Category Archives: Poetry Friday

Words in My Head

Words in My Head

I go to sleep with headphones on
to keep the brain occupied
and the demons at bay

Those words in my head
fill up any cracks
that would allow the
dark to get in

Went to bed with a
heart so heavy
The breath would barely come

Months of isolation
from ideas
from contact
from people-watching and
from new horizons
Even the fumes were gone

4:16 AM
I heard words
Poetry
A poet blazing his truth
His life
Lighting the dark

My heart stirred
My breathing quickened
And like an old furnace
My own words ignited once more.

The podcast I woke hearing — and which breathed oxygen to that dwindling ember inside — was a rerun of this episode of CBC’s Ideas: The Last Bohemian: Lawrence Ferlinghetti.


This post was created as part of the Poetry Friday challenge, hosted each week by a different poet.  Today’s host, Michelle Kogan, is celebrating a birthday this weekend!  Please enjoy her lovely poem on her blog and wish her a happy birthday in the comments.

Special shout-out to my friend and fellow poet, Christie Wyman, whose mutual love of Walden and writing has led me to my pandemic lifeline that has gotten me this far.

My First Poetry Friday

This is my first time taking part in Poetry Friday.  Many thanks to Molly Hogan of Nix the Comfort Zone for hosting this week.  The Poetry Friday hosting list can be found in the sidebar at A Year of Reading.

I have wanted to take part in this activity for a while now, especially since I have begun writing my memoir.  The harder I try to write this specific work of creative nonfiction, the more poetry starts to insist on coming out of my head.  I’m sure the Universe is amused at this.

Here are my two poems.

Superintendent

He walks the halls like
He owns them
These halls, these walls,
These doors, behind which
Tenants cower.
Jangling keys,
Steel-toed boots,
Stride of a mission.
Roof leak on
Rent day.

Quintet

Five graves on a cedar knoll
Roots twisted around stones,
The writing eroded.

In the surrounding pasture,
The cows, oblivious
To the nameless dead,
Flick futile tails at flies
Clustered to drink
In the pools of their eyes.

The sun shines down,
A light in August,
While life lolls on.