I desire to enter this new year…

Less fatigued,

Less driven by survival,

Less dictated by my physical self,

More healthy,

More positively,

More clear minded,

More energetic,

Not just accepting what I must,

And in saying that I realize I never really did.



Two Shoes Tuesdsay 



A monsterous little tantrum

A Monsterous Little Tantrum

I saw you write your loss, my dear

As though pixels, ink, or words themselves

Would ever be sufficient to contain, convey or confine

The feelings running so deep and guilty within you.

You somehow appear to assume full blame

For rippling worlds and waves which capsize

Yet you can make all the waves you want;

Until someone waves back, and takes their part

Then surely no destruction could be wrought

And without intent, just mutual enjoyment

Then no malice given, just accident

SURELY two people, with full appraisal

And consent, might see fit to fly

Imaginations bound in wonder, words reaching high

Finding ways to reveal the worlds

Or presents, pasts or futures or parallels

Without sanction or judgement

From another, wholly unconnected

With what it meant to write poetry.

For when you find someone

Who makes your words flow easily

Who gets your stanzas unconfused

Who causes your mind to think in rhyme

You know they are, in ways, your muse

And given sufficient time

Such wonderful things could be created

And yet here you are

You, your muse


*   *   *

Yet even as I write

It strikes me

I shall never know the whole story

All I know is that you’re quickly hurt

You love so fast and so intensely

There are some for whom this categorises you

As ‘flirt’, but having seen

A little of your heart

Seems like they just don’t understand

How honourable you are

And how willing (when you make mistakes

Because they happen – to us all) you are to make amends

To fix the roughened edges; heal the breaks

And yet, to see you fall upon your sword

Berate yourself, cut ties, to satisfy

Some unknown person in another world

Who may well be insatiable

And in constant need of being filled

A black-hole for attention

Too damn altogether chilled

Or shut down frozen in their own pain

To get to know you better;

Relax and unwind –

Because to know you

Is to love you,

I find.

A Hasty Response

Hardwired Sunset Heart

Hasty wrote first, and I replied:

Yet what of those whose worlds are like mine?
Whose real role models betrayed and bullied every time
They could; whose cutting words and harsh rejection
Left me insecure, feeling undeserving of affection.
What of those whose worlds are built in words
Whose voices finally are being heard?
And what, for those who need this place beyond the screen
Where suddenly they’re freed to say the things they mean
And gradually, so slowly they begin to trust
That perhaps what others say is true – they aren’t just
Losers, wasted space, ugly, worthless, foul
But maybe, just maybe there’s a chance somehow
That some special someone, somewhere could overlook
The abhorrent way they move; they speak; they look
And without those physical repellants, find their soul
And having found it, like it – accept it whole
Even though the most of it’s a mess
Without clarity, comprehension or finesse
But damaged, broken and trying so hard
To be an acceptable human, having been dealt a card
Which left them utterly bottom of the heap
Unwanted, unlovable, and buried deep
In mounds of other people’s rancid crap
But thinking that it’s theirs, don’t give it back
Instead ingesting every poisoned word
Until shattered, with no resources left to gird
Against a world so hostile and full of pain
Tell me – why would we put ourselves out there again?
But in here – in here it seems so safe and free
A starting-place for acceptance and unity
Finally, a place where others might accept
A person oft-deemed useless and inept
And maybe, some of them might become friends
Oh, how could I ever want this onscreen world to end
Because In Real, the gawky, useless me
Is all I ever think that others see
And crippled so, I don’t let others close
They stay arm’s length away to guard against another dose
Of endorsement of the views which went before
But here, you see, I can be so much MORE
I’m LIKABLE, in part for being unseen
I learned that, ’cause I’m protected by this screen.


This week’s guest bard is Lisa from “The Meaning of Me.” 
I don’t love you, you know.
I don’t even like you much.
I don’t dream about you
or wonder how it would feel
to hold you in my arms.
I never look at your mouth
and wonder whether
your kisses taste sweet
and I certainly don’t imagine
what your ass would look like naked.
In fact, I really don’t think
about you at all.
And why should I?
I don’t love you, you know.
Lisa is a wife, mother, and newly self-employed recovering high school English teacher. She lives with her Fab Hub, her daughter Kidzilla, and three Rotten Cats. She spends her time stacking the pile of books to read ever higher, wondering if she should have been a chef, and trying to figure out where she last left her damn cell phone. Lisa blogs about life and all its fascinations and banalities at the The Meaning of Me.
Thanks Lisa!
I’ve been talking to Lisa for a while about guest barding, and it’s been well worth the wait. This was a wonderfully wry piece of poetry. I just love something with an attitude! ~Z