her words still softly breathing
like ice, the back of my neck
on garlands of wintry poesy
i lumber in the driving rain

my scornful eyes, her candy lips
a whisper there of a name
a heart crashed hard like jigsaw clay
i’d thrown the pieces all around

her body no longer frames to mine
and i’m lost in thrumming pour
i see pain ripple on the ground
how could she love him more than me?

so hear now, all frogs’ orchestra
you ushers of this sodding night
vain, await the boobook call
sing up a new and better day

her lips still softly breathing
like words, the neck, my soul
compelling me to face myself
where have the frogs all gone?

i cannot think about this now
i know enough to grieve
recall the shimmer on her cheek
feel tears spill from the sky for me

i’m wondering why i should care
why this has to start with me
an unsaid truth hangs in the air
she’s not the whore… it’s me


© All rights reserved 2008

Miss Misliked

of course, now I should put a sexy picture above
and earn an additional ‘like’ below

of course, now you should think, “WOW… a sexy chick!”
associate me with a provocative illustration
and make such a sought-after click

of course… but I’m a total ditz and always trip outside the mainstream
I don’t want to lie to you, my Reader
I’m run-of-the-mill. I’m tedious. I’m dim

so, let me step away from others’ enchanting masks and wiles
and just do what I can… try to seduce you with my candid poetry style


© All rights reserved 2015

GUEST POST // Portrait Of Me by Tokoni O. Uti

I’m painting a picture of my mystique.
Of my crooked lines and strange physique.
I’m fulfilling my part of the self-love pledges.
And refusing to brush away my rough edges.
I’m showing the rewards of my foolish lies.
And proudly displaying the circles beneath my eyes.
My skin bears gifts from the morning sun.
And scars from childhood fun.
I’m painting a picture of nature’s grand.
I’m painting a portrait of me.


© All rights reserved 2014

GUEST POST // Lost In Translation by Tokoni O. Uti

The resulting fruit is unable to mirror the tree.
I’m unable to crack the code that is me.
The square pegs are lined up in defiant rows.
And the lone vine will unorthodoxly grow.
We’re fighting the tides of unkind situation.
And feeling the pain of lost in translation.


© All rights reserved 2014


Ivory and ebony, rock crystal and brocade,
Her life is sweet and lovely like Dundee marmalade,
Her life is bright and sparkling, a magic fairy tale…
I met her eyes. I saw her truth. A caged nightingale.


© All rights reserved 2014