Poetry Weaver

Fever’s Brow

Fever’s Brow

Lightly touching fever’s browWith a soothing mother’s touchA solemn whispered prayer she givesAs to his little hand she’ll clutchHer heart is full of worry and painAs helplessness floods her soulWondering why it happened to himShe prays to make him...
Sunday Noons

Sunday Noons

Pillow graspedin tight little fistsaround her headscraped knucklesreminders ofyesterday’sfloor scrubbingabandonmenther own fault-orso she was toldgritting her teethshe huddles againstbunk’s iron headboardthe bell againnot rememberingwhen it last rang for...
The Vigil

The Vigil

she writhespowerlessas giant phallusesforce the last remnantsof lubricant from her guts- dry plates screech togetherlike chalkboard fingernailsas brittle coastlinescrack and shift cavernous ruts deepenlike the furrowed brows ofenvironmental watchdogswitnessing the...
Rat Saviour

Rat Saviour

A rat! There’s a rat!She could always count on him to come running.One squeal andthe rat saviourmiraculouslyappeared with his net. A hero in husband clothes. He knew that curve on College Streetwas dangerous when it rained.Suddenly annoyed at his...
Note

Note

Much of my poetry was written in workshops or as an assignment of a certain style. I studied online under a tutor for several years. She schooled me in rhyme, rhythm, and different styles. I joined contests to create something for pictures. This style, called...