Hello all. This page will be a place where you can read some of the creative writing I’ve done. (Well, I hope all my writing is creative, but you know what I mean.) I’ll be sharing some of my poetry, like I promised way back on my ‘About’ page, and possibly publish some short stories here as well. Some of this is from very dark times in my life, some is silly, some is random, some is victorious. Check it out and enjoy!
(Note: if you are searching for the Class Reunion poem, it is all the way at the bottom of the page. Thanks)
ROAR, and Other Works:
I am fierce woman.
Hear my Roar.
Fierce woman tryin’ keep the wolf from the door.
Fierce woman cry in her bed at night.
Her babies don’t feel like she love them right.
Fierce woman fight to keep food on the shelf.
Fierce woman fight to learn to love herself.
Fierce woman keep tryin’ do what’s right.
Fierce woman never gon’ give up the fight.
Can I get a amen?
DD- 9-23-09 10:14 pm
A dream to see,
a world awaiting-
and icy cliffs
and frontier dreams.
My heart cries “Alaska!”
with every beat.
and blackest night
and opaline jewel skies
call out in ever-rising
volume and chorus.
An unknown world
beckons me home.
My heart cries “Alaska!”
with every beat.
DD 7-25-05, 10:21 pm
Eagle in flight,
caught in a gust.
Jerking, buffeted, gliding
blown at will
not his own.
over a decided path
No distance gained
Nothing left in a wake.
around and around-ish,
tipping wings like a balancing act.
Too tired or weak
or just unwilling
to fight the gust
DD 9-23-09 10:30 pm
jog in place
shake those fingers out.
In the blocks,
on the mark,
Back to one.
sends the runner off again.
Clear a hurdle,
an ankle caves,
Roll in pain
across the track
and get up again.
returns and wains.
The race don’t stop.
It’s a marathon,
not a sprint.
DD 9-23-09 10:43 PM
Roaming through the countryside,
Acres of parched fields,
Or lush green crops proudly thriving,
Somebody’s sweat and blood and tears.
The world is quiet
Until history begins to speak to you.
For everywhere you look,
The past comes alive.
From the gnarled tree-branch fence posts,
Since some sturdy old farmer put them there,
To the gray, abandoned shacks
Along the way,
Each with its peekaboo roof and sagging porch
Ever so slowly disintegrating
With the passage of time.
Once someone’s pride and joy,
Perhaps the culmination of their dreams.
Rows of ancient cars and trucks,
Fine old machines from an era gone by,
Where young men on back roads tested their fates
And young ladies in back seats determined theirs,
Now reduced to rusted out shells.
The world as it once was
Stirs, gives itself a shake,
And comes forward to greet you.
DD 8-9-02 6:10 pm
Have and HoldHave you ever loved?Really loved?*Have you ever wanted someone’s heartso deeply it took your breath away?*Have you thought maybeyou could fight anything in the worldIf only your head were on his shoulder at night?*Have you ever had a stomach full of butterfliesat the mention of a name?*Have you ever adored someone’ssilly faces, goofy voices, corny jokes and stupid punsso much it made you ache?**Hold tight.Hold onto faith.Hold your course.Hold his hand in friendship.Hold your heart in readinessto accept whatever comes.Hold him in daily prayerthat he will be happy above all else.And hold your head highno matter where the path leads.DD8-27-135:08 pm
Actor, I see your face.
As hard as you try,
your skills aren’t sharp enough
to hide your pain.
I see you,
a man spread so paper thin
we can see sunlight through you.
I know a hint of your story,
but nowhere near the whole.
I know the things you don’t say,
that the forces you struggle and fight against
often swallow you alive.
And it takes all your considerable strength
to climb out again.
In some ways,
I have been there.
How I wish I could be the one
to reach a hand down to you
And pull you up into the light.
**Amazing Grace In Chickasaw**
Out of the silence
a driving beat
eases into perception.
A gentle drumming,
a rattle of shaken bells.
I am overcome
by the urge to be dancing
on the crest of a hill in the sun.
Radiant warmth caressing my face,
Arms spread wide, hands to the sky,
Embracing the earth.
Softly blown grasses brush my skin,
Feet pounding in time,
Spinning and Spinning
Like the Mother in her endless path.
and filled with Bliss.
May-December*Woman and ManAt once perfectly matchedAnd haphazardly mismatched.Flying in the face of tradition,Years of lonely, secret, private passionsRestrained by boundaries, societies, rules.His twinkling eyes, with their years of travelled roads,See straight through her fears and doubts,Through her self-imposed walls of image and body,Clear down to her hungry, craving soul.With nothing to lose, He guides her,heart and mind and body,To greater understanding, Experience unimagined.She is no innocent…But cradled in his strong arms,Under his scarred, time-worn hands,She finally is born, and he re-born,And in an explosion of desire,They are finally both aliveDD8-21-13 2:30 pm
ForbiddenFlying imageslike a high-speed slideshow:Lips touching, hands groping,breath comes in ragged gasps.Dark shadows in every corner.Fabric tearsand sweat trickles in salty dropsof Wrong.Pounding heartsloud in the silence,like the Courtroom Gavel coming downin Sentence upon The Act.Eyes lock on one anotherand flash with wicked delight.There is no hesitation,There is only desire,super-heated to the melting point,and the thrusting, sliding gyrationsof a world gone mad.DD8-26-13 12:30 PM
Why does my stomach turn
Into a butterfly garden when I
Look into your eyes?
Laughing with you
Is more fun than I’ve had in ages.
All I can think is
Maybe you like me too.
Countless hours I’ve spent wondering
How I could tell you what I feel.
All the moments we’ve shared,
Leaving you behind will be so hard.
Even though we’ll see each other again someday.
DD 7-17-13 12:50 PM
Under a table hides a young boy,
battered and beaten a broken toy.
Across the room a mama cries,
the hurting, the hitting, the pain in her eyes.
Between the two survives a bond
for love and forgiveness to build upon.
Around them both the empty walls
the echoing silence, the desolate halls.
Beside the chair where the mama weeps,
a bottle of medicine that helps her sleep.
Nights stretch endless when she can’t NOT think.
In desperation she picks up a drink.
And in the morning her little son begs
for biscuits and gravy or bacon and eggs.
Behind the fridge door there’s nothing he wants.
His hungry eyes taunt her, his wailing voice haunts.
Until she can’t take it, endurance worn thin,
her hand lands the blows again and again.
He runs for a safe place. She drops into a chair.
Again her heart shatters for the pain they both bear.
Desperate to hold him, she calls to her boy
hiding under the table, like a broken toy.
But he follows her voice and she clasps his small form
and clings to her child, a lifeline in a storm.
Through tears she says she’s sorry and that she loves him so.
He snuggles closer to her and says, “Mommy, I know.”
DD: 08/23/11 9:07am
Growing for years,
Beginning to be established.
Life is the Ultimate Gardener.
I am Cut Down and Brutalized.
I am nothing but a Stump.
But after successive Springs
gradually New Shoots grow.
New leaves to disguise
A little guidance; I am Wired.
I am smaller.
A more compact version
of what I was.
But more deliberately shaped
I am an Art Form.
8-11-10 10:35 a.m.
July 25, 2010 at 1:06 pm
Hello all. It’s been a long time since I posted any poetry, but since I was digging through boxes and files and folders searching for the poem I wrote for my last class reunion, (and found it, thank you) I thought I would post some of what I found. A couple of notes: 1) most of this stuff is several years old, written around the time of my separation from my first husband. I was suffering. I was depressed. This is dark stuff. And 2) That’s pretty much it. So here is some of my poetry. To be followed by more poetry later.
Kick me and scream me.
And bash against the wall me.
Cry me and Sorrow me.
Take a moment me.
Breathe deep me.
Sigh me and shrug me.
And get up and keep going me.
DD- 8-31-04, 10:33 pm
the world is spinning.
Outwardly, though maybe grinning,
Behind curtains now beginning
struggle, and despair is winning.
and madness growing.
Outward, sanity only showing.
Behind curtains, only knowing:
Time is short, and must be going.
Fall back and wait,
crumple and regurgitate.
Kneeling, wait the blow of fate,
and dying, rot and dissipate.
DD- 4-29-02, 10:55 am
Storm In a Box
Why can’t I
just throw a good old fashioned
Throw myself on the floor,
Cry and kick and scream
Until I am spent
And my pain is gone
And I can just be joyful.
I feel it inside
welling up from every cell,
a dam about to break,
building like a storm cloud
Forever trapped inside
a glass box.
Behind the pane
the gray skies boil and stir.
The lightning strikes
and the clouds pour,
but it is neatly contained.
Maybe if the glass box breaks,
the storm will dissipate,
dissolve away and disappear
on a gentle breeze.
The storm will be gone
but it will be too late
for the box.
DD- 3-6-03 10:10 am
Wrong again. Deceived by drinking in
Poisonous liquid lies.
Wake to the shaky, queasy light of day
and it always tells the truth:
You fought and you lost-
You tried but you failed-
You looked but didn’t see-
You chased but never caught-
=your constant despair.
=to forget it all.
=what’s brutally real.
=a brief moment of peace.
DD 9-21-02 10:10 AM
July 25, 2010 at 1:32 pm e
Hello all. Again. Here is a sampling of my lighter, more random poetry. Some of these, the copy I’m typing from didn’t have the dates or times on them, so they are not certain. Some of this may not fit some people’s concept of poetry, but to me, it is. Thanks for reading.*
It’s going to be warm tomorrow.
First instinct is to dread.
Would cold not be
just as uncomfortable?
Is sweating more loathesome
Heatstroke or hypothermia?
Sunburn or frostbite?
See- both have
good points and bad points.
It’s going to be warm tomorrow.
DD 10-1-02, 11:20 pm
Purge the pain.
Words flow and mix
like blood in water.
Falling with painful cries
onto the page.
Pulling the plug with them,
bringing joyful release.
Confusion and madness
The pride is ecstasy!
The creation clear
Only to the Creator.
And only halfway healing.
But words have only just begun
to fall into their place.
Oh, if only it were possible
To bow down to oneself,
To worship the Gift
Exalt the words
And lift them up for all to see.
A Productive Day and Its After-effect
Cruising down the highway
from Depressive to Manic,
I hit a pothole.
I bounced up out of my seat
and into reality; a brief detour in which I
actually accomplished a thing or two.
But the thing about bouncing
is that what goes up
must come down.
At least that’s how it usually goes.
But tonight in a caffeine driven frenzy
the bounce from the pothole
just goes up and up and up and up
and soon I’m thinking in fast forward
and my car took off without me
and tomorrow I will be roadkill.
DD 8-26-02, 11:11 pm
I sit here,
fingertips on the keys,
eyes closed, head bowed,
pray for words to come.
Lift my face to heaven,
wait to feel a sensation
of being lifted.
Do I rise?
(As Maya says)
Do I float into the sky and soar
or do I feel
ever more intensely
pulling down on me?
I WANT so much!
for what I do not have,
for what I had
upon a time.
For what I think I want,
for what I may never
have and hold.
tentacles of prayer
extending from my body,
snaking out into the room,
climbing the walls like ivy.
Are they strong enough
to hold me up
if I try to climb along with them?
Maybe It’s Monday
When you can’t get a kid to get off the bed,
when you can’t find a shoe or a sock,
when the windshield is frosted and the steering is dead,
and the bread is as hard as a rock,
when the cereal’s gone and the milk’s gone too,
when the cat leaves a mess on the floor,
when it’s 8:25 and it’s time to be there
and the kids are just now out the door,
and friends need some money and cars need gas
and your sleepy and tired off your..
well, you know.
Odds are there’s one simple reason for this,
why everything turns out this way.
It may be your luck or it may just be fate,
but more likely, maybe it’s MONDAY!!
After a Day Saturated with Anna
(About pop artist Anna Nalick)
Why is it so late
I’m wide awake
there’s no mistaking
I’ve got something to say.
But who to say it to,
what to do
when all you want to do
All these voices in my head,
my own words are coming,
still I’m humming
Muttering the things
another more successful
songbird already said.
So how do I
compete or fill a
sheet of paper
How do I, like she did
make a poem-song
so full of bounce and
every ounce is full
I’d better shut her down
before her voice becomes
my own- her sounds
all around and
instead of my strength,
my weakness is all I’ve shown.
A new season starts
and new words fill my heart
and it’s a mess
and a stress and a race
to express them
before they’re gone again.
DD- 4-28-05, 11:48pm
Yup, it’s instant alright.
Folgers Straight-Up Latte
Infuses the veins with awakeness
Before the mug is empty.
When that water
goes into the microwave
You’re a human slug.
You could walk into a wall
and not realize it.
Pour the water
Watch the swirling foam
Pray that the caffeine
isn’t past its prime.
Sip it slowly. Wait for the rush.
August 25, 2010 at 10:05 am e
Hello all. More poetry:
I wanna be cruisin the strip,
watch the lights blur by on either side
not knowin where I’m goin
just feelin the sensation.
I wanna be strokin in the ocean
muscles screaming for oxygen
salt in my face, goin no place
out of the place I’m stuck in
on to a new day, Oh somehow
lookin for a new way to be
I wanna be screamin down a mountain
bitter cold air bitin’ me
hittin bumps at full throttle
think I oughta slow down but no
I gotta keep movin forward.
If I’m not movin forward
I’m either standing still or moving back
That ain’t gonna cut it,
can’t hack it, gonna crack
If I’m not moving forward.
1-10-05…. 4:15 pm
**Bubblebath In Candlelight**
of this harebrained scheme
was not as graceful as I had planned.
I got the bubbles,
I got the candles and the sponge.
Had to go back for the matches,
Had to go back for the towel.
But finally got all assembled.
Finally the water runs.
The candle flames dance
and cast uncertain shadows.
The steam rises,
the lovely scent of the bubbles
fills the darkened room.
I began this venture
with thoughts of a long, warm, leisurely soak.
But it didn’t work out that way.
It would have been so nice
to be able to bathe comfortably.
Not to sit and listen to
water splooching and sloshing
this way and that, every time I move.
To not step into ankle deep water
and sit down
and voila!- it’s almost to the top!
So I got out quickly.
The water cooled too fast.
I was chilled and wet. I was cramped.
I did not feel graceful.
I did not feel pampered.
Or revitalized or refreshed.
I felt irritated
and discouraged and hopeless.
**Rambling Curiosity About an Unknown Man**
What’s behind those eyes?
What’s behind that wry smirk?
Is it his pride that I made the connection,
Or is it him laughing at me?
What makes him tick,
what lofty, unattainable genius
flies through that dark head?
What does he think
and why does he think it?
What does he care about,
and what makes him happy?
And what is he like in bed?
Does he kiss goodnight, or does he roll over
and start snoring?
If we took a trip together,
would he pack light,
or would he take everything
but the kitchen sink?
And speaking of sinks,
does he leave his whiskers
in the sink when he shaves
and let them get stuck there for days?
Or does he clean them out
and leave the sink all nice and clean
and put the cap back on the toothpaste?
And is he the type
who brings roses for no special reason?
Or does he send a hastily scrawled card
on birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentine’s Day?
Or does he forget such occasions altogether?
What kind of car does he drive?
A guy’s car can tell you all you need to know.
Is it all nice and clean,
buffed and polished to a shine,
Or is it muddy and dirty,
a true Trashmobile?
Shiny is good.
As long as he doesn’t kiss IT goodnight.
I use it
to define myself,
but it has no definition
of its own. It is what it is.
What do poetry and porn
have in common?
You know it when you see it
even if you don’t understand it.
Words call. Words soothe.
Words feel. Words cry.
While we are
Struggling, staggering, grasping,
searching in the endless nothing
for some sense of brotherhood.
Universality of experience. Is it out there?
Is there another pondering
my same problems,
Crying my same tears?
Is another in my same boat?
Will we ever meet, and ponder, cry, and drift
What will happen to the words?
Solve the problems, dry the tears,
bring the boat in to land.
If we ever do, will we end?
is out to get me.
At least sometimes.
I have to blame
Because I can’t blame God.
But just sometimes
I am a visitor to a zoo
on my placid tour
under the sun,
I lose my way between
the pachyderms and the parrots,
but when I get to the primates-
the Universe is there.
It’s a monkey dancing,
flipping the bird and throwing its shit.
**From the Rooftop**
in the center of a soul.
Close my eyes
and jump into the light.
Crash through the sky
and fall out of it.
Ride the roller coaster,
screaming the sound of pain.
Falling, fading, the sound and the life.
Shatter on the sidewalk.
Light a candle
in the name of the Question Why?
Maybe I’m a little bit crazy-
All I know is I think about you.
Realistically there’s little chance.
Knifelike the knowledge pierces.
But I believe in possibility.
Even though our stars are crossed,
Never say never.
Crazier things have happened.
Even to those who have given up.
11-23-05…………. 12:50 pm
How can it be fair you stand before me,
teacher, with your quiet, mild authority?
Something in you calls out and intrigues me,
makes me want to know you as a man.
Little though I know about your history,
loves and likes and dislikes still a mystery,
still I know enough to wonder endlessly
what would happen if we were to dance?
Holding me that closely would you realize
how my heartbeat races when I meet your eyes?
Under that austere exterior, what lies?
Mysteries whose answers I must know.
Every passing day I find just that much more,
see more things in you that I adore,
wondering will there ever be an open door
I’ll walk through and meet you on the other side?
I hope you enjoy this section of my poetry. It comes from different times, different stages of my life. These selections were picked to showcase the variety of my poetry, especially as compared with the much darker mood of the previous selection.
Thanks so much for reading!
Until next time,
Chaos is building inside me again
as all the parts of my world
start to bounce against each other
and increase their motion
like some out-of-control science experiment.
They generate the low hum I hear inside me-
the sound of the Universe
blowing against my nerves, already taut,
playing a song without words.
Electric surges charge through my spine
like a fuse toward the powder.
If I were a rocket, I’d be orbit-bound by now.
But the fuse goes on and on and on
I’m not a rocket.
Just a power station.
An inescapable urge
to fling headlong
into the muddy pit
and indulge in sensation.
Scoop up handfuls
of pain and sadness
and smear it on
and let it dry
and sit alone wailing
and never climb out again.
“Only To God”
What becomes of a people
whom tragedy befalls?
Where do they direct their monumental rage?
For fiery words and pounding fists
can never restore what was lost.
And where do they turn
for relief from sorrow, for balm of pain,
for even a moment’s peace?
When flowery words and philosophies
can never restore what is gone.
What becomes of a country
whose shores are invaded
by numerous enemies, hideous and hidden?
Where do they direct their revenge?
For flying missiles and political posturing
can never restore lost innocence.
And where do they turn
in their search for justice, to punish the evildoers,
when all the blood they can shed
will never be enough?
9/13/01 —————— 10:02 a.m.
“Somebody Prayed for You”
I was driving alone down a quiet street.
A school bus stopped at the corner of 8th and D.
The driver opened the folding door
and kids got off in groups of two or three.
Not paying much attention at first,
the last one down the steps I happened to see.
A little awkward, a little chubby and all alone,
and I saw that she was crying
as she walked slowly home.
Tears came to my own eyes
when I saw her wipe hear tears from her face
as she struggled with her backpack
and band instrument case.
I recognized that grief,
coming from a place too deep to name.
I wondered who or what caused all that pain.
And really I guess I’ll never know,
but her image will stay burned into my brain.
She never had a clue. She’ll never know
a stranger saw and shared in her sorrow.
I never saw her again after that.
I watched for her on each school bus I passed.
If I should meet her I know what I’d say:
Little Girl, somebody prayed for you that day!
11-6-02 ————————– 10:35 pm
Words are flowing.
Images fill my mind
and slide under my fingertips.
I caress the syllables,
like a tender but experienced lover.
They grow more insistent
as my pen thrusts ahead to keep up.
The waves of creation
wash over me.
I feel it in my deepest places.
The lines of ink erupt from my soul
like sweet bliss
And sometimes, when at last,
the poem is on the page,
I need a cigarette.
It was that good.
so awkward, so slow
The desire is there,
but nothing is easy, nothing feels right.
Finally a few words are written,
but no pleasure. No satisfaction.
Like ‘doing yourself’ alone
on a Saturday night.
4-21-05 11:45 pm
Cold white ice
stretches out all around.
A shining silver blade
slashes, slices, slides.
spins through the air,
As always, thank you for sharing my poetry with me.
Until next time,
September 1, 2010 at 9:52 am
Hello all. More poetry. I talked about it in today’s blog entry, but I’ll say again, it’s dark but heartfelt. Thank God most of it comes from a long time ago. Enjoy!!!
– “When I Close My Eyes”–
Black waves crashing.
Bloody rag doll
tossed upon their crests.
and icy needle rain.
struggling up again.
Frantic fingers grasp
in all directions
sobbing for solidity
screaming for safety.
Where is the slimy
Or better still,
the rocky, shell-strewn shore?
Right now I feel like giving in.
I want to rip my life in half
and start again.
I want to get staggering drunk,
feel the fire burn to the deepest core
and vomit up all the pain
I never knew I felt before.
I want to bang my head
against the wall until it bleeds
I want to feel the blood
run in my eyes
and blind me
to what I don’t want to see.
I want to feel my fingernails
clawing my face to the bone
so the blackness has a way
to get the hell out and leave me alone.
Rip my skin and leave a jagged edge
Rub salt in the wound
so the agony is more fierce.
The pain, assaulting my consciousness,
Begging for the final release,
and am at peace.
– “Inner Conflict”–
My broken heart
just wants to hate you.
My mind says
this was all for the best.
My lonely hands
just want to reach out
and touch your face.
My soul knows
I have to let it rest.
My spirit is at war
Love and longing
fighting against knowledge.
Love wants to keep fighting,
keep struggling, never let go.
it is too late
and there is nothing left now
to fight for.
But haven’t I read somewhere
that love never fails?
6-23-03———— 10:10 pm
Deep in a Dank, Dark, Dreary, and Damnable mood,
Depression & Despair Dive Deftly to the Depths of the soul.
Daylight Dawns. Depression does not Dwindle.
Despair Deems Death the Decisive and Definitive cure.
7-4-96—— 7:00 pm
I am a drum
Everything I see
and feel and think
and hear and know
is a stick
with a heavy head
beating a rhythm on me.
Just a demonstration
of the emptiness inside.
9-3-03——- 9:57 am
and pulsing grey matter.
These do not define
So desperate for life,
searching, lost and lonely,
watching as it goes by,
wondering why I fail at living.
fighting to draw in
a breath of alive-ness.
But only in my mind.
It’s not strong enough
to make my body
move those movements.
My body’s lying
in the recliner.
and eating uncontrollably,
hand to mouth.
Click, clicker, click.
gaze at a field of dots
as brain cells drop off
in ever-increasing numbers.
And the puddle of my soul and spirit
dries up, cracks,
and blows away
on the desolate wind of my apathy.
8-22-02——— 11:45 pm
–”Reach Through My Tears”–
through a hazy mist,
hold me tight enough
to reach through my tears
and tell me I am loved.
Carry me from grief
to numb, forgetful laughter,
and then to passion.
Emotion is there,
for a moment- we
love and are loved.
But we are full of lies.
Our shallow desires
laugh in our faces
and tell us we are fools
and we are only
prolonging the pain.
11-02-02———————- 2:35 am
–”Trivial Poetry of a Defeated Soul–
The house is a mess:
I am depressed.
I feel like giving in.
The kids don’t mind.
I’m falling behind.
There’s just no way to win.
I stare at the wall
as teardrops fall,
or threaten to, anyway.
I think about things
and my phone never rings.
What else is there to say?
I try to sleep.
It’s that or weep.
But sooner or later I wake.
I’m caught in a trap,
my life is all crap.
How much more can I take?
7-19-02—————- 8:35 pm
– “Once and Now”–
Once withered, withdrawn,
brown and dying.
Once sunken low and irretrievable.
Once torn and riddled with holes.
Once starved for life, purple and blue and gasping
and sinking and grasping.
Now thriving green, now blooming in a rush of sun.
Now gliding under full sail over cresting waves.
Now new and whole, fresh and waiting.
Now filling with new words, line after line.
Now floating, re-inflated, rising unchecked
through cloudless skies.
Now pinking up and breathing strong.
but with Purpose, not with Desperation.
This last poem was the final poem I wrote for my creative writing class at Southeastern. Each couplet after the first stanza is describing the students in the class with me and the kinds of things they wrote about.
“To Remember You”
Aspirations I had
to write a final farewell
to the pulsing poet-spirits
I have lately created.
The scribe of mist-filled image-dreams,
poet of rocky shores and old cars.
The commentator on things political, spiritual,
poet of devils and deities.
The soft-spoken country preacher,
poet of punks and lessons on Moses.
Spunky, truck-stop waitress type,
poet of goddesses and potato chips.
The slave-heir seductress, woman-child,
raucous, laughing poet of passions.
The poet of everydays,
of sunny pasts, of mossy banks, and Disney doldrums.
The boy next door, poet of identity search,
advocate of individuality, is not your average sheep.
Introspective, analytical, only periodically present-
poet of quiet self, driving, winds, computer screens.
Feisty Firecracker of Experience,
poet of Everything from taxes to tea parties.
And the head Barracuda,
not barracuda-like, rather a cat.
Walks on slow cat feet, purring his “comments…”
poet of Something not usually clear-
Feline humor sneaks up and pounces when least expected.
This gathering of Pilgrim poets,
our journey to better than before,
Thanks for reading. I promise to go find some earlier, lighter stuff for my next post.
Until next time,
Watching the time,
knowing you’ll be clocking out soon.
Wondering if I’ll be on your mind
enough for you to text me.
Wishing I didn’t realize
you’re on my mind
More than I’m on yours.
But I can’t seem to stop.
Thinking of you
dreaming of possibilities far ahead
Hoping that maybe
possibility will be come reality.
Knowing it’s perilous
to let my heart get so involved.
Praying that I don’t get hurt
and knowing if I do…
It will be mostly my own fault.
Trying not to think of you
I look at your photos instead.
I see you
at a time in your life when
you were young and full of passion,
a place where you were full of life,
when you were doing what you loved.
I see the time gone by in your eyes.
I wonder where your road leads,
and try to imagine
if it might be my road too.
Tonight we celebrate a time when our tomorrows outnumbered our yesterdays,
When dreams and hopes, plans and ambitions all lay ahead of us, ours for the taking.
We remember moments. That big touchdown, that homecoming crown,
That final grade, that first big date, and all that they made us feel.
Back then everything was bigger than life.
Every joy, every sorrow, every love, every hate, every thought and fear,
was the defining moment of our existence.
Remembered through the mist of passing time,
Very little seems to have been so crucial as we thought.
Disappointments we thought would crush us then, seem humorous and trivial now.
Happiness we thought could never be surpassed was only the beginning.
Ten (20) years gone past, in some ways the blink of an eye.
In some ways they seem a lifetime.
Tonight we catch a glimpse of ourselves as were were then-
The brain, the jock, the homecoming queen, the lonely outcast and the center of attention.
Some were on top of the world, some foundering hopelessly lost.
Ever wonder which ones were which?
Yet all of us have found our way to this time and place.
We’re smiling, we’re laughing, looking back, looking forward.
We know so much more than we did then. And so much less than we thought.
We are so different, and so much the same.
But whether we run a bank or a Burger King,
Balance payrolls or checkbooks,
Perform brain surgery or kiss babies’ skinned knees,
Chase hardened criminals or sticky-fingered toddlers,
Reach the medal podium or sweep the floors,
We all share a special past. We hope for a happy future.
We steer our ships toward our own horizons.
And our tomorrows still outnumber our yesterdays.
D.D.- June, 2000
Here is the companion piece to the above poem- the poem I wrote AFTER my 20-year class reunion:
Seeing Classmates After 20 Years
Staring in the mirror-
search deep in the reflection
in front of me.
Trying to understand myself,
wondering if I see what the others see.
Am I beautiful or ugly?
Am I brave or courageous or strong?
Do I inspire? Do I uplift?
Am I getting it all right or getting it wrong?
Searching myself and questioning,
Where is this journey taking me?
Do others see the work I’m putting in
to get to a place where I’m not faking me?
I look in the mirror again,
for the first time resist the urge to criticize.
I see beauty and strength and amazingness,
and self-approval shining in my eyes.
DB- 9-18-10 — 10:13 a.m.