It might've seemed that
way, but I wasn't sleeping. 
No, I was dreaming.

I am not okay 
with what you said and I want 
it out of my head.

He went through the whole
newspaper blacking out all 
the e's with a pen.

Her wet paws made 

little prints on the porch and it 

was crazy adorbs.

I'm so happy. It 
makes me elevated and half
scared all the damn time.

I don't wanna write 
a poem tonight! I don't, 
I don't, I don't!! Waaah! 

I had to rake the 
leaves before I could write. I 
had to clear my head.

I raked up the slug 

with the leaves, but it was too 

late. He was compost.

I like to think, 'Who's 

behind those dark windows and 

what might they be like?'

She got the wind in 
her hair and was gone. I was 
someone she once knew.

Witch and Werewolf live
deep in the woods and leave only
when the moon's right.

She's thirty-two years
younger than I, but her wise, old
eyes make me shy.

Just as I picked up 
the bags of groceries I 
felt like a mother.

He's always so glad 
to see her and when he's happy 
his face turns red.

You must fight the 
power with love, not anger. It's 
the only way.

The sun is shining,
but it is of no comfort.
Some days are like that.

I saw her heart break
a little as she looked into
his cool, blue eyes.

A witch's work is
never done for the moon  
rises again tomorrow.

The light in her eyes
sparkled brighter than anyone 
else in the room.

He was content 
shouting at the clouds, dirty and
laying in the sun.

I was teaching my
child to tie her shoe and I 
recalled tying mine.

Something quite witty.
A quiet, simple giggle.
A moment they shared.

He chased me through
my nightmares and into my
daydreams and I'm so tired.

I kicked up my boots
and drank a glass of sun tea while 
the autumn sun shined.

While I do not fear 
you, Death, I forbid you to
knock upon my door.

I dreamt it nights

ago just to relive it again

in the sunlight.

oh to be the small 
spider and build your home
wherever you like it

When I have bad dreams
it's always the same him chasing 
me every time.

The spiders spun the 
most glorious webs under
the full moon last night.

The golden leaves fall
from the trees, lay in the earth,
and sleep the long sleep. 

True, we're not the same.
We're different people with the 
exact same problems.

I didn't put away 
the dry goods, but I ate toast
and wrote a poem.

I figure mermaids
have sharp, scary teeth and don't 
where shells on their boobs.

The ghosts shake their bones 
and rattle their chains to remind 
you they're still here.

I know you want out, 
cat. You're doomed, my little 
flower in the attic.

I wait for the babe
to sleep so I can write then 
stare at a blank page.

The siren fell sad 

each time she saw a sailor for 

she sang him his death.

The crows didn't move

as the cars passed. They just kept

eating the opossum. 

The yellow leaves fell 
around them as they lay in 
the sun. Oh, sweet them.

The moon looks so close
I could touch it, but I can't
and so I just look.

The winds blew her hair.
The sunlight shone on her face.
The earth made her way.

My grandfather dug 
a hole, planted a start and 
called it "Michelle's Tree".

Thinking all I 
needed was the trees, a river 
and a great big sky.

I want a Sunday
laying in bed with you, my 
head on your shoulder.

It's all around me.
From the sun that I embrace 
to the air I breathe.

From her car to her 
toes, her heart to her hair, that
one's got it. She's it.

I like walking in 

the shade in the summer and 

in autumn the sun.

You don't need to 
believe in something to be good.
Just believe you are.

I dreamt of you all

night and, in this dim light, I'm 

dreaming of you still.

"Crazy has places 
to hide in that are deeper 
than any goodbye."
                 -Leonard Cohen

I always mean to 
take a picture where the phone 
wires meet, but I haven't.

It felt swept away 
and lay there on the floor as 
I gazed upon it. 

I'd never understood
the park bench 'til I saw the
world in which it lived.

She pulled the glove 
onto her hand slowly, but not
so that it took long.

I feel inspired and 
I want to walk. Walk from this 
shore to the other.

The night is cold. Our
bodies snuggle into warm.
The morning is far.

She tried to touch his 
right hand, but he just kept on
texting somebody.

The wind moves me 
across the land and someday the 
land will call me home.

This book has been loved.
So loved I'm afraid the pages
will fall right out.

"When I'm stuck with a 
day that's grey and lonely I 
just pick up my chin..."
                                 -Annie

When he's home, not 

wearing that coat, I wonder what 

the Ringmaster wears.

The sparkles and dirt
mingled, but the sparkles were 
always the brightest.

We're all given the 
same tools to work with. It's all
in how you sculpt it.

The window stayed 
open while I was gone. I found 
a leaf in the sink.

The clouds were
dramatic and the big lands were
many plain shades of brown.

That ghost better get
gone.  He's scaring my daughter
and making me mean.

When she nurses she 
tickles my arm hairs and I
feel so fond of her.

I thought I knew those 
two girls, but then it totally 
wasn't even them.

I missed the moon
tonight. I walked and walked and walked,
never saw it once.

The sun shone on the 
rain drops that sweet, fresh, earth 
only moons could give me.

It was the sweet
smelling, crazy rains where the sun 
rays warm you after.

I planted flowers 
at that place and moved before 
I knew if they'd bloomed.

Lazy, cold, cozy,
breezy, sunny, cloudy, wet,
lost kind of morning.

She fell asleep in
her hood and boots and I thought,
'I remember that'.

To see a foxicorn
brings good fortune. To cross paths 
at night brings famine.

The foxicorn dwells
near the edge of the beach where
the green forests meet.

The foxicorn's horn
is his protection, seduction 
and influence.

The sun is always
shining. Even when it's hiding
behind some clouds.

All the way home I 
wrote a story in my head 
about those two 'birds.

I'm a slave to it.
It takes over my life. Morn,
noon and every night.

The fog lays low
today, just above my head,
making me feel cozy.

I'll write the fairy
tale and you can be the magic
that makes it so.

He stirred in his sleep
and I wanted so badly 
to be next to him.

I walked from the dark

night into the day's light and 

lighter shades of blue.

I walked through Summer
with the roses, the shade, the 
dew drops close behind.

It was about her
hat and his casualness in
the hot sunny shade.

We told ghost stories
all night or, rather, it was 
an invitation.

We talked of ghosts then 
I was left alone with one 
standing behind me.

Wanda J. played above
while she wrote feverishly 
in her journal.

The baby had inspired
her, so, she wrote a story 
from end to end.

These poems are like 

a painting for you to see 

what stars I wish on.

What is paradise,
Mom? I don't know, My Sweet Child. 
I've yet to go there.

The realtor comes each
day to water the lawn in 
his white linen pants.

A lighthouse, the sea, 
a boat adrift, the moon hangs
large, perfectly white.

The rib guy always
calls me darlin' when I walk
by in the morning.

Lives are never lost. 
Only on another journey
somewhere far off.

The birds love the trees
in our yard and I love seeing 
the birds float by.

The wind tugged at my 
skirt tails, pulling me back, but 
I kept on moving.

I walk this winding 
road alone, but hug many 
friends along the way.