My Bracelet (repost)

•September 11, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Today I wear a bracelet
Which is eighteen years old
I wear it this day every year
For living moments that it holds

It was made for us in gratitude
For being there and holding up
The families of those we lost too soon
That horrid day in Washington

Crafted by hand in all three colors
They once were bright without a mark
Each year the colors fade a bit
And the beads become more scarred

At first I made an effort
To keep it quite pristine
But after many years I realize
Value is not in keeping clean

The dirt and scratches simply show
Eighteen years of life we’ve lived
We’re not defined by cracks and aging
But by what of ourselves we give

Dear bracelet, you’ll be on my wrist
On this day every year
Until one of us lets go that thread
Life well worn out for those not here





I repost this every year on this day, it’s not the best poem technically…but that doesn’t really matter today.

A picture of the bracelet made, and given to me, by a volunteer at the Pentagon days after September 11, 2001 to thank those of us who escorted families to view the site where their loved ones died that horrific day. I am proud to have stood there with them, to have wept with them, to have heard stories about their loved ones, to have been present, available. It is one of my saddest, but proudest, days in the military.


•September 8, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Like an incessant itch
On the back of my neck
From a tag cut too rough
But sewn into the seam
Of my new softest sweater
So too is my need
To move way too quick
And not feel all these things


painting: Sweater Painting by Jantina Peperkamp


•September 7, 2019 • Leave a Comment

I count the skulls that stare at me
With polished slack-jawed reverie
Twenty two and neatly stacked, I
Think they know I’m looking back

I still myself while bronze keys chime
They have no hands and yet mark time
The upturned hornet feels it too, she
Fights to stand to spite she’s through

I wait as endings e’re show up
Sip strangeness cooling in my cup, peace
Lily blooms but leaves curl brown
I feel the reaching, weathered shroud

and grin


Painting: Focus in Chaos, by Another-Scarlet-Lily, on


•August 22, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Caution color winks
Wild at me yet I persist
This drive unyielding


(In)Sane 2

•August 21, 2019 • Comments Off on (In)Sane 2

You say you crave my crazy
If it is kept quite regulated
A bit of stable instability
Sin-heavy sighs but suffocated

You say you want my passion
Constrained till you are cool and ready
Rationed irrationality
The feel of free fall all while steady

You say you need me softer
And finally we find the truth
Your safety is birthed from settling
Trading once wild me for under-roof


Digital art: See No Evil, by Zelkats on

This is an edit and a repost from a couple of years ago.


•August 10, 2019 • Leave a Comment

I want to write
But the words have been taken
By a clever she-cat named
My disconnection
Carried off by their nape
All quite dead-limp but safe
She guards till they’re full grown
For all our protection


Photograph taken in NYC in 1925


•July 25, 2019 • Leave a Comment

When you can’t use your hand
‘Cause you’ve sliced up a finger
And you can’t use your foot
‘Cause you’ve broken a toe
There’s not much to do
On your long list of “have-to”
But sit tight on your own ass
And (@$#&!) give up control.

– me

Painting: Waiting by Rachel Rochford

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