The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

My Poetry and Fiction May 12, 2010

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


Frontier Dreams

A dream to see,

a world awaiting-

Solemn peaks

and icy cliffs

and frontier dreams.

My heart cries “Alaska!”

with every beat.

Golden sun

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


The Flight

Eagle in flight,

wings spread,

caught in a gust.

Jerking, buffeted, gliding

blown at will

not his own.

No progress

over a decided path

No distance gained

Nothing left in a wake.

Random circles,

up-ish, down-ish

around and around-ish,

tipping wings like a balancing act.

Too tired or weak

or just unwilling

to fight the gust

and fly.

DD  9-23-09 10:30 pm



Warming up,

jog in place

shake those fingers out.

In the blocks,

on the mark,

FALSE start.

Back to one.

Starter’s gun

sends the runner off again.

Clear a hurdle,

an ankle caves,

a knee.

Roll in pain

across the track

and get up again.

Stamina fades,

returns and wains.

Pounding feet

continue down

the stretch.

The race don’t stop.

It’s a marathon,

not a sprint.

DD  9-23-09 10:43 PM


Road Trip

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,

Standing faithfully

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 Hold
Have you ever loved?
Really loved?
Have you ever wanted someone’s heart
so deeply it took your breath away?
Have you thought maybe
you could fight anything in the world
If only your head were on his shoulder at night?
Have you ever had a stomach full of butterflies
at the mention of a name?
Have you ever adored someone’s
silly faces, goofy voices, corny jokes and stupid puns
so much it made you ache?
Hold tight.
Hold onto faith.
Hold your course.
Hold his hand in friendship.
Hold your heart in readiness
to accept whatever comes.
Hold him in daily prayer
that he will be happy above all else.
And hold your head high
no matter where the path leads.
5:08 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.



1:30 PM


**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.



2:15 PM


Woman and Man
At once perfectly matched
And haphazardly mismatched.
Flying in the face of tradition,
Years of lonely, secret, private passions
Restrained 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 alive
8-21-13 2:30 pm


Flying images
like a high-speed slideshow:
Lips touching, hands groping,
breath comes in ragged gasps.
Dark shadows in every corner.
Fabric tears
and sweat trickles in salty drops
of Wrong.
Pounding hearts
loud in the silence,
like the Courtroom Gavel coming down
in Sentence upon The Act.
Eyes lock on one another
and flash with wicked delight.
There is no hesitation,
There is only desire,
super-heated to the melting point,
and the thrusting, sliding gyrations
of a world gone mad.
8-26-13  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


Bonsai Life

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

The Scars.

A little guidance; I am Wired.

And soon

I am smaller.

A more compact version

of what I was.

But more deliberately shaped

and trained.

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.

Temporary Weakness

Rage me.

Kick me and scream me.

And bash against the wall me.

Cry me and Sorrow me.

Stop 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 End

Curtains fall,

the world is spinning.

Outwardly, though maybe grinning,

Behind curtains now beginning

struggle, and despair is winning.

Whirling force

and madness growing.

Outward, sanity only showing.

Behind curtains, only knowing:

Time is short, and must be going.

Slowing pull,

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

temper tantrum?

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.

But why-

Would cold not be

just as uncomfortable?

Is sweating more loathesome

or shivering?

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


The Idol

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

Become Creation,

The pride is ecstasy!

Mysterious meaning-

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

and potholes

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!

I cry

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.

I feel

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

the feeling

I’ve got something to say.

But who to say it to,

what to do

when all you want to do

is communicate?

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

with something

so masterful?

How do I, like she did

make a poem-song

so full of bounce and

every ounce is full

of wonderful?

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


Morning Beverage

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

drivin blind

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

but forward.


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**

The execution

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 leap

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.

1-21-99…..11:30 am


**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 thoughts,

what lofty, unattainable genius

flies through that dark head?

What does he think

and why does he think it?

And how?

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.

1-21-99………….1:45 pm



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,

flailing blindly,

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

all together?

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?



**Monkey Universe**

The Universe

is out to get me.

At least sometimes.

I have to blame

the Universe.

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.

2-14-00……………….11:07 pm


**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


**The Medievalist**

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.



“Giving In”

Always fighting.

An inescapable urge

to fling headlong

into the muddy pit

and wallow

and indulge in sensation.

Scoop up handfuls

of pain and sadness

and smear it on

and let it dry

and sit alone wailing

and weeping

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,

manipulate them,

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.

But sometimes,

so awkward, so slow

in responding.

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


“Ice Skating”

Cold white ice

stretches out all around.

A shining silver blade

slashes, slices, slides.

Snow swirls.

A spangled,

sequined star

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.

Lightning green

and icy needle rain.

Sucking under,

struggling up again.

Frantic fingers grasp

in all directions

sobbing for solidity

screaming for safety.

Where is the slimy

algae-coated pylon?

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,

ferocious intensity.

Begging for the final release,

I convulse

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

within itself.

Love and longing

fighting against knowledge.

Love wants to keep fighting,

keep struggling, never let go.

Knowledge realizes

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


—”Suicide Note”—

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


– “Untitled”–

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.

Not music.

Just a demonstration

of the emptiness inside.

9-3-03——- 9:57 am


–”Goodbye Me”–

Breathing, blinking,

beating heart.



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.

Suffocating, drowning,

fighting to draw in

a breath of alive-ness.

Reaching, flailing

grasping, clawing.

But only in my mind.

It’s not strong enough

to make my body

move those movements.

My body’s lying

in the recliner.

Watching TV

and eating uncontrollably,


hand to mouth.

Click, clicker, click.

Unseeing eyes

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”–

Stumbling blind

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.

Still grasping,

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.

Created with.

Created for.

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,

arrive improved.

4-29-99————————12:45 pm

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.





Class Reunion


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.



One Response to “My Poetry and Fiction”

  1. […] But hey, the good news is that there’s probably plenty of stuff here you haven’t read yet!  If you’ve just stumbled in here by chance, stay a while.  Look around.  Start by reading about how this blog got its title. … Read about how health food makes a good parenting weapon.  …  Re-live the Epic Battle of the Ipods. … Check out my Girl Power and Real Beauty rant. …  Experience One Very Bad Day, when the weather went crazy and my hometown was changed forever. … See if you agree with my fast food-inspired tolerance rant. … Maybe read about The Dictators. … Read This, because it’s good. … Read my brief foray into activism, about the dilemma schools face, choosing between arts and sports. … Read some of my ‘often dark, sometimes light, but always awesome’ poetry. […]

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