The Writer

by Lepetit pumpkinesque

Entries 12

Page 1 of 1

May 27, 2018


“You listen too well” my mothers well worn back-handed compliment, reclining, or maybe melting, kitchen chairs, an upturned glass, heel of her palm pressed against the darkening sky of her cheek...

December 30, 2017


Death is candid, he does not take and give back, what he snatches is for keeps. He never lies and says ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do…‘ not a salesman but a judge, a brusque swing of his gavel- ...

October 04, 2017


I want a body that brooks no argument. That bites, instead of cowers when abused, bares its teeth at a lingering hand- a body that stands up for itself, and refuses to be muzzled. I have been ...

June 03, 2017


Carry on Polaris, I would follow- stumble through rooted forests black and earthen, soil rich as gold. This arc was clearly outlined, fated, ensnared- two ships not passing but crashing in the r...

April 19, 2017


I bundle your excuses into piles Trash, keep, return. Line up the needle and embroider the guilt, embed the strung words into one wrist then another. My heart choked by syllables and sentences. I...

February 05, 2016

Two poems

I am the anchor, tethering you here. The thread weeds, and the stone, a treacherous weight. I am the moon drowning you with an angry high tide, then pulling back, apologetic. A howling summe...

January 05, 2016

January 4th

I grow in the small cut aways left to me. Your residual bald spots where weeded and pulled, first grappling, then dominating your lies. Quiet in the forgotten undergrowth, yet un-razed, out of b...

June 10, 2015

The trembling

My heart; asunder. The black goblin who weeps from the wound and drags himself up and out with gladness. Careful of the cracks, darling, my grief has teeth and she gnashes. My chest, broken op...

February 26, 2015


A stumbling question clutched close, beyond the throat of a quiet room. A necklace of red grapes, the sweet collar bone that beckons your kiss. Your hand, on my back as I fall heavy into slumb...

August 18, 2014


A fitful slumber, through gauzy windows peeped the Beast imprisoned in a cage of rib bones. Held there, a burrowing rodent against a cement floor, how he gnashed his teeth against knowledge, p...

July 09, 2014

The Watcher

I stood at the shoreline and watched you dip over the horizon. Unapologetic. And then stayed like a mother keeping bedside vigil. Starched with fear, upholstered upright. Becoming less like a...

April 23, 2014


I, the lone adult, lop off strawberry heads, give them over to eager hands whose feet march the tiled floors like a roving army. I, the kitchen guard enslaved to endless snack orders- or el...

Book Description

Times when I get creative