Posts Tagged ‘aprpad’


Posted: April 30, 2011 in My Poetry
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When I depart
this rigid life,
with all its inhibitions,
I expect to be
pure energy.

A source of solace
for those left behind,
a friend to those
who preceded.

I don’t expect a harp
and wings
or golden gates above,
just a jubilant hue
on the wheel of life;

a color with no name.



Posted: April 28, 2011 in My Poetry
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Stars pin
the night sky in place,
give lovers
something to wish on.

Dark sky without stars
would always be rainy.
The moon crying
all night,
every night,
inconsolable; lonely.

Humans would blunder
through the dark,
looking for some
kind of guidance.

Even on cloudy nights,
we know that stars
wait behind the curtains.

No milky way,
no twinkling treasure,
no signposts
for sailors lost at sea.

Nothing to reach for.

© Coin and Feather Press

Is it possible
to become
after all this time
as a beast?

Learn to walk
with crooked tongue.

Can I forgive
and forget,
move on
with my life;

to stand tall
in ill-fitting shoes,
wearing the garb
of a traitor?

Or am I condemned
to run
through grass so tall
it hides
what I really am;

makes me look
almost real?

Stand casual,
beside humans
Compare myself
to them.

I am full.
They are hollow.

We are different

Springtime in the Rockies

Posted: April 26, 2011 in My Poetry
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Clouds chase each other
across dark sky,
playing follow the leader.

It is quiet in this hollow
between raindrops
and snow.

Long grass
tries to hide
dandelion riot.

The willow tree lies broken;
too much snow
on budding branches.

Stubborn clench
of winter,
has yet to loose its hold.

Easy Does It

Posted: April 25, 2011 in My Poetry
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Falling in love
is easy,
like falling
from a swing.

The hard part
is to stay
in love
when it takes

Fishing for Answers

Posted: April 24, 2011 in My Poetry
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Throw thoughts
out into wide silence;
wait for some sort of response.


feels like fishing
but what you reel in
doesn’t squirm or gasp;

lays quietly
a gift,
all yours,
to keep or
to release.

In the casual flick
of an ash,

bright gleam
of flame,

lie hate
and anger.

to my body
I’d do anyway
by other means.

Mesmerizing glow
even my lifelong desire
to hurt myself:

mark permanently
into my skin,
all the feelings
I can’t express.

So I inhale
and exhale,
knowing each
is a death sentence

for an asthmatic,
already struggling
to breathe –
to live life
like a human.

I no longer
staple my skin
leaving bloody marks
like fangs.

I don’t burn
or cut,
but I smoke
for the same reason.

The ash
I contemplate
will be the drug
that kills me

Why Be Bukowski?

Posted: April 23, 2011 in My Poetry
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Who cares about

A lot of people do –
Try to emulate
and fail.

Good old Charlie
had his own voice.

Every poet should.

Think Again

Posted: April 21, 2011 in My Poetry
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Second guess
your first thought,
then third guess
your second.

Flip flop
back and forth
until your brain’s
a pretzel or you
no longer care.

Pick a thought,
any thought,
and go on
from there.

Re: Your Message

Posted: April 21, 2011 in My Poetry
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I found your bottle
late last week,
and wanted to respond.

I fear
I won’t be much help.
I’m on an island
of my own.

Please excuse
me writing
on the back
of your S.O.S.
but I wound up here
with no paper,
bottle, cork or ink.

The blood
I write with
is my own.
I have plenty
to spare.

Do the stars
shine for you
like they do for me?
Rolling surf
sings me to sleep.

I am happy

I hope this bottle
finds you well,
so you can try again.

Sincerely yours,
Miss Anthropy