Blue Doors

Blue doors stoic against white washed summer walls
What awaits me beyond those carefully curated wooden walls?
Are there candles aglow or choirs angelic?
A return to life which withstood pandemics?
Were every role played
Within the confines of finite memory?
Perhaps there awaits all which we’ve lost.
Tears shed over damp sheets
And fresh mounds of dirt;
Carefully sculpted castles for our bones.
For once I may say, we’ll never truly know.
As my ornate blue doors slide into the distance,
The way our true love fades
From your memories and words,
Meant for another, promised over sun bleached summer days.

A little story time to go with this little poem.

When I was a snotty pre-teen, maybe around 11 or 12, I was giving my mom a hard time as we drove home. I don’t remember about what, it doesn’t matter really but it was a moment for her that unleashed something else. Without saying much she swung her old minivan into the parking lot of a mixed Korean/Baptist church at the end of our street and started crying.

“Maybe one day I just won’t come home.”

I didn’t know how to react. I kept telling her it would be ok but what I really remember is that we were parked right in front of the church doors.

Looking back I’m fairly sure my mom probably suffered from the same anxiety and depression that now plagues me and my sisters in various forms. Coupled with the weight of my narcissistic father’s constant cruelty and I’m certain this wasn’t her only breaking point.

It may not have been a breaking point at all but more of a blip on the radar of constant pressure to provide when the one you’ve promised to walk beside has more or less declared “jokes on you”.

Today’s International Women’s Day and I’ve seen posts all over social media remembering and celebrating accomplishments. That’s wonderful, I embrace it. I also ask that we not forget about the women who are dragging themselves out of bed everyday simply because they have to. The women who have laid awake all night threatened by their own nightmares and now have little people depending on them to function. The women who have gently laid dreams aside or practice them quietly after hours because there’s simply no one else to “bring home the bacon” and the dreams they have aren’t to that point yet. The women who have found themselves trapped and unable to leave for fear, so they trudge through every day the best they can while pretending everything is ok.

Society has come far but society still has a way to go.

Daily Prompt – Uncompromising


Ink Me Down

Sink me into paper
Until ink bleeds
Over your cold fingers.
Go ahead,
Ink me down;
Down into the ground.
Grind memories into nothing
With razor blade stones.
Release me with every breath.
Let every sound have a bite.
Scream the words
Over glazed eyes and tear stained faces.
Go ahead,
Ink me down.
Your best tragedy,
Your personal comedy.

Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Mnemonic Rhymes With Demonic

It’s Sunday again, stream of consciousness … free flow … there’s got to be a better title out there for this.

Prompt – Mnemonic (ok, wordpress. Ok.)

Music – God Is An Astronaut – The End of the Beginning

Mnemonic rhymes with demonic.

In school we went though a period where our teacher would have us memorize things and recite them in front of the class.

The preamble to the constitution.

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe

The Road Not Taken …

Everyone always rolled their eyes and groaned about it but I loved it.

For someone who has a bad memory I was really good at memorizing that stuff.

I didn’t use a mnemonic device so to speak.

Rather I memorized the piece in chunks instead of individual words.

In psychology it’s pretty well known that the human mind can only work with so much information at a time.

To maximize what you can remember you can memorize things in blocks

That’s what I did with poetry.

I would give the poems a rhythm as I read them

Then memorize them in chunks, blocks of words set to that rhythm.

It’s how I write now too,

With a rhythm in my head although I know that doesn’t necessarily translate.

I always found it easier to remember things when I set them to music.

On the off chance that I actually studied for something I had to have music playing

That way I could put the information to the music and words in the background.

When I needed to remember them all I had to do was remember the song that had been playing.

Much easier than trying to remember the periodic table alone.

Ironically when I went through a period of not listening to music I have a lot I don’t remember.

I was also drunk a lot.

Mental manipulation.

Mnemonic rhymes with demonic.

My sense of humor probably is not translating just like my poetry rhythms don’t.

I can’t really remember using mnemonic devices otherwise,

Although I know I was taught a couple.

There’s one about your hands and the days in a month

And ….


That’s all I got on those.

10 minutes up (good timing).

The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch has posts waiting for you!


I’ve got a bucket full of memories.
I spill from my deepest estuaries.
Like blood from fresh cuts,
Across the beds of my fingers,
Driving down to my thighs
Where the rivers run deeper
And the water bleeds darker.
My bucket fills with hazy days,
Dark specters and figures
Blending with the nightly shadows,
Caressing the darkest pieces
Just beyond the noise.
You bring me silence.
You bring me quiet.
You build dams to my scars;
Stopping the flow to my bucket of hell.
I’ve never found one like you before,
A soul that beats so close to mine.
Your blood flows darker,
Through this bucket of mine.
You touch the chaos,
No fear etched across your face.
You try to take it all away,
Try to steal my bucket of time.

Porcelain Figurines

WordPress Daily Prompt – Elegance

Every second I stare into this mirror
The cracks sink further into my skin.
Each one breaking, shattering, the light within.
Crushing it into shards, bruising and cutting their way to the floor.
Forming puddles of gold where the remains of our fears lie.
You fall so elegantly against the backdrop of life,
But I struggle to hold these porcelain figurines while I crumble silently inside.
Tonight I need you to prop me up, stand tall beside
But your just a faded memory, a distant aside.
You’ve become a silhouette in the smoke, a shadow etched in my bones.
One that I can see but no longer reach, no more can I call your arms home.
I want so badly to tell you all these things.
To admit to the faults my selfishness brought,
To ask for forgiveness and to help give me resolve
To stand against waves crashing, tumbling, breaking on the shore.
I fear that life is not a daydream, brilliant and romantic in its intent.
I’ll wake tomorrow still treading this sea alone.
And no one will see because I’m aware
The damsel in distress is not the hero of her fairytale.
I’ll continue to fall, elegantly twisting, breaking
Watching my soul shatter to pieces
While I struggle to protect all that I hold
In these porcelain figurines.