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.

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Tiptoe The Line


I tiptoe the line
Between the ever converging
Gold and brown of your eye.
I balance so fine
On the hair pin moments
Of raised voices and tender kisses.
One day I’ll swan dive
Into the crushing distinctions,
Bringing reality rushing over daydreams.
For now …
I dance the edge of a dime,
Spinning through scenes
Painted like oil slicks on my mind.

Liar That I Am

I’ve never wanted to hurt you …
Liar that I am.
I’ve never wanted to betray you …
Imperfect as I am.
I’ve only ever wanted to feel you …
Hold me in your arms again.
But I’m a liar,
A hopeless, frantic
Living out a fairy tale fantasy
Crashing through reality.
Finding truth
Under moss covered mystery.
Only to unveil fools gold
Where there should be
Great poets of old.
Forgive me my love
And my liars tongue.
We only wanted the
Fairy tale ending,
Sparing the real life bending.
Now I see,
One exists in the other
But my liars tongue
Can’t stop whispering rumor.
Forgive me love,
Liar that I am,
I was never the princess
In disguise.
Only a damsel
Trying to escape demise.

Read To Me


I want you to read to me when I’m sick;
Lying in bed, tossing and turning,
Heart racing and head spinning,
Vision shaking and hands quaking.
I want you to gently sing
The psalms of old poets to clear
What’s left of my mind.
I won’t be angry
If you cover your face;
If you call this a contaminated place.
I just want you to brush matted hair aside
And say ‘I love you’ one last time.


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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).

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Love By The Numbers

One, Two, Three, Four
Love by the numbers
Is all that’s welcome here.
Safe and pale,
Liquid blues,
Sallow hues.
Color me soft,
Shade me dear.
Give me love
But only if
You love me by
The numbers here.
Who needs bright?
Those aren’t right,
Strain the eyes
And all bite.
No, too trite.
Love by the numbers
Is all that’s welcome here.
And who needs dark?
So stark,
And under caressing.
No, no dark.
Love by the numbers
Is all that’s welcome here.
Safe and pale,
Chalky pinks,
Fading weeks.
Color me soft,
In the lines
But only if
You love me by
The numbers here.

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