A Medical Research Project
I was part of a research study to fight off the effects of MS with bee venom.
I started receiving injections every other day.
I started to appreciate flowers.
I started to purchase bouquets of flowers.
I was obsessed with flowers.
I had this craving for the scent of flowers.
I started rubbing honey all over my body.
Putting honey in everything I ate
I started heating honey.
Getting a buzz from the scent
I began to think I could fly.
I started vibrating like a tuning fork.
My hair stood up like a stunned frightened alley cat.
I could feel the hair on my body electrically charged.
I was always in a state of tumescence.
Ready to sting.
14 Words in Search of a Title
Swirling sea spindles, threshold of time, life’s is a crippled staircase,
whirligig to death.
August 6th, 1945
An old lady
Sat
On a park bench
Like an architectural frieze on a Gothic Cathedral
A wrinkled brown paper bag
Over her head
Blocked the rippling light
Like a horse in blinders led from fire
She had witnessed
The power
Of the Sun
An Aesopian Love poem
Stare at words until they have real meaning.
Gently, hold an utterance in your hands,
hear songs singing softly.
Nibble on lyrics.
Cushion tidings in a silken down.
Find deep comfort in their significance.
Caress, capture poetry:
kiss intonations, meter, diction,
taste the mellifluousness of silence.
A Poem Revisited
What happens to a poem published over a decade ago-
the magazine no longer in print?
What happens to a poem when a book is no longer on a library shelf?
What happens to a poem that cannot be retrieved, lost, buried dead?
Resubmit!
Anxiety
I feel as if I am standing in a swamp,
blinded by a dense crippling fog,
fearing I might stumble into an abyss.
Feeling whirligig, dizzy, slipping into a state of vertigo,
straight into Dante’s hell.
So, You Had a Bad Day
I listened to people complaining about such mundane things.
Cancer changed everything.
Things I never noticed before taking on new importance.
The rain is such a joy.
Luckily, they don’t know.
Perhaps, it is better that way.
As a cool breeze fans the heat of the day,
I learned a new lesson today.
A Blessed Little Hand
Sleeping,
a little hand protrudes, resting on a draped fluffy Down.
A hand begs gentle cuddling,
Clean hands, pure, young, so sweet.
Knuckle lines soon begin to show age.
Now so young, you will grow up soon.
Hair will rise,
veins exposed,
showing their route to your heart,
wrinkle lines will give your age away,
like circles on a tree.
My Child,
your hands will always be, little, blessed.
A Woman’s View of Wine and Other Things…
Men are grapes.
Step on them.
Keep them in the dark.
Let them mature until they ripen into something fine,
good enough to have dinner with.
Drink Words
I saw a poem.
Beam from the Sun.
Dance on the water.
Cradle in the light.
Words rippled,
into stanzas.
Writer’s Block IV
Closed gas valve ready to explode,
lost maze, vacuoles nerve cells,
sightless,
odorless,
numb.
Deep shadows lull. Tomorrow is yesterday’s
lurking spasms,
unable to awaken the unknown,
forgotten,
lost,
Musing.
