

In his imaginary attack
he defends our castle
from invading pirates and pigs

In his little twin bed
he vigorously holds sleep at bay
until an instantaneous silent surrender


Unfurl your fingers
Unclench your jaw and learn to
Smile with your life

Thursday, April 29, 2010


There were nights when he was kind
when he smiled and pretended I was
actually his wife, and not some 19-year-old
girl he'd knocked up accidentally
and married out of duty.

There were nights he wasn't so sweet
when he'd sweat and scream as if I was
the reason he was so angry, and not just
some child who'd accidentally
become a dutiful woman.


Southern Comfort
Comforting a friend
Friendly women
Women's lounge
Lounge singer
Singing along
A long cab ride home


When Southern California
sees clouds in the sky
and the drip-drop of rain
begins splattering the sidewalk
like a Pollack painting
I wait for puddles to pool
so I can splash ankle-deep
coating my feet with cold
and suddenly wishing
I had dry socks

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


A tribute to Dorothy Allison, an author whose words are so precisely
sincere and honest and crisp that they slice straight to my core.

Dorothy came from a long line
of women who gave themselves
to grease-covered Appalachian men

They were high school girls who
perpetuated their misfortune and passed
it to a new generation every 15 years

They were girls who gave themselves
to boys whose filthy fingers fumbled
with the zippers on their jeans

and the clasps on bras that covered
the fresh buds that they pawed at impatiently
with rough, callus-covered claws

They planted their seeds after three
or four pumps of pleasureless procreation
leaving their offspring to stand at the end

of the ever-increasing line of poor
Appalachian bastards whose family trees
were as mangled and tangled as the gnarled oaks
the Allison clan once climbed

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

I'm getting old

A link to my PAD (Poem-A-Day) Challenge drafts from this year and last. Some good, some bad, some terribly ugly. But hey, you've got to start somewhere, right?


Daddy said he loved her
as he pushed his way
between her legs
in the dark stillness
before Mama came home


Some days are good
Others are just good enough
For me to get by without
wishing they had been better

Monday, April 26, 2010


She could count on one hand
the number of times
she'd given herself to a man
and he'd given something back

She could count on one hand
the number of times
she'd walked into town
and they hadn't whispered behind her back

It took one fist to shut them up
one finger to tell them what they should do
and one tear that would betray her
that she'd wipe like dust from her eyes
with the back of her hand as she counted
the lonely steps and kept walking


Once I
watched as two
birds flew from the third
floor ledge of my house to their unfor
tunate demise in the rush of five o'clock traffic

Friday, April 23, 2010


Tangled in the sheets
Until bliss becomes exhaust
Sleep finds us smiling

Thursday, April 22, 2010


An Earth Day poem

Do you remember, mama,
the days when I was young
and you spent hours playing
with me as I crawled on hands
and knees through your grass
skirts, jumping on the hills of
your hips and snuggling into
your meadowy mane

I still remember, mama,
the scent of fresh citrus
that clung to your skin, clean
and crisp like an ocean breeze,
filling my nostrils as I nuzzled
into the nape of your neck,
protected and warmed by
the heat of your love


The usefulness of a French Fry
is often underestimated
until his masticated demise
he can do so many things
aside from raise your cholesterol
or blood pressure

when ketchup isn't forthcoming
and a knife cannot be found
the humble fry comes in quite handy
in restoring the natural flow, as processed
tomatoes naturally gravitate toward
processed potatoes


Jiminy Cricket
warns me that
frivolity and fun
may make me an ass

Conscience or not,
I think he's the ass


According to the women
who whisper on street
corners, at cafes, and
behind cosmetic counters,
the life to which we
20- and 30-somethings
should aspire is plastered
on magazine covers,
gossip blogs, Facebook
photos, and billboards
selling something I will
never attain and don't
even really care to

Looking back

The prompt for this poem was "looking back"

I once was a goddess
who ruled from on high
who sent men to battle
and heard them all cry
when their crops began failing
and their children left home,
their women didn't love them,
how they'd bitch and they'd moan
that life wasn't fair
and they certainly deserved better
"goddess won't you help us"
so I made their Earth wetter
and their plants began growing
and their children stayed to play
their women kissed them softly
as next to them they'd lay
and remember they were goddesses
who'd also ruled on high
until their husbands pushed them down
with some Eve and Adam lie
and they fell from Mount Olympus
with their eyes forever shut
to the divinity they once held
and the role of temptress-slut


To sit still
on any given day
and watch your thoughts
run through your mind like a
Wall Street stock market ticker tape
at the bottom of a television is harder
than one would think. I think too much, and
that's the problem. The background noise, the
chitter-chatter of my brain's constant static as synapses
fire and race from nerve to nerve, send a flurry of fantasies
and to-do list items to the blue-black screen of my meditative mind
which simply doesn't know the meaning of blank.

There's something about Bob

An ode to a different Bob this time.

According to Bob
the only way to get
through life is by
taking baby steps

Baby steps onto the
bus, baby steps onto
the elevator, baby
steps down the aisles

that we find ourselves
wandering, putting one
foot in front of the
other until we reach

the can of beans, the
book at the library,
our seats at the ballgame,
or the place we say "I do"

Weird science

Equipped with his five senses, man explores the universe around him and calls the adventure Science.  ~Edwin Powell Hubble, The Nature of Science, 1954


The alchemy of turning
alcohol into golden moments
has been practiced for
centuries among the
least scientific among us

They experiment at local
pubs, smashing lips and hips
together in inibriated
embraces that lead to
a petri dish of disease


The science of beer commercials
makes me thirsty for a life lived
poolside in a bikini and body that
I've never possessed and surrounded
by an ethnic smorgasbord of fascinating
and surprisingly undrunk peers who smile with
whiter than white teeth and clink frost bottles
together at this endless party of pretentious sexiness


Three thoughts on deadlines:

I rush to meet you
flushed by the haste,
yet secretly thrilled
by the challenge

My eggs are expiring
and I don't give a damn
the only man I've ever
wanted I yet met
and I can't imagine the
need for another child
if and when that time comes

I think of you sometimes,
knowing that our time
has long past, but still
wondering what might have
happened if we hadn't set a
deadline for our all we
wanted for ourselves

Wednesday, April 14, 2010


Is this love that I'm feeling?
I'm not sure, Mr. Marley
Perhaps you can enlighten me

I've shared my bed and my bread
And the roof above my head
And didn't shed a tear when he said

Is this isn't love that I'm feeling?
I'm not sure, honey
I'm just not sure


I'm hungry
for the pancakes
you used to make me
on the mornings when I
laid in bed beside you and
the dog until we both whined
for breakfast


My street is blocked off
and red lights flash
and bounce off of the shabby
houses of my neighbors.

I've been drinking and
singing at a karaoke bar
with my friend and am unsure
why I can't park on my street.

A police officer waves me by
with his flashlight, looks at
me like I'm stupid when I
ask what has happened.

His face quickly changes
when I tell him I live here.
"Which house?" he asks. "Third
one on the right," I reply.

"Park here," he says, and
escorts me to the scene where
people line the sidewalks
and three large fire trucks

are wrapping up their hoses
and finishing their jobs,
just as I start to realize
all that I have lost.


An island of calm
floats somewhere in my
overcrowded, overworked

I visit there once
in awhile, on days
when I remember to

Never Say a Commonplace Thing © 2010

Blogger Templates by Splashy Templates