Category: Poetry


A heinous disease
Makes her write in the fall
When December comes knocking
There are no words at all

Sixteen decaf coffees a day
And a call to the chiropractor
fix me please

Walking to the farmer’s market


Wished it would
Whip me up and
Whisk me away.

It was the wind
is what I’m talking

Because it felt as if
It would,
Drag me serenely
not kicking
or screaming
somewhere else

I felt it flow
Over me
And when I closed my eyes I
Waited until it would.

it never did.

Written in May 2017, never posted until now. 


Reposted from Drafts on October 30, 2019

Tuesdays seem to go so slow
Ad breaks on the radio

Two eggs, coffee
Fried potato

Steel-toed boots in the
Heavy Snow

(I used to love writing stupid poetry like this on the last blog, unfortunately and mostly due to my own ignorance I lost all of it, but this is a rewrite of my favourite).