friowords

  • Here, in the last hour, I have no voice.

    Before, I fought out my inadequacies

    On this page,

    Thorough and gut-spilling self-examination

    Well-versed shots at my own heart

    But this feels […]

  • 2020 Hour #11:  After Alice

     

    I went down the rabbit hole

    Following the heroine’s footsteps

    But I didn’t need any magic potion

    To measure my insignificance.

     

    I settled in nicely at the Hatter […]

  • 2020 Hour #10:  Dirty Little Secret

     

    I’m going to tell you a secret-

    I don’t mind being locked down during the pandemic

    I was made for just this type of isolation

    Shaped small enough to fit in th […]

    • I feel that way most of the time too. Once in awhile I miss the occasional trip outside of my house with my daughters, but we talk a lot and being alone has always been what I did.

    • I feel like this also. It is comforting to see I am not alone in this thinking. Wonderful piece!

  • 2020 Hour #9 Inertia Haiku

     

    Fear infects my hand

    Weakness strangles these small words

    Erasing this page.

  • 2020 Hour 8: Emoji Translation

     

    But oh my love, my love, my love!

    Will you not leave me be

    Oh but for the bleeding to stop

    To stem the flow of our unhappiness

    You must break us into two

    And […]

  • 2020 Hour #7:  Fistfight

     

    Outside my window, a flag flies at the top of a building

    And it plays a violent game of chicken with the wind.

    When a breeze turns down my street

    It transforms, shedding i […]

  • 2020 Hour 6: Perfect Day

     

    Time-Infinite

    My wrist watch, high on something sassy and chilling out

    Using its hands to knit a sweater for the sky

    And giving the atomic clock the […]

  • 2020 Hour #5:  A Road in Argentina

     

    On an overnight drive

    From Mar Del Plata to Buenos Aires

    I sat awake, entranced by the night sky;

    The ceiling was erupting in massive bursts of light,

    Even i […]

  • #4:  Letter to my father

     

    Dear Dad

    You would not like it here

    The world is so far removed from what you remember

    That you’d be sad, your head dropped down like I had seen it

    Once or twice whe […]

  • #3:  On walks during the pandemic

     

    There is a cemetery across the street

    And when this started, I’d walk there for exercise

    Before the dead consumed us, these dead stood guard

    Perhaps they knew wha […]

    • Well done! Have you ever read SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY? Since your poem included some appreciation for walking through the cemetery (before the current time) you might enjoy it.

  • #1: Fear

    #2: Self-awareness

    #3: Protective Gear

    #4: Plan

    #5: Survival

    Fear starts the clock

    Fear of the unknown

    The persistent drag

    Of self-awareness, always on the outside

    Looking in […]

  • #1:  Late Breaking Misogyny

    As a woman, for the most part

    I have been a failure.

    This judgement, by itself

    Evidence of years of self-inflicted terrorism

    Against my own sex.

    So when you ask me […]

  • Thank you so much for your thoughts!! This was my 12th and final hour poem and like the title said I was having writer’s block at that point and was getting frustrated and this was the result. I think Ginsberg was 100% correct-the words become your best friend and you cannot lie to them. I didn’t know at the time this was where the muse was going…[Read more]

  • friowords commented on the post, Twelfth Hour 1 year ago

    Love the rhythm of this-just perfect!

  • Thanks! I am just starting to read other’s poems and hope to read yours as well!

  • There is a curve

    Through which I know I must pass

    There is no straight line ahead of me

    And I am lost without an absolute.

    I am so inauthentic

    Claiming to embrace chaos and the unknown

    That’s j […]

    • ” if I am untrue then my words are untrue” literally made me gasp…how many times do we sit at our work and fight to write because we feel like we are lying on the page? I read an interview with Ginsberg in The Paris Review where he talks about how he never lies to his muses – he treats them like his best friend. He said we can lie to every one else but not them. It changed my life as a writer. I write about things I don’t tell because I cannot bear to face them if I lie.

      The back end of the piece is equally full of power “Truth atop a razor blade Impaled before finally toppling off its edge” is such a visceral image of how it feels to be/write/live authentically.

      Thank you for being so honest about this struggle to be authentic. The end result is beautiful!

      • Thank you so much for your thoughts!! This was my 12th and final hour poem and like the title said I was having writer’s block at that point and was getting frustrated and this was the result. I think Ginsberg was 100% correct-the words become your best friend and you cannot lie to them. I didn’t know at the time this was where the muse was going to take me but that’s the great mystery of it I suppose!

    • There are so many powerful lines in this poem that I love:
      Because if I am untrue my words are untrue
      Truth atop a razor blade.
      This whole poem speaks to me.

  • Dear Maria-

    I know you hate that long white graduation dress

    And the white shoes to match

    But you’ll never have to wear skirts again if you don’t want to

    No more long socks under your uniform […]

    • Now, I paused at not shaving your legs because I never shaved mine either. And I thought you never know what you really missed. Then the frozen hair! Unexpected and made me picture a head of frozen hair and wonder If it broke off. And be thankful I always wore a big wool scarf over my wet hair after swim team in Detroit winters.

  • Back in the day

    You and I stood in the rain one night

    Across from a building on University Place

    Stalking your ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend

    You just wanted a glimpse

    Of that bitch.

     

    You of […]

  • I see it, and long for its extension

    The drawing of darkness over light

    It gives me cover over my present failures

    Inaction and forward motion intersect

    And fight over my soul.

    In those waning […]

  • She dreamed again

    That she was brave and confident

    And alive through her tears.

     

    Then, she quivered

    A quake leaving only anxiety and remorse

    And anger at her fears.

     

    She cannot speak her own name.

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