At The Bell

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Fling that thing to the Moon
That thing that’s ailing you
Red flags, white flags, too

It’s not a day too soon
Let’s leave crazy to loons
Whose flightiness consumes

Consider this day new
Its call goes out to you
To sing the champion’s tune

We Begin

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An hour, now, clutching the cold morning coffee, an acrid-filled, comfortless cup.

Still dark.

Consumed, we, with what’s bearing down at the door — bellowing “more, more, and more!”

Its roar.

Will this new blanket be warm enough, this day sustain hope beyond the front-porch light?

Windows fogged.

Still, dawn’s bright, there, without, meets a heat — long-stored and stoked — here, within.

We Begin.

Still Grieving

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These why-natured questions no human has answered
Nor monsters willing, either
Invade my slumber

Nightmares, demanding I wash the dishes
Become thinner and wear clothes that aren’t mis-matched
Occupy mistress status

Keep me searching

Leaving me susceptible to sages insisting
A renaissance woman now, I ought dress for my inner warrior
The muse who I let be stolen

At 3am I harken her

A ghost now, still grieving for answers from man-shaped monsters — those captains who’ve abandoned the ship
She cannot answer back

Just Like Yesterday

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Were I to wear cowgirl boots on New Year’s Eve’
Would they walk me to your shine?

Were you to spin 70’s tunes on your record player
Would your dancin’ feet meet mine?

What did you wish for on your birthday without me
A shared path for us to find?

What I begged of the Ghost of Christmas Past
A machine to turn back time….