Moving Day

Never made a clean getaway

Always left hairs in the sink

And unvacuumed spider carcasses

Under the bed


Never made it past the driveway

Without smearing a tear through mascara

Or remembering my coffee cup

Left on the kitchen table


Never forgot anything

That I couldn’t ship or live without

The stuff is only so important anyway

And memories don’t weigh much



What Does It All Mean

Mom and Me
Mom and Me

I hear the change . . . 

it’s in her voice . . .

in her way.

Mom is getting old;

I don’t want to accept . . .

she will one day leave.

Leave me here;


The world she protected me within;

And taught me to thrive . . .

at least, to survive.

It’s the end of the stronger side;

of Mom.

Survivor of a Great Depression;

Fighter of every schoolyard bully . . .

for me.

She remembers an assassination . . .

of a great man;

or is it more?

I do not.

Mom was politically assertive;

she is still her . . .

just lesser in vim . . .

Vigor still stands, though.

I am her in her 50s…

will my boldness wane?

Like Mom at 84?

I will miss the bolder side;

and embrace the elder side;

I hope for years to come.

The end of my younger Mom.

The beginning of my middle-age

and Mom’s last stage(s) . . .

but not the end of her!

Poem no.1 The End

Poem no. 1: The End

And when you came to me,
It was with soft words –
Gentle to my ear.
Honeyed with need for me –
Dropping from your lips like morning nectar.

Sweet phrases tasted on my tongue.

When you left me here
There was no sense of ending;
Just sour relief.
Cessation from battle.
Time apart to lick our wounds.

Watching a hawk swoop, later,
Silent, focused, over empty autumn fields,
I understood the time was past;
That nature would ebb and flow around me
But our cycle was done.

And so it begins

So of course

The day that I actually need them they are no where to be found

The one day and I only asked for one day

That I really needed them to support me they aren’t there

I mean I know the only one I can truly trust to always be there is God

But they were mine

Mine to use at my disposal

Mine to manipulate

They were apart of me

A union created before I even knew they existed

My gift from God

That now seems to only show up when they feel like it

But I’m living on borrowed time

Every minute that I lose, I’m just that much closer to failure

And today that’s not an option

So please words

You’ve hidden within bottled up emotions for long enough

Avoided judgement from others for long enough

its time to take a leap of faith out of my mind and onto the screen that sits before me

And as my fingers take lead with feverish strokes on the keys

I know they are ready

And so it begins

Caught up

Caught up

And in all of it

I forgot to tell you
To look for the tiny feather
Caught in the web by the door.

Nothing Left

People think I’m a junkie
That I’ve wasted my life
I’ve heard them say,
“He had it all,
but he threw it away”
That hurts me
If I had it all
I wouldn’t abuse
If I had it all
I’d have nothing
to lose
I had nothing left
to give
My girl died
My mother lied
I sat alone with
no one
To escape my fear
To escape my
I abused
I didn’t have a friend
Except for one
She was loyal
Didn’t judge me
I injected her love
through my veins
She took away my pain
My love for her never faded
My constant love
My liquid love
She was my friend
She was my lover
She turned deceitful
She broke me down
I lie wasted in my
Empty void
Searching for help
I wanted help
I wanted to defeat the
evil Fiend
It became to late
I couldn’t escape my fate
I had nothing left.




Not The End

I see the first prompt on my computer screen,

Was so excited to begin.. But!! Wait.

Whhhaaat? To begin you must write about ‘The End’

So my brain cells jump to action, I grab my notebook and pen,

And turn all spontaneous only to end up chewing off my pen’s end.

I cannot think of a proper end that ever happened

Because isn’t that a saying that “Endings lead to new beginnings.” And nothing fades away.

When one love story ends another one blooms. And I won’t write about movie endings.

They are so abrupt. Walking hand in hand to the moon, a happily ever after awaits. Really?

And about the world ending. I know some days things seem pretty bad, the News Channels shouting the World’s coming to an End.

But what I feel is From utter chaos From Big Bang From the end,

We will begin again.

It’s Here.

Should have known

It would, come to an end. I was

Surprised, sadness – it comes in biting

Waves, like the mosquitos of a hot summer day

Taking a piece of your flesh, leaving you

With an itcy, unsatisfied feeling…

I MUST tell the truth! It’s the only way I know

How to come to terms with this…melancholy inside of me

I am a little, just a tiny bit, bitter. I am the leftover

Grease, dark, burnt, and flaky

Barely retaining the flavor of whatever was

Cooked in the frying pan.


The end is a bittersweet, burnt flavor. Unsatisfying, surprised to see it’s

Body so close to those last three words…The end

I want to caress The End, tell him that we are

Not over, only, Passing time

Until i return..trying to fix whatever was wrong…


The End…it is the END of this poem, and I am not ready!

I am not ready, I am not ready, I am not ready…

There is still so much more to say, so much more to do, so much more to

Fret over, words to correct, phrases to rearrange, add, subtract, alter, and obliterate.


When I

First became a writer…truly, I began to write poetry and

Short stories…I thought I understood

Shakespeare on some level. How he must have felt

After ending every sonnet, every play…

How Jane Austen must have felt..ending Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility..

How Maya Angelou

Must have felt after ending Still I Rise and

Phenomenal Woman


It is never enough, I realize this – Not. Ever.

A writer’s job is never done, the craft must always strive to

Be the absolute best of our psyches, inner workings of both

Our minds and our hearts, working together in a passionate

Loving embrace, attempting to make sense of the

Chaotic, beautiful, ugly and peaceful world around us


..Her mind never shuts off, even if the End is so

Unbearably near..


But it must, it is

The End.



24 in 24

and 1 at 9

sounds like an algebra problem I once had

when I was trying to solve (y+u=x)

but I kept getting 0

I never understood why the X was such an important part of the equation

until I realized

that I was never really good at math (or us)

in the first place


Poem#1-Half Marathon “The End is Just a New Beginning” by Ingrid Exner

Poetry Prompt 1- Aug 13, 2016-Poetry Half Marathon by Ingrid Exner


Oranges and yellows

spray across

the sky

Seagulls and Ospreys

let out a mournful cry.


The sun begins to



yellow and amber

as it slows.

Rest comes to the daylight

even Nature

now knows.


But after,

several darkened hours,

As the Sun rests

through the night

It will awaken and,

once again,


Oarry Sound Trees and Sunsetits



Photography By Ingrid Exner