Category Archives: Poetry

The Nomad

Come along and be a nomad with me.

Come along and be a nomad with me.

A Nomad once traveled from port to port,

for every face the Nomad met,

she searched for her own

trapped by her own design

fearful of herself

her own darkness hiding, only barely,

from her own sight.

The Nomad traveled from one end

of the world to the other

pausing only to learn and see

her soulful vision mirrored,

like an oasis,

back at her from the loving hearts

of other damaged spirits that wandered,

not quite as far as she,

from their own generational homes.

The Nomad rejected all roots

even those that moved her spirit

towards home. But, one day,

The Nomad sat at the edge of a great lake

witnessing the birds dance a complexity

backed by the setting sun that shadowed
the daytime heat with the promise of cool night.

The Nomad searched the sunlit blue

then the moonlit sparkles

She realized it was time to revive and reveal.

The Nomad danced abandon as she’d observed

the flight of her con-spirit-ors do

She slithered with colorful scarves

pouring rainbow colors from her fingers,

releasing all that no longer served

or caused her fear and anguish.

The nomad danced in large spirals

on the sands of the shore

revealing a fleshy spirit

ripe with juicy sweetness

filled to overflowing with kindness

that leaked onto her spirit

with compassionate ribbons of hope.

The Nomad wandered back across her path

carefully touching, delicately expressing

but growing bolder, more adept with her

new nudity, transparently clothed about her

Genuine in joy and with a resolved spirit

The Nomad settled into a new life

one more bountiful, wonderful, and thrilling

than any she had found in her journeys.

The Nomad’s own backyard filled with wonderful

The Nomad’s kitchen burst with spices

She had finally found the home for her spirit

that she’d thought was long forgotten but

was with her even in the darkness of her past.

A Perfect Storm


I love a good storm. The kind where the wind blows so strongly it feels as if I jumped, I could fly as far as the winds would take me. Strong enough to tickle my clothes against my skin in strapping slaps. The kind that threatens imminent danger but harms nobody. The kind that cracks branches, throws flower pots, and stomps through the curtains flying in my windows.

I love a good storm. The kind where stepping out of shelter immediately soggys my clothing. The rain that forces me to seek an umbrella in a feeble hope that it will be enough. The kind of rain that outcries every sad moment; Cleansing deep down into my spirit.

I love a good storm. The kind that holds the early summer heat intimately as a lover. The kind that compels me to lay naked on my bed with the windows wide open, towels on the windowsills. The moment when the heat speaks the language of eternity and I bow in submission.

I love a good storm. The kind where rage-full graces flash across the sky. The kind that turns the sky with powerful strokes into a momentary masterpiece. The chocolate sky drizzles cotton candy oranges onto a grey palette. The kind that temporarily freezes the world; burning into my retinas. It’s a perfect snapshot of my world, gifted to my memories.

I love a good storm. The kind that sounds like it explodes my windows with the force of it’s response. The kind that shakes the earthworms up from their homes. The kind that startles me with its ferocity. Or the kind that washes the air with bass so rich the earth applauds. Man, I do love a good storm.

Chronos woos Thanatos

Let the heavens encircle me and devour me whole

For there is no consolation discovered in my soul

As I stare at flirtatious Chronos, intimate with Thanatos

Life’s theater curtain dropping embroidered with asbestos

I howl my lamentations, tears are tumbling forth

I beseech every corner: East, West, South, and North

That this play has no finale, that this can’t be the last act

But there in the doctor’s lines printed, it’s a matter of fact.

My suspended disbelief refuses to actualize this truth

While Chronos solicits Thanatos with a mortal bloom of youth.

Their eternal courtship dances on the stage in front of me

I glare daggers at their conduct, contempt at their complicity

All Grown Out: TRIGGER WARNING!!!

I was sent a link to this video by a friend of mine. It punched me really hard in the face, but in an inspirational way. I pulled up Word and started writing in time to the video. Some of this isn’t in there, some of it is, but it made me think about reactions and how others deal with trauma.

Every one of my dolls had genitalia
Carved into their bodies
Testament to that 10% I couldn’t see
Of that 100% “friendship” he promised me
And the 90% of his misogyny
Bloomed rottenly
Beneath his alleged kindness
That made my body feel good
But my soul feel dirty, covered in blood
Take your foot off from my neck
But MAN-ipulation made me beg
Without cognition,
For the shame
And guilt to rule me and to reign
PTSD
An unforeseen eulogy,
That mourned what I could never be
I wouldn’t be as stupid as her
I would never wear that
I had to divide my attentions
From those that “came out”
Separating myself from the victims
Because I said repeatedly
“It will never happen to me.”
When it did, I couldn’t say
Because of how they’d see me “that way”
You know him
Not a stranger in the bushes
With a weapon
My boyfriend, husband, acquaintance
Breaking my trust, my faith, my beliefs, my body
And my stunned silence fights back
But there is “Nothing we can do”
Say the police, my friends, my family
That couldn’t happen to me
I wasn’t ready
I said no
I didn’t want it
I put away those dolls from my childhood
Stained with my innocence
Refused by me because they allowed
Me to violate their bodies
Just like mine.

What you give up

It is far too easy to look towards one’s reflection
To pick apart the beauty; to give in to dereliction
The voices shriek in anger, “How dare you hold your dream!?”
While all along they’re hearing the same bitter peppered screams.
Up in Grandma’s attic filled with cobwebs and dust
Generations scorching them with, “You must, you must, you must.”
There is a wisdom holy that I must pass to you and give
There is truly only one life you have, one life for you to live.
When your eyes drop down with despair, the tears they freely flow
Remember in your heart and soul that you already know
That love is the only answer, that giving is its boon
Gyrate your hips to the music you hear, spiral the cycling moon.
Lift your maudlin mourning eyes for love isn’t found beneath
Don’t believe that you’re not worthy, heed not whispers from deceit.
There is no certain way to be, no cookie cutter being
Remove the power of the “You can’ts.” Remove the acidic peeling.
You are truly valuable, turn loose those inner fears
They’ve been inherited by people who wasted all their years.
Open up your heart to love with the jagged and glued pieces
Take in the deepest breath of peace know you’re perfect and release it.
Because NOBODY can ever know you, exactly as you are
with all your lumpy bumpy bits, your tatters, and your scars
Those are the imperfections that make you perfectly you
You are worthy, you are beautiful, I swear that this is true.

Passing the Torch

As I hung upside down from my family tree
I asked my mother if she resented me
She smiled with wind-chime clarity
Refusing to acknowledge my self-penalty.
She shook her head to disagree
My mother politely said to me,
“You will not understand. You will not see
Until that day the veil calls me
And my face you can no longer see
Just how much you’re loved by me.
But do not worry, do not despair,
For I’m not going anywhere.
My fire won’t die, you’ll hold the spark,
As I pass the torch of the matriarch.”

Nudity Not Optional

Where did my clothes go?

You know,

the warm, comfortable,

perfectly fit ones

with the beautiful colors

that complimented my

every move?

When did I get so naked?

You know,

the raw and futile

belief that everything,

no matter how small,

would keep me warm?

How did I lose my skin?

You know,

the one I felt at ease within

no matter what I tried

to accomplish;

the skin that held my confidence?

Has anyone seen my hair?

You know,

the hair that curtains my face

when I don’t want you to see

that the world isn’t as kind

as I wanted to believe?

What about my feet?

My hands? My hips? My breasts?

You know,

the ones that used to run away

when things got hard?

The ones that comforted tears,

raised the roof, fledged passions?

The ones that balanced my lost clothes

at my side as a mother to a child?

The ones that begged for attention,

offering supplication to the needs?

Where did my clothes go?

Why am I saw raw and naked?

Rose colored apples

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree

buds of generational history

blooms repeat to be the same

pink, red, rosy, given names

Rotten roots lay undetected

Bloody branches disrespected

Refused a haven in the storm

Beaten, battered, broken, torn

Bearing into the furious wind

Dropping seeds, again. Again.

The seeds removed found fertile lands

Grew tall and strong with loving hands

When they bloomed, with rooted shows

They bloomed into a fragrant rose.

The cycle once born is now rejected

crisis averted, genes defected.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree

But that does not apply to me.

Somehow there must be A same

But there is nothing in his name

The branches torn where childhood sits

are splintered, demolished. Daddy did it.

He hacked at the bushes with angry words

clashing, lashing, striking swords

No matter what gifts that rose bush gave

it was never enough, but it remained a slave

in hopes that someday, a small reward,

would champion out, three little words.

These Are My People: Jennifer Alexander

Image

When the words of “I love you” were presumed

They lingered in the air like her patchouli perfume

With years of devotionals abloom

Decorating my hearts scarred womb

Our reverent spirits dancing under the moon

With eons of deep secrets written in the runes

Shared like naked offerings between the sister souls

Bonded by supporting hearts, one to another enrolls

These Are My People: Dawn Brinn

Together We Pray

Together We Pray

With uncomfortable self-proclaimed oddness
Brought together by a mutual willingness to share
Our hands in accommodating service to others
Building faith in unison like reciting The Lord’s Prayer
She with her beliefs in Jesus and in God
Me with my beliefs, an eclectic mixture of odd
But somehow we see each other with our many flaws
Forgiving each other’s awkwardness, overlooking social faux pas.
Although we are but humans, our spirits intertwine
With whispered prayers for one another, based in the Divine.