OctPoWriMo Week Two Round Up

This week has been tiring. Not in terms of writing, but in the real world. Where I work and live and sleep. If only it were all digital, but alas I exist. Flesh and mind and all. So I’ve been behind in both writing and posting poems for a couple …

OctPoWriMo – Week One Round Up

OctPoWriMo stands for October Poetry Writing Month. The challenge is to write 31 poems in 31 days and is an off-shoot to NaPoWriMo in April created by Morgan Dragonwillow in 2012. I do both challenges most years depending on the circumstances. There are no real rules, just write 31 poems …

Poetry: I Say

I say crying is good for you a release of endorphins your mind and body sorely needs. It’s a lie. Crying hurts, his now more than mine, every tiny tear stings, and my head hurts and hear aches as if I were crying, same as when I am crying. With …

Poem: Discoveries

Discoveries I discover pieces over myself all over the place and time is taken to find all the words to explain it all. Those words are mine however for my understanding. I would be something non-existent if I must. Words are feelings to me but may not be to you …

Poem: Affirmation

I touch smooth skin and soft hair – whatever I can reach – in reassurance of his existence. As if my vision is a lie my other senses in denial. My boy, smiles, and so do I, following the rise and dip of each vertebra holding him together. As he …

Poet Vs Writer

I’ve been watching an argument (debate does not cover it) in a writing facebook group I’m a member of about why poets call themselves writers. At first, I found this really insulting. While I don’t think the original poster meant to insult any poets in the group, he didn’t do …

Poem: Summer Soundtrack

I remember a good summer bright with promise, crushes and sex, my memory nebulous a floating soundtrack to the sun. If only I could remember more. Not every winter was barren, not every summer bright, it’s on the edge of something wonderful an awakening of senses delightful and distressing all …

Poem: Pluck

I haven’t quite decided what they tell me is true pluck away one by one and leave me hanging by my bones my soul scoured clean and raw by every touch. Probably should’ve listened but here I am all the same We are here all the same put off for …

Poem: Aniseed Dreams

Sometimes all we have are dreams like aniseed a strange moment we can’t quite identify. Or enjoy. I breathe in stale air sleep on sheets rucked up beneath me wake to lines imprinted on slack skin. I twist into them sweet and bitter dreams that go together better than I …