I see the girl
She's standing there in a corner all alone
I want to say "hi", but I know what the others would say.
"She's a nerd," they'll say.
"She's a nerd. She's a freak"
They say all these things. They think it can't harm.
They go on, and on.
What they don't know is that she hears.
She hears all their words, and she sees all their scowls.
She doesn't want to believe what they say, she thinks it's unfair.
But what can she do?
She is new in this town. If only they'd give her a chance.
She won't get a chance. It's just like last time.
It's just like all the times. It's always the same.
She'll show them. Her parents--everyone will see.
She doesn't need anyone. She doesn't. Does she?
No, she can't let herself.
She knows it isn't true. She's human, she needs people.
Just like everyone else...If only she were like everyone else.
If only...? If only what? If only a miracle would occur?
If only once in her life she would fit in? If only indeed!
What a fool she was! What a terrific fool she was!
She's hopeless! Worthless! After all, they all thought so.
So, she sat on the bed writing a letter,
Not a greeting, but a goodbye,
Because once she had done what she intended,
She would never see them again.
She was doing the right thing...wasn't she?
If she were or not, she would never know.
Her Silent Killer
For Patricia Patton
She had survived
She'd somehow struggled through
Those years in which her silent killer
Stealthly stalked her weakening body.
She'd regained life and done the things
that made her life worth living...
Until it came again.
As sneakliy silent as before,
It crept in stealthily in the night
To seize her body once again
And wake her from her fantasy
To face her living nightmare.
Still she kept on.
Nothing held her back.
She took her chemo with her.
Doctors said "stop working", she would not.
Nothing held her back.
She faced her killer with all the fight she could muster.
We never saw her cry.
She prayed to God and held on to her faith.
More than I could always do in times of strife.
She prayed for a miracle.
She was one.
Is there not one small miracle for such a miracle to grasp?
Some say life is a miracle.
If so, then what is death?
How many times does she ask that of her silent killer.
As it laughs and takes her place?
Why did nothing hold it back?
She was acient in my childish eyes
A lifetime of experience etched into her timeless face.
She was eternal--
A face always there
A presence always felt
She was immortal--
A goddess of ancient wisdom
Full of stories
Full of life
Full of love
She was timeless
Yet she is gone, and all is lost--
Or so I feel
She would want us to go on
And just a pinch of guilt
But, for now, life stops,
Hers and ours alike.
The Blanket Weaver
I watch her hands with the needles
Over and through
Over and through
As her story is knitted in a simple row of white
Her hands tell the stories
Of a suffering age
Of a loving heart
Of the fiercest will
The yarn comes together to show her to me
Each inch of yarn folded and twisted to be
And now her arms no longer enfold me
Her needles are still and her hands are silent
But her life wraps around me
As I huddle beneath it
And it keeps me from cold
As she would have done
Her life in every stitch
Every little imperfection.
And so she will live on in me.
The Lady and the Dragon
June Cleaver with a plastic smile.
A dragon at her feet.
Her apron cinched so tightly, she has nowhere to go.
The dragon lurks around the door.
Her escape attempts will prove in vain.
The apron strings are wound too tight,
And the dragon is closing the door.
And the dragon is closing the wallet.
And the dragon she married is closing her life,
'Til he one day closes her eyes.
He takes her life into his hands for the smallest of infractions.
His angry fist can penetrate, and bruise her to the soul.
The dragon had seemed exciting,
And fantasies danced in her young mind
Of making him a man to love
Each bruise a harsh reminder
The fantasy is over
The reality remains
She married a dragon.
You reach for the stars
You grasp the edge
You climb to it
And then you fall
But happy for the flight.
Come Home My Gentle Soldiers
Dedicated to the brave men and women who died at the World Trade Center and continue to avenge our nation in the Middle East.
Crucified by fire, you died
That others might survive.
You sank into your steeley grave
With ne're a thought of giving up.
And crucified by fire,
Still you die for me.
And my children, so that they
May know a life of joy,
So fearless and so free.
So come home my gentle soldiers.
Come home to rest at last,
Where you need not fear your fellow man,
Or heed the fiery blast.
The war may not be over,
But the victory is sure.
For the sacrifices made today
Are of those whose hearts are pure.
So come home my gentle soldiers
And put your souls to rest
And know the nation understands
You did your ever best.
Would you rob me of my motherhood?
Of the chance to hold my bundled joy?
I thought I'd suffered long enough.
I thought I'd suffered well.
You took my head--
Two times, I'm told.
You may have had my heart.
You took my lungs a year ago.
Would you take a precious part?
Each day I bleed a drop for you.
How many have I bled?
As you've taken heart,
And taken, twice, my head.
Now would you take a precious part,
And steal my womb away?
Would you rob me of my bundled joy?
It seems to cruel to say.
Truth (The Slinky Poem)
Which version would you like?
One makes me a criminal
The other makes you an idiot, but
Which is the truth?
You can't make up your mind.
I've made up mine.
See, I don't see the truth
Flexible like a Slinky toy
Walk it where you wish,
It will conform its shape
To whatever path you choose to use.
My truth is not twisted mass of chaotic confusion
that bends and moves
Stretches when necessary
But is never quite able to take its orginal form
That's not my truth
My truth is not the Slinky wire, but the lead pipe
Forcing its bearer to work within and around it
Because he can not change it.
Capable of beating you
'Til you're black and blue, and your head aches
Under the weight of it.
That's my truth.
I wield it wisely, lest I bruise
And I will not bear its weight for you
And I will not bear its weight for you.
My Early Work
(and I mean REALLY early)
"One o'clock and all is well",
The young boy knew he was to yell.
But one o'clock and all alone,
The little boy wished he was gone.
Off to dream in other lands.
Off to play on other sands.
'Cause life can be happy,
Though bitter and sweet,
But dreams are the best,
And a really big treat.
I boy is born with childish dreams.
To him they do not seem to be.
The boy grows up, becomes a man,
But now can't dream
Like young boys can.
A man grows old, and sometimes dim,
But finds that he can dream again.
The stars shine bright
All through the night.
No clouds ever bar their way.
But then one falls,
And follow does all,
And the meteors fall like rain.
The Night of the Twisters
The sky so dark
The air so cold
The wind, it howls,
So strong, so bold.
The night of the twisters is what I describe
And if you lived through it,
You should have some pride.
For nothing else lived.
No, all of it died
The night of the twisters that few have survived.