Thursday, July 11, 2013


It's been awhile since I've posted any "bad poetry". Is it too soon?

My Mother’s Hands
I found my mother’s hands today
Dishwater-wrinkled with little spots of brown
The nails all bare—no Sunday polish in peachy tints
And the left finger still banded with gold.
It surprised me to see them there
Quiet, soft, so well remembered
Where I never thought to see them
At the ends of my own arms
My mother’s hands.


Reality with Subtitles

A one second touch.
Just fingertips and there it was.
Connection. Reality.
Again? Please?

Personal Possessions

Etched in your bones
A part of you , never to be lost.
Like silver, never to be tarnished
Always a part of you.

Summer Haikus

Laugh with me then
Safer than firecrackers
And lasts much longer.
Heat undulating
Off the grass moving waves
Without water. Stop!
Glaring, sun-bleached white
Stripped of moisture— of rainbows
A thunderstorm please!

Enough for now, I think. I don't want to do this very often. It's rather debilitating to be truthful. Authentic but truthful.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Go ahead--- list your website. I'd love to visit.