Face? Turn the card face up. a deck of cards have three faces: jacks, queens, and kings. Turn toward someone or something. A way of showing your inner outer self. The backside, the spine, causes no reaction unless in silhouette. Our faces provide conversation through…
Category: Half Marathon Poem
#10 – Face it
Fully going after all that I know I deserve Ever so purposefully striving towards my best Allowing myself to grow, process, & learn Righting my wrongs, forgiving others as well as myself Focusing on what I can control & not worrying about what I can’t…
“Autobiography of a Face”
How tamed she was to find the beauty in her struggle She is fierce. An idol of memoirs that only few will truly understand
Hour 9 — On Being You
The world at large neither knows nor cares how you feel Yet, for reasons unknown, it stands silently and indifferently, Watching the spectacle of your wanting to exist. Were you but a lump of modeling clay Would you have cared for your formlessness? Or, if you were just a molecule, Would it have made sense…
Hour Ten – Peace
I asked for peace first, but peace did not come to me. So I became Peace. Judy Klemos
poem #9 attachment & desire
we need more bombs more incendiary devices of the verbal kind we need the righteous anger of my well-spent youth cranking handbills on handpresses we need the fervent furor of the zealot who will fight the good fight no one seems to care about in…
A Poem about Nothing
When I should have been composing poems, or at least thinking about them, I folded laundry had a snack, and did the lunch dishes that had been taunting me for the past three hours. Life gets in the way of art, even on those days…
See
You are tossed into it like a piece of meat to a swarm of carrion flies or a murder of crows The human condition, I mean Whatever is left, once the swarm has eaten it’s fill; that is who you will be for the rest…
Censored (9th hour of half marathon)
Words flow I talk, think, write without ceasing Make sense? Not always! One certainty: Succinct is Not my middle name. (unless I edit, re-edit, re-edit, re-edit.) hahahahahahahahahahaha
Hour 9: The Other Woman (a sonnet)
What if they see us holding hands? What would they think? I’m scared to guess. Right now I’m grateful for this darkness. Though I’d prefer a visa to some foreign land. Because who but us would understand? Words of defence are meaningless And God knows…