blackest days

school right around the corner, time doesn’t fly it rockets
I’ve been altering colored photos of my children when they were younger and appeared more innocentšŸ˜‰
I enjoy stepping away from pencil and pen once in awhile and pretend I’m a photographer

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when you are a storm

he will be there when you aren’t
he will know when you don’t
he will want you when you’re broken
he will stand near when you’ve fallen
he will make room for your art
he will stay when you leave
he will be there when you return
he will sing when you’re hoarse
he will befriend your inner foes
he will be calm
when you are a storm

Who

Who


“they”

her eyes face the pavement
“they” whisper
in booming voices
secrets no one could know
cuttingĀ 
tearing at her invisible flesh
piece by piece
bit by bit

the backside of her heart vacant
“they” say
“they” laugh
“they” commune
“they” cackle
exhaling poisonous fumes
their souls
shriveling with each round

this assault will continue
as must she

Dolores/oilthis 4’x’3 painting is almost 30 years old – one of my dear sisters allowed me to stretch and contort her beautiful face for the purposes of art
where I have common brown – dolores’ eyes are beautiful blue

this verse was published last year, I reworked it extensively
every time I return to my older poems – I cringe a little, laugh sometimes, then rewrite