Tracing the Formica

Boscawen NH

The Formica traced a trail of ruddy tears…to an unnamed room.

Deep inside the tomb…

my oblique glasses held visions of dull switch blades.

Daggers dancing through the corners of my soul like,

bloody sugar canes sent to alleviate my decay.

Sliding between the ceramic maze…

a hell to be razed.

Alas, the vow,

little do your tiny demons know,

it was written long ago,

upon a wall made of cork…

‘straight jackets cannot subdue the heart.’

80’s Gay

I could have marched for peace

I could have prayed for community of love

I could have

I could have

I stood out of the closet…that had been the most difficult prize for me

I could have been ‘turned’ around…or so men thought.

Turned in thorny ways…in bed…but not all can be bought.

No matter where I lay, to rest is always challenged.

I lay my politics aside by the nighttime table

I lay my words near my lover’s adornments

Sex is far removed from my inner drive

The field of change…yellow, blue, red, and rainbow…keeps what I offer far and above, alive, alive

the Good Mother

Marion Post Wolcott

There had been placid times when the good mother gave me trust.

Faith held together with duct tape and the watered down glue of stability.

The stroke of my cheek while facing the end of times were infrequent and often malignant.

I often wonder had the sterile touch of veiled angels been too much.

Too much to transfix my childish mind to what was kind.

Had I ever truly had a mother.

A mother to curl into with my twisted body and troubled mind.

With purity dug in deep into blood and tears,had she wanted, needed, another.

Temples of the Dog

The temples of the dog…

feed the restless, the lonely, the down and out.

In the massive fields of daisy and blues, always intense…the wanting to move.

The temples of the dog…are indulged in only you.

Latent beauty of kinship rollicking through and through.

Above and below the strictness of un-tethered land, a mystery for both woman and man.

Doubtless, am I, as to nostalgic past, I relish the tussled mane, the hackles…brittle and crass.

Temples of the dog…

‘I watch in awe that such simplicity and speed. Can encompass such great desire to please.’

Dark Room

misconduct-5

He had an eye for these things.

But I had the soul.

The art of the moment, wasted with lies.

With all the chatter of aperture and metered light.

Exposures in a dark room.

You, looking for that idyllic covered bridge.

Me, searching for meaning to the words, ‘just live.’

As your dark room comes into contrast with my life.

The question still remains,

‘what of the devil you tried to tame?’

With a generation, come and gone,

I will right your wrong.

Teacher,

with all your attempts to school me…

All your photographed Rockwell ideology…

The shuttering speed of Americana.

All this and more, such great expectations.

Not a single tutored self-portrait.

Yet,

a guild full of

artistic misconduct.

Pacing the Cage

Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot
Make out what it’s pointing toward
Sometimes you feel like you’ve lived too long
Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself
Pacing the cage

I’ve proven who I am so many times
The magnetic strip’s worn thin
And each time I was someone else
And every one was taken in
Hours chatter in high places
Stir up eddies in the dust of rage
Set me to pacing the cage

I never knew what you all wanted
So I gave you everything
All that I could pillage
All the spells that I could sing
It’s as if the thing were written
In the constitution of the age
Sooner or later you’ll wind up
Pacing the cage

Sometimes the best map will not guide you
You can’t see what’s round the bend
Sometimes the road leads through dark places
Sometimes the darkness is your friend
Today these eyes scan bleached-out land
For the coming of the outbound stage
Pacing the cage
B. Cockburn

Antsy for Change

Shade eloping fast

I try to toss it away but it keeps coming back

I sit, transfixed, too antsy for change

For still life is a spell I am not equipped to cast

Succulent brown crab apple curls the hem of my fears

Shade eloping fast

I try to toss it away but it keeps coming back

Of God’s Creatures

“Of all God’s creatures, there is only one that cannot be made slave of the leash. That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve the man, but it would deteriorate the cat.”
– Mark Twain

Sleeping with Valor’s Retreat

There are lines to this scarcity.

Hidden obstacles filled with joyless doubt.

Now that I am in…the dead air is coming out!

A covert world we all must go thru…

and, the question remains…

‘Will I have the courage to go without you?’

The grass beaded with dew and the…aromatic earth…

does not quench my soul as it used to.

Lying and dying have become art forms.

A certain style giving unto…laughing…crying.

Courage in the blinding light of day can whisk the unthinkable webs away.

Nonetheless, the night…with its sporadic fits of sleep…

Still begs for valor’s retreat.

imageedit_38_9628577381

Mum

Hurt has turned ghosts to gold

Newborns into antiquated entities

I come and go from the waters, time and time again

Yet, I cannot walk on

Questions to my state of mind

Part and particle of the disease…not the cure

Let the Mystery Be

Everybody’s wonderin’ what and where they all came from
Everybody’s worryin’ ’bout where they’re gonna go
When the whole thing’s done
But no one knows for certain
And so it’s all the same to me
I think I’ll just let the mystery be

Some say once you’re gone you’re gone forever
And some say you’re gonna come back
Some say you rest in the arms of the Savior
If in sinful ways you lack

Some say that they’re comin’ back in a garden
Bunch of carrots and little sweet peas
I think I’ll just let the mystery be

Everybody’s wonderin’ what and where they they all came from
Everybody’s worryin’ ’bout where they’re gonna go
When the whole thing’s done
But no one knows for certain
And so it’s all the same to me
I think I’ll just let the mystery be

Some say they’re goin’ to a place called Glory
And I ain’t saying it ain’t a fact
But I’ve heard that I’m on the road to purgatory
And I don’t like the sound of that
I believe in love and I live my life accordingly
But I choose to let the mystery be

Everybody is wondering what and where they they all came from
Everybody is worryin’ ’bout where they’re gonna go
When the whole thing’s done
But no one knows for certain
And so it’s all the same to me…I think I’ll just let the mystery be
I think I’ll just let the mystery be @IrisDement

Tell Her Today

Tell her today

before

the mist fades into the fading enchanted forest.

Before

fauna has turned to fallen rust.

Tell her today

while

the slight brush of her hand on yours feels thin and threadbare.

Today holds her…as though no other moment will.

Tell her today

about all events that made you stand still.

a Fevered Mind

Petals in the pines…I have come here…once again

with your loving colors for the fevered mind

And, the circling of blackbirds to speak to me of the shape I am in

A little girl’s dream of…

lime and lemon hue

Spinning in the dance under the moon’s harvest

and

the autumn of sun’s riches

I Drink You In

I drink you in, as though, there be no end.

I ache your ailing spirit, as though, it were mine.

If I were set upon a lost ocean…

Whatever you found to be amiss…I would find.

Lover, it hurts so, when your world…

Resigns to the being of…unkind.

us-2

Tomorrow will come and take us away.

Import us to the blues.

Retrieving each soul, as though we were never one.

In the deepest of my smallest conviction…

With all of infinity…

I will understand…

We have only just begun!

Why Warren…New Hampshire?

If you are ever in New Hampshire. Either on tour of the 17 mile seacoast. Looking at the Old Man in the Mountain…who is no longer there. Or, imbibing at the world’s largest arcade…Funspot. An absolutely must? Warren, New Hampshire and the not so famous, Redstone Rocket!

Warren, New Hampshire: Only Town with a Real Redstone Rocket

The same kind of rocket that hurled New Hampshire native Alan Shepard into space. Brought here in 1971.

Redstone Missile

The sleepy little burg of Warren has its own Redstone Missile. A remnant of the Cold War, it is nestled in a little park with a “Missile Information” kiosk that gives you the scoop. There are a couple of picnic tables, and the Warren Historical Museum is just steps away. Worth a look if you are out in the boondocks of NH for some reason. We drive over to Warren to get haircuts at Mary’s Shear Connection. So get a haircut from the lovely Mary and get your missile on! Peace. https://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/863

So, Mary gives good…haircuts, all the mailboxes are a patented, look alike, forest green, a big missile protrudes from the sky. If a town could actually scream, ‘give me more lithium’ it would be Warren, New Hampshire!

New Leaf

The mountains are turning a…summer setting gold.

A time for

letting my hair down

to bask in what the forest beholds.

There can be no denial from

the frosty aches

the chill from bent knee.

I take comfort from primitive slopes under

wildflowers and giant shrubberies.

Turning over maple leaf…brittle is the recovery.

Say, What

Things I know I could have said…when high:

You Can’t Let Dick Control Your Life

Thank you for evoking memories, particularly of days gone by. *BBC

You can’t just let nature run wild. *Walter Hickel, former governor of Alaska

I have opinions of my own-strong opinions-but I don’t always agree with them. *President George Bush

Even though there may be some misguided critics of what we’re trying to do, I think we’re on the wrong path. *Ronald Reagan

We don’t have to worry about endangered species-why, we can’t even get rid of the cockroach. *James Watt, former secretary of the interior

I didn’t intend for this to take on a political tone. I’m just here for the drugs. *Nancy Reagan on Just Say No!

Always go to other people’s funerals, otherwise they won’t come to yours. *Yogi Berra

If gays are granted rights, next we’ll have to give rights to prostitutes and to people who sleep with St. Bernard’s and to nail-biters. *Anita Bryant

I was under medication when I made the decision not to burn the tapes. *Richard Nixon

I feel my best when I’m happy! *Winona Ryder

Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked Cat

I was walking down the street when out of the corner of my eye…I saw a pretty little Calico cat approaching me.

She said, ” I never seen a Crazy Cat Lady, who looks so all alone. Could you use a little Bitchy company?

If you can pay with the right Seafood Sensation(dry mix)your evening will be nice. But if you can’t stick ‘meow’ up your ass and send me on my way!”

As the Lesbian Crazy Cat Lady, I said, “You’re such a sweet young kitten. Why do you become so unpleasant in your vainglory?”

She looked at me and this is what she said,

“Oh, there ain’t no rest for the wicked! Frisky’s Delight doesn’t grow on trees. I got my groomer to pay for. I got several litters to feed. There ain’t no Calico love in this world for free!”
Not even fifteen minutes later after walking down, Abandoned Alley: I saw the shadow of Tom Cat, creep out of sight. And, then he swept up from behind. He put a mark(a lifting of the leg and a strange smell) on me.

He made it clear he wasn’t looking for a ‘cat fight.’

Tom said, “Give me all your female felines. I want their love not your life. But if you try to make a move…I spray again, twice.”
I told him, “You can have my spayed female, she’s had a hysterectomy. And, she is a well known bitch.”

I gotta ask, “What made you want to live this kind of life?”
Tom said, “Oh, there ain’t no rest for the wicked. Getting laid is money that doesn’t grow on trees. I got birds to haunt. I got several Baby Momma’s with mouths to feed.”
Well now a couple hours past and I was sitting on my couch. The day was winding down and coming to an end. And so, I turned on the TV. And, I flipped it over to the news… what I saw I almost couldn’t comprehend.

I saw a pedigree’d Maine Coon, in cuffs, she’d taken too much of the nip. She’d staggered over her rhinestone collar and had just one quote to the cops:

“I got the Cougar down the street. I got Big Bill to pay. We are all the same…there ain’t nothing in this world for free!”

Memories of Sutton

A hundred year oak…now with faded auburn leaves.

Centuries of stone fences with homes long since gone.

The dogs unencumbered, free to explore a land unknown.

But still a muddied swimming hole is where they decided to roam.

We dodge dropping acorns from dismayed animals up above.

Deep in a forest untraveled,

I am reminded of that strawberry blonde child, sunfish and September early morning, in the plump sun.

Ghost House by Robert Frost

I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad—
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

Minding Mushrooms

The fight remains in the hand tossed rubble and rubbish.

Hope…in the ache that wakes.

Not paradise up close and focus tight.

But by innate tapestry under the sun’s light.

No treading a path beyond fine.

The superfluous for the mind.

Signs of the Father

My Father used to say, peace be with you…

But it never was.

Holding a stark bare cross above the bedroom door…

I had been taught ‘this is love.’

Father would shake my hand until life caught hold

Eventually, in obsession, he became less bold.

My Father had sent me to deviant schools.

I had been taught of prejudice, good books, how to look for fools.

Nothing More…Nothing Less

Nothing more whimsical than wild turkey’s in the evergreens

A dog’s stubby knees

Frisky felines pretending to be sweet

Heifer’s that refuse to take a seat

Laugh Over Tears

Valerie Harper passed the other day. Yup! Two bouts with cancer. Ten years later…she was with us. Until a few days ago.

Cancer kills! I get that but…comedy, laughter and giggles…heal.

I had a ‘friend’ ask,

‘Why so upset over Valerie Harper? She was 80 after all!’

Why so upset?

I grew up in a home filled with hate, bigotry, judgment and punishment. That is just what it is! However, out of one of the two television stations worth damn; on Saturday afternoons, I watched comedy.

This world we live in, particularly in these horrible times, I would rather laugh then cry. Valerie Harper’s death was not unexpected…the depth and death of her comedy? Missed by those of us that needed a little more…funny in our lives.

Masking the Beast!

Inside a serene natural grocery store in Mill Valley, California, Dr. Jen Gunter is scowling at the women’s health aisle. “What’s wrong with the way the vagina smells?” she scoffs, looking over the topical wipes, creams, and washes promising to resolve undesired aromas. “There are no products here to make balls smell better.” Gunter whips […]https://www.motherjones.com/media/2019/08/wellness-goop-jen-gunter

Dr. Jen Gunter Wants to Protect Your Vagina From Gwyneth Paltrow

Someone needs to come up with a Patchouli/THC spray…and then, I’ll be interested!

Know Before You Go

I know before I go…into the woods so dark and deep.

But there is nothing more natural then peeing on a tree!

Course, I have the wrong parts….so I end up peeing on my feet!

Unlike in the U.S., where it is forbidden by law, in Europe it’s not rare to see a man standing to pee at the side of the road, or even at a tree in the city. Less common but not unheard of is a woman hovering behind bushes with her pants down. Some might wonder what the flora has to say about all that. The artist Friedrich Karl Waechter surely considered this when he created his piece Pinkelbaum, or Peeing Tree.

As part of the Frankfurt art initiative Komische Kunst (Funny Art), the artwork is installed in an old maple tree. A plaque near the tree reads (translated from German): “For 300 years I was pissed at, starting today I piss back.” 

Just walking towards it, the tree looks very innocent, but once you get closer, there it is: the passerby is hit by a stream of “pee.” Most people, after recovering from the shock, find it quite funny.

The tree is located at the side of the way around the little lake Jacobiweiher, near the Oberschweinstiege, one of Frankfurt’s nature areas. The pee stream breaks only in winter for a short time. The Pinkelbaum is still there, but it does not pee, to prevent damage by frost. 

Know Before You Go

The “Pinkelbaum” can be reached by a short walk along the small lake “Jacobiweiher”, close to the Restaurant “Oberschweinsstiege”.

It can be reached by Trolley Car No. 17, get out at the sorp “Oberschweinstiege”.

If you come by car, there are two parkings along the “Oberschweinstiegeschneise”, one at the crossing with “Isenburger Schneise”, the other at the crossing with “Darmstädter Landstrasse”.Visit Germany with Atlas Obscura Trips

https://www.atlasobscura.com

Soft Cotton

Today, I envisioned her for the first time…with older eyes.

As though I had been staring at the sun far too long.

Sight dusted by light…a slow fade to dusk.

Her smile…mild and pleasant like twilight on a warm summer’s day.

Gracing and caressing…gently strong.

When night falls, the darkness becomes my love…soft cotton flannel for the dim skies so long.

Mixed Breed

She runs to what she knows…and disregards all the rest. When I eventually reach up to her…it is then I understand love with no regrets.

Still a mighty hunter offering to me….

‘What I now know is her best.’

Both our strides a bit slower than before…

nothing more…

nothing less.

late summer in New Hampshire

In the dancing shade of the morning pines
I go searching for her spirit.
Year upon years, this is my choice, by design.
Year upon years, full knowing her shine is something I will never find.

In the oddest of manner, her actions remind me of mother and her nature.
How an awkward summer breeze can bring the charm of relief.
With her hands flat against a wall,
cynically…always leery of the fall.

It is in her purposeful silence that she makes the greatest remark of all.
Arms wide open, her innocence so green.
Having sustained an ocean of gray…
Seemingly born to jump the waves.

These morning thoughts cannot be introduced to anyone but myself.
It is in her rare laugh that I, too, shine.
I am weathered with its glow.
Such as the unavoidable seasons.
In her earthy silent remarks…it is there I find reason.

to Listen…Again

It is so quiet on the hill.

You can hear the crickets yawn and the grasshoppers stretch.

The ravens above echo, silence, such a simple thing.

It is so quiet on the hill.

You can hear the squirrels chew and the chipmunks sigh.

It is in these moments, I learn to listen…again.

a Word about Disability

Christy Brown (5 June 1932 – 7 September 1981) was an Irish writer and painter who had cerebral palsy and was able to write or type only with the toes of one foot. His most recognized work is his autobiography, titled My Left Foot 

Part of the problem with the word ‘disabilities’ is that it immediately suggests an inability to see or hear or walk or do other things that many of us take for granted. But what of people who can’t feel? Or talk about their feelings? Or manage their feelings in constructive ways? What of people who aren’t able to form close and strong relationships? And people who cannot find fulfillment in their lives, or those who have lost hope, who live in disappointment and bitterness and find in life no joy, no love? These, it seems to me, are the real disabilities. @mr.rogers

Kristiana Reed’s pre-print review of SMITTEN

Too often we sideline LGBTQ+ work as a genre of its own, when it should be mainstream; literary works which are written by people to be enjoyed by people, no matter what their race, sexuality, gender and/or religion.

TheFeatheredSleep

Thank you to the incredible Kristiana Reed for this advance review of SMITTEN, Indie Blu(e)’s latest poetry anthology which will be published this Fall. 

Candice Daquin and the editors at Indie Blu(e) Publishing have worked their magic once more in raising a powerful chorus of voices.

Daquin is a woman who has always sought to empower others from the first moment I became acquainted with her work and her nature. I also cannot think of a better person and writer to spearhead a body of work which celebrates love between two women. 

The writers and styles within this collection, which Daquin has woven seamlessly together, are varied – eclectic and powerful yet with the same, strong undercurrent coursing through every piece that this is what love looks like.

It is possible people will read the sub-heading of SMITTEN and assume this is an exclusive collection; only accessible if you are woman…

View original post 315 more words

to Tinker and Wane

As the shade ebbs and flows.

Tinkers and wanes.

There is a playful game.

Herein lies the difference between the ground below.

And, the time that flies above.

So careful in its place…maple leaf on a breezy chase.

The punctured weeds…not a trace of milky embrace.

Cat O’ 9, growing tired from the punishment.

Resting wearily with the sun at its back.

Before the winds came there had been a pact.

Be small, be torn, but take heed of the facts.

There are no wars to be won…

surrounded by tinted glass.

Fife Farm, Franklin NH

Cherish the Dog

No one tells you how quickly dogs age. How one day you wake up and suddenly their face is all white, how their eyes start to seem more milky than yesterday, how you have to call their name a few more times than you used to.

People tell you not to blink when you have children, but what about the dog who was with you before your children were even thought of? The dog who was by your side before you found the love of your life, the dog who jumped from apartment to apartment in your early 20’s. No one tell’s you to cherish every moment you have with them.

Cherish the dog. The one who’s been there through every break up and every dumb fight with your best friend. That dog who slept in bed with you when lonely and made you feel safe when you left home. Cherish him, because one day you’ll take him on a walk and he’ll start to get tired before you and you’ll realize just how many years he has been walking by your side.

Placating the Darkness

Waiting for the sun…on an overcast day.

Hoping to keep the monsters at bay.

Walking from room to vacant room…

only seduces my plight.

The smattering of charcoal clouds…black, gray butterflies…

Once I tailor my sight…

all that surrounds is placating…bright.

When Worlds Collide

the Beatles

Tell me true,

what is it that you feel?

Does a passerby…shower hurt your sense and sensibility?

Do the clouds above pad your nobility?

What a different world…when walking into someone else’s words.

Some spend a natural lifetime looking for answers.

Lifting every immobile boulder.

Each knowing in the precious present…what we get is older.

In the heart and the head.

In the lily and the pond.

In the here and beyond.

Dark as a Rose

A storm within a storm within a storm within a Rose

A lily without her pad…forever sinking

So, what is in a name Rosie?

With your whirlwind of violent voices…jading and shading your blood red petals

I hear your claim to be quite alright

But I see your thorns routinely sharpened…just out of spite

Requies-Cats

The great charm of cats is their rampant egotism, their devil-may-care attitude toward responsibility, their disinclination to earn an honest dollar. In a continent which screams neurotically about cooperation and the Golden Rule, cats are disdainful of everything but their immediate interests.

Bathsheba! to whom none ever said scat-No worthier a cat ever sat on a mat, or caught a rat! Requies-cat! John Whittier

Cemetery Vs. Graveyard

I love a good cemetery and/or graveyard.

I feel safe there.

Safer than with living beings.

FYI- The difference between a cemetery and a graveyard? A graveyard adjorns a church and a cemetery does not. Which means you can bury ashes in a cemetery…you cannot in a graveyard.

That Is Just the Way It Is?

‘that is just the way it is…’

I watch you say…through my native eyes

Just a private conversation with kindness and hate

How long before…

‘that is just the way it is…abates?’

A generous thief…this loathing

But when all is said and not done…

I say to hate, it does not pay to live like that…

With both feet in the past

Mother and Her Nature and Beauty

What beauty can be…

a lone mushroom

a barren tree

or some ragged weeds.

Mother and her nature do not judge my scars…

skinned lines that carried me so far.

Nor am I aware of discretions while I scamper towards her majesty.

….

I can stammer my words of poetry

often erratic

often loose like a noose.

Yet, Mother and her nature…decide my needs.

What It’s Like

Jethro: Claims to be a career criminal. Claims he’d rather freeze outside than to be back behind the wall. He is currently homeless.

We’ve all seen a man at the liquor store beggin’ for your change
The hair on his face is dirty, dreadlocked and full of mange
He asks a man for what he could spare with shame in his eyes
“Get a job, you fuckin’ slob” is all he replies

God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in his shoes
‘Cause then you really might know what it’s like to sing the blues
Then you really might know what it’s like
Then you really might know what it’s like
Then you really might know what it’s like
Then you really might know what it’s like

Mary got pregnant from a kid named Tom who said he was in love
He said, “Don’t worry about a thing, baby doll, I’m the man you’ve been dreamin’ of”
But three months later he say he won’t date her or return her calls
And she swear, “God damn if I find that man I’m cuttin’ off his balls”
And then she heads for the clinic and she gets some static walkin’ through the door
They call her a killer, and they call her a sinner, and they call her a whore

We’ve all seen a man at the liquor store beggin’ for your change
The hair on his face is dirty, dreadlocked and full of mange
He asks a man for what he could spare with shame in his eyes
“Get a job, you fuckin’ slob” is all he replies

……………….

I’ve seen a rich man beg
I’ve seen a good man sin
I’ve seen a tough man cry

I’ve seen a loser win
And a sad man grin
I heard an honest man lie

I’ve seen the good side of bad
And the down side of up
And everything between

I licked the silver spoon
Drank from the golden cup
Smoked the finest green

I stroked the fattest dimes
At least a couple of times
Before I broke their heart

You know where it ends
Yo, it usually depends
On where you start

I knew this kid named Max
He used to get fat stacks
Out on the corner with drugs

He liked to hang out late
He liked to get shit faced
And keep the pace with thugs

Until late one night
There was a big gun fight
Max lost his head

He pulled out his Chrome .45
Talked some shit
And wound up dead

And now his wife and his kids
Are caught in the midst
Of all of this pain

You know it comes that way
At least that’s what they say
When you play the game

God forbid you ever had to wake up to hear the news
‘Cause then you really might know what it’s like to have to lose
Then you really might know what it’s like

….. To have to lose… …..

Her own thirsty heart

So quiet instead we are, often falling in love and unable

to share this or speak of it, for it is forbidden. No one will

listen, or be interested, they do not understand our strange ways.

TheFeatheredSleep

photo of two women Photo by Mahrael Boutros on Pexels.com

But I am divided. In a way that is hard to shape into words.

For women who love women are often the rarest night birds.

Theirs is a love that does not come easily and for this reason, it takes a great deal to stay

Sure and certain on the rainbow path.

Sometimes I understand my bisexual sisters, who having had their love affair with the curves and softness of a woman

Return to their husbands in droves or pick out that wedding dress and let the man

carry them over the threshold.

For a woman to be loved by a woman may feel natural but many times it is a struggle

we have no rule book, we may both want to have the other carry us or hold us when

fear besets

and men are so good at being heroes

and women are…

View original post 772 more words

Poets of SMITTEN speak: Amie Campbell

After coming of age in a conservative Christian environment, Amie Campbell didn’t come fully into herself until she found herself turning thirty, getting divorced, and raising two small children. It was then that she accepted that her love was not limited to one gender and she allowed herself to fall head over heels for a beautiful woman, thinking it would last forever.

TheFeatheredSleep

After coming of age in a conservative Christian environment, Amie Campbell didn’t come fully into herself until she found herself turning thirty, getting divorced, and raising two small children. It was then that she accepted that her love was not limited to one gender and she allowed herself to fall head over heels for a beautiful woman, thinking it would last forever.

Have you ever been SMITTEN and if so, do you feel it’s possible to summarize those feelings in poetry?

I think “smitten” is my most common state of being. It’s probably my favorite emotional state. Life just feels good when you’re smitten. It’s such an optimistic and curious state of being. I don’t know that it is possible to summarize those feelings in poetry, but rather a poem can give you a little glimpse into that very special state of being.

What does it mean to you to be…

View original post 354 more words