Some Things I did not choose…

I never asked to live in Oklahoma.

I never asked to stay put, either.

I never asked for two complicated children.

I never asked for an exceptional marriage.

I never asked for PTSD.


I never chose to join a cult.

I never chose life on a battlefield.

I never chose the power to hurt others.

I never chose a trashed reputation

I never chose avoidance and insults.

I never chose severe isolation


I miss our partnership.

I miss my friends.

I miss my family.

I miss feeling safe.


I used to rest.

I used to laugh.

I used to sing.

I used to please people.

I used to feel valued.

I used to warrant respect.

I used to speak freely

I used to love openly, honestly.

I used to live surrounded by forgiveness.

I used to count on friends.

I used to hold a purpose.

I used to know where I was headed.

I used to decide.

I used to enjoy life with kids.

I used to revel in marriage.

I used to host all kinds of people.

I used to feel satisfied I’d done some good now and then.


I did not choose to tangle with depression.

I did not choose neglect.


I gradually quit thinking.

I gradually quit growing.

I gradually quit loving life.


I hate living within a battlefield.

I hate parenting in loneliness.

I hate misogyny, and chauvinism.

I hate denying myself food.

I hate anonymity.


I buried my gifts.

I buried my reputation.

I buried a child.



I buried myself.


(a post written earlier this year, and published on another blog of mine)




You toss me watercolor daisies,

when my hands would conjure you a garden

of blazing bouquets, if you hint just the least.

For one minute, if you’d care at all.


You sing me listless tunes you’ve worn,

when my fingers would line out such symphonies

of sounds never heard, if you join just the least.

For one minute, if you’d sing along.


You press crumpled paper into my fist,

when my purse bursts seams wide with gold-full,

of riches never seen, if you’d open just the least.

For one minute, if you’d only let go.

Ask me. I Dare You

Ask me. I dare you.

[But I forgot… ]

I soak color from the walls, brushing it into pictures, twisting it into wool afghans.

All these against leather sofas on wood floors.

Charged with sunlight from unveiled windows.

Smells of  home cooked food linger over an old sad body draped in beautiful clothing.

I walk every day, unless I dance wildly to whole-hearted red-blooded music.

Long tub baths go best with sweet-smelling oil.

And books.

Meaningful conversations with loved ones emanate laughter, tears and hugs.

A house full of children, music, and dance…  where all join in.

[can you hear it?]

And the first one to get there…



Love this poem… read it a while back. Find myself wishing this blogger were still blogging…

Amy Leigh Cutler

She sings God to sleep.
Pins up ceilings of cathedrals
with songs written on her insides.
She holds them up with holy notes
and raspy hallelujahs.

She forms weapons with her tongue,
defends the innocent from death.
Each note an arrow,
D sharp warrior’s cry.

She pulls demons off the backs
of the oppressed
breaks the necks of dragons
without losing pitch,
her praises demand justice.

Her voice calls thunder
and rain.
She does not ask.
She proclaims.

If you are thirsty,
If you are sick,
find your way to west 22nd street on Sunday
when the sun is falling into the Hudson river.

She will lift the hollow wooden body
where the Holy Spirit dwells,
and string by string,
chord by chord,
she will unlock heaven in Manhattan

Are you tired?
Desperate for love?
She is no hero.
Will not save you.
But she knows the one who can.

View original post 69 more words

small men

My poem here depicts all mankind… not just male men. ‘Small people’  reminds me of a second-rate 70s pop song. ‘Small humans’ make me think of babies and children. ‘Small Women’ sounds like a piece of fiction… so I am left with my ‘small man’. Which means if the shoe fits… 

the small man

climbs to small heights

within short reach. 

His small mind fills smaller heart 

with tiny thrones

over things yet smaller.

Imposing gaze, 

thunderous little voice,

fail to disguise small words.

Always leave holes

never enough

in empty spaces.



The sky.

Cool dark black

I wander quietly

Alone. Bare feet

Unafraid of any.

I journey out

surprised at

deep stillness.

Shining stars.

Warm feet

invade hard ground

Answers back in

coldly burnt soles.

Hearth burning deep in

Radiantly warms, soulfully

permeates walls.

Windows bring comfort

thoughtful memory.

Laughter filling,

eating, drinking

embracing, tickling,

singing, and loving


Tattooed inside

me. Speak to me

who I am.

Bring me