Eleven Minutes

Oh, what poetry does pain bring.
The words inspired by misfortune and grief
seem to flow onto the page
with such ease
the writer holding the pen
so that the words themselves are so beautiful.
The tortured soul pouring out all
onto a page of indifference they run.
Pain so personal so real spills out,
the reader reaches into the page,
takes my pain as their own
feels the empathy-such is the way.
Still the pain doesn't go away.
Life distracts us mostly from the futility of it all.
Until, one moment shatters all the false joy.
Reminding me once again of my pain.
Eleven...

6-23-02

Making excuses...

So for fear that any of my readers will think ill of the darkness of my writings, most of what I have submitted was written at a point in my life where the shadows had come to stay. Every one has them, most don't confront them. I am confronting them now. I am putting myself out there to you my readers (if you are there) naked and exposed in an effort to overcome that paralyzing fear of rejection. I am facing my fears, letting the masses see work that NO ONE has ever laid eyes on but me.
So here I am literary world love me or hate me, this is who I am!

This is my disclaimer!!! Thanks Bobby!!! Hahaha!

Condemned

Past, Present, Future
There I stand
In judgement
Condemned, damned
I plead with the jury
the attorney, Judge.
None hear my case.
Bad decisions!
Wrong moves! I scream
Please, I beg, please!
Human, I plead.
Human deeds!
I cry into my hands,
sobbing and weeping.
The Judge sentances;
What's done is done,
what's said is said,
you are bad, bad, bad!!
My eyes look up in a haze
To the Judge I meet in a gaze
It is my own face
and voice reciting this
sentence to me
It is I who condemn
Still powerless I am
Over what I have decided.
Fear overcomes me
Engulfs me
The Judge screams
You are not worthy!
And I believe me.

Mother-in-law #1

(This is a funny dark little poem I wrote inspired by southern Mother-in-laws)

Rat shit
Cow spit
Vomit and snot!
Kittens are nice
Mother-in-laws are not!
From Hell do they rise
To hate and dispise
The wife in your life
For who knows what!
"Your hair's not right!"
They say just for spite!
"Our kind don't like your type!"
What class do they attend?
What course do they take,
To be such mean woman
to the wives that you take?

Human

An old woman told me I looked like a doll. An old black preacher man thanked me for making him feel welcome in this store and for not being blinded by color. He said, "Who knows, you might be an angel." I smiled and thanked him-but inside I raged-Angels can't be human! And human I am. Angels don't make mistakes, as a human I have. Dolls don't feel anything. Even when children cut off all their hair and they become ugly and aged, the doll smiles still in that perfect serenity. These strangers don't care about my past, it is of no consequence to them. Only the now matters. They don't see the hurt lost little girl. They only see a doll with angel's wings and that perfect serene smile that passes all the tests.

4/14/02

Thanks to Bobby Ozuna!

If you like the banners and artwork on my blog, go to Drawing Stories With Words and check out Bobby Ozuna. He designed the links and banners for me and is currently offering the same for those of you who do not want to use default images.

Blogspot.com/inotauthor for more on Bobby Ozuna
bobbyozunaonline.com
myspace.com/inotauthor

Thanks Bobby!!!