Archive for the Poetry Category

Because It’s Poetry Month

Posted in Poetry on April 26, 2009 by Ms. Ex

For your reading pleasure.

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Wild Kingdom

Posted in Poetry, Writing with tags , , , on December 6, 2008 by Ms. Ex

I sit typing and

a giant moth flies by me, the wind of her wings

going just past my ear

like a breath

to light

on the dirty fixture above.

A cricket sings in the next room while

lady bugs amass on the streaky, smeary window.

Tendrils of ivy

poke through the 100 year old gaps in this house,

easing in to gradually steal away my walls.

Until I will look down at my feet and see lush green

a verdant sponge around me.

As I type,

a bird will come and

sit on my shoulder digging his delicate, dry, sharp feet into my thin skin.

He will eat crackers from my mouth, the way

my writer friends’ parrot  did.

I type, and the keys become beetles,

wriggling beneath my fingertips,

trying to evade being made into words.

The children, who used to come in to dust me now and again,

have long given up

and retired to their rooms.

They hear the singing, the walls falling, the cracker nibbling

and the clackety-click of the keyboard beetles,

and they know

Mom is Writing.

Not a Poem

Posted in Autism, Poetry with tags , , , , , on August 25, 2008 by Ms. Ex

I don’t feel poetic tonight

I feel sweaty, sticky, raw from a loud and violent day

with my four-year-old.

Atop the china cabinet is our armory:

Golf clubs, a toy fishing pole, a plastic shovel, a piece of wood splintered from a door jamb.

A plastic sword, a paddle covered with suction cups for catching the rubber ball, a bag of lifesaver

jellybeans (don’t ask me why).

It’s not that he wants to hurt me

It is the same thing in me that is in him that I got from my father like my brother:

This fury, escaping through the force of a fist.

This wall of turmoil inside, piling up behind the lump in my throat that closes it off from

the words that might rescue me, from the healing I might do, from the forgiveness I might need.

These things we choke on –

they are our doom.

And our salvation.