Posted 18.4.03 by Deirdre

No longer schizo
No welcome at the door, and I wipe my shoes.
Since when were you so synical?
they say about the attitude.
Honestly, it's not that I'm any different.
It's that I'm honest now that I'm naked.
David said ten to a room yet no petition.
Everything's amiss.
A few prayers have been misplaced.

So I was honest but your laughs still shut me out.
I felt like this is all I'll ever be from here on out
I felt that no one would remember a me that once stood, burning.
I'm beginning to doubt I even did that.
But I'd rather be honest than try and polish my shell for Sunday.
I'm no longer schizo.
Had you met my twin?
He's filled my shoes since I was ten.
Now he's just a severed head, and I'm no longer schizo.
©2003 AshNook

Posted 13.4.03 by Deirdre

Fed up with starving
How is it adequate
they know it's never enough
it's just a feeling that you've been feeding them.

When was it adequate
you know it's never enough
it's just a feeling you've been fed. Up...
til' now your god, endorfins,
sat enthroned sovereign upon your three lb. fallen brain.
You'd never know the enemy had your flank.

Allegorically speaking of milk as the simpleton's religion
do you think we'll ever climb the pyramid to the top every food group?
As it is, they're preying on the weak when we vacation on foundation
at the bottom of the food chain.
How is it adequate, gorging cream in revelry.
We're fed and fed, but still we're left here starving.
Though we throttle throats of brethren in our common calling.
Still, the Sunday morning church-going, milk-mustached pacifists
chronicly repose the pliancy of our perpetual immaturity.
©2003 AshNook

Posted 9.4.03 by Deirdre

Heavy-handed loss of breath
I must have finally touched down
no more wind to pull me 'round,
no more clouds to bury my head up in.
This is what it is to be grounded.
Bottoms up with no floor to fall under.
No song, no poem, no melody.
I must have finally come down.

In a heavy-handed loss of breath
the sky above my eyes did reft
the last of me, the best of me.
You've got the best of me.

I promise you I'll write some more
if it means a thing, don't close the door on me.
On me. I'm yours. It's on me. On me.
©2003 AshNook

Posted 1.4.03 by Deirdre

A mother's friend
The toy ambulance tumbled down the staircase,
echoing the taping of falling rain from gutters to an outer windowsill.
I heard it from the kitchen, the patter of little feet...
my children playing above the ceiling floorboards.
Innocence and abandon followed their chuckles and playful screams.

I cannot thank the dishes enough, again returning to their daily high.
But my eyes are flirting with the recliner in the den now.
I turn in step, but without seeing the ambulance that cleverly trips me.
And again--today like yesterday, I am floored with laughter and their share of pain...
So I arise and return to the kitchen again, where I find a friend in my bottle of Aspirin.
©2003 Nicholas White