Writer's Block 1

One of the worst things about being so ill, is that there are poems I wish to write (sometimes I even take notes on one, or start research or an outline). But I never get around to the writing.

I just don't have the energy, or there are too many other (urgent) things taking precedence.

Thank goodness I AM getting some blogging done once in awhile, or I would feel absolutely bereft.

I am, and always have been, my art...

Daisies

Smooth and pristine white petals circling
a yellow center in perfect symmetry,
all held together by a delicate green stem.
And carefully cultivated by big nurseries
for lovers to give lovers in bunches.
Yet, I prefer wild growing snapdragons.

Hawk

Hawk soars
above checkerboard fields,
beside granite slabs of mountains,
through deep wooded canyons.

Hawk beats
the air with wings of strength,
wings that can make the thunder roll
out across the land.

Hawk saves
the lightening in its dark eyes
to hurl at enemies in streaks and bolts
during battles of will.

Hawk hunts
with eyes that miss no movement,
with sharp talons that pierce cruelly,
and with a forever hunger.

Hawk kills
and tears apart till quivering flesh,
spreading the bloody entrails
across the high mountain ledges.

Hawk's soul
is a fast moving black shadow;
once it barely brushed against me.
I shivered.

Separation Anxiety

Oh, I knew of your going
weeks before you stepped on the plane;
a mutual friend informed me.


But I didn't pick up the phone,


call to get all the details. I thought
that I would not miss you,
that I would surely be able to hold


you firmly in my mind during


the months of your travels.
Yet now I keenly feel the ties that link
us, thinly stretched across


continents and oceans and time.


And I am suddenly reduced
to walking past your door and phoning
to hear your voice on a machine.