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Childhood Home

In this house lives my father's imagination,
built into every ninety degree corner
and every carefully placed doorway.
The dreams he had for us and his carefully laid plans
to make this house a home at the cost of his own rest,
are still living here, undisturbed

In this garden my mother's love is planted
together with violas and freesias and abundant succulents
that, just like her, can survive on so little and yet give so much
of their beauty captured in their symmetry of unexpected shapes. 24 more words
Attempts At Poetry

Reasons for Leaving

Trapped between love and a certain knowledge
that it can no longer be enough.
Instinctive certainty that love's true form
would never break the object of its own affection,
has haunted her since the first insult
cut her eyes out and blinded her to her own worth
Since the first time fist met flesh she knew
she has not found that place 
where she will be seen as worthy of
narcissistic self-love's division of attention. 93 more words
Attempts At Poetry

the warrior

looking behind a stained glass window
i sigh. the multitude of realities image
a woman with a spine as strong as tree trunks
and with arms that could embrace the world. 93 more words


Clock Face

The clock counts passed time,

with expressionless old face

sees new beginnings

This is my response to this week’s Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #40 (time and new) on Ronovan Writes.

Attempts At Poetry

Cost Of Flowers

"Money isn't everything" she said
as she kissed him on his cheek
"My love for you is what I'll eat
and it will sustain me through the winters"

He stroked her hair distractedly
formulating his reply
"My Dear, if your love is food
then I will rather die! 31 more words
Attempts At Poetry


Honestly now, if I bare my soul,
if I pour out every drop of pain
and show you the dregs that remain
of this, my broken life,
will you lift your glass in toast
of such a splendid pain? 54 more words
Attempts At Poetry

Biologically Made

I watch him sleep and wish that I 
could still his fitful dreams
and smooth away his feared rejection
by the one who once ejaculated 
and then considered his job done; his part played,
not knowing when he left, what stayed
was constant uncertainty of worth 
and the doubt of love's existence;
unfounded questioning of his right to live
Feeling half-wanted; half-chosen to be,
he forever gropes at the slightest flicker
of another potential disappointment
from a half-man undeserving of a name
who will not give a slice of bread,
but demands obedience and respect
on the very odd occasion
that he remembers his moment of carnal pleasure
and a child that carries his name
Attempts At Poetry