Tag Archives: fear


I was not involved in #NaPoWriMo (now #GloPoWriMo) last year, and while I can’t commit to the whole 30 days, this year I may dip in and out….

Here’s a poem about choice:


There is a door
at the end
of the hall,
Shut tight.
It is not locked,
but jammed
with fear.

How did I end up here?

I press an ear
to the wood,
I think I could,
I think I should,
But is an open door
really freedom?
Or just the beginning
of a razor edged wall?

Will I fly?

Will I fall?

Should I sacrifice it all
for possibility?
Or is that naive of me?
In reality the
shades are grey
And so I stay
For now…
Better the devil
you vowed
to know.

Popping Corn

My head is full of popping corn,
Must let the right ones in,
Some are bitter, some forlorn,
All sodden; soaked in sin.

My head is full of popping corn,
A jumbled, maze-like din,
I cannot breathe; my cords are torn,
I’m choking on the string.

My head is full of popping corn,
Can’t let the black dog win,
But his howl’s already filched my dawn,
His dark has drawn me in.

Persona Non Grata

Look at this wretch;
The sum of all fears,
The flesh of her cheeks
bedashed with the smears
of her tears,
A salty network of roads
carved into pitted skin,
Eyes that tell of sin;
Wet with regret and raw with
self pity that roars from within.

A head heavy and burdened with thoughts
that have murdered her brain,
That houses a mind that is curdled with pain,
Agony that pulses through jugular veins,
That lumbers on shoulders
that are weaker and older
than their owner can feign.

A back that is troubled
and is sore
and is doubled
with an epoch of carrying the world and its whore,
A heart that is failing that is heavy and wailing
in a racked chest that’s not fit to cradle this war.

And the fat that’s in orbit
engorges the core
as it folds and it rolls in incredible reps,
This flesh in excess
that encumbers this ogress
is a vile and deplorable
horrible mess.

Legs that have walked,
That have staggered and have faltered,
That – could they both talk –
would tell tales of despair,
Of a path none would follow,
Of soul-sucking sorrow,
Of a journey to the depths
of a hellish repair.

Feet that are calloused,
That were hardened with malice
on the road that was travelled by
this haggard Alice
as she tramped through rabbit hole,
Down through the madness,
Through bedlam,
Through hellfire,
And ended up here.

Here where I stare
and I cry with despair,
I reflect this defection,
I regret this reflection,
And shiver and retch
at the sight of the wretch,
Of the me that is here,
That appeared oh so clear,

And it’s clear
that it’s her
that is me
in this mirror.