poem

Mrs. Dalloway’s Mind (a poem)

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I step inside Mrs. Dalloway’s mind:

it twists, turns – I’m lost in the maze,

as she spills thoughts on the page –

a link to her consciousness;

it’s a stream that overflows,

breaks embankments, floods my psyche

‘till I put the book down,

lest my mind goes manic and

doesn’t come back.

(Photo credit: A portrait photo of Virginia Woolf from Britannica.com).

Note: This poem was inspired by Mrs. Dalloway, the classic novel by Virginia Woolf. I’m reading it now, and I love it, but I’ve had to put it down a couple of times because I felt like it was triggering a manic episode.

The Final Sound (a poem)

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Staring at these screens, I wonder

if I’ll get sucked inside and live in the vastness

of our Great Collective Unconscious like so many

writers have prophesied.

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Down by the Creek (a poem)

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We’re at the creek because this is a happy place

for us – the birdsong is soothing, the trickling water

reminds me these places exist in reality –

not just the online world we live in.

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The Neighbor’s Vegetables (a poem)

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The neighbor talks to me as she tends her vegetable garden –

she talks at me is more like it; I hardly get a word in, you see.

She says, “All Lives Matter;” I bite my tongue,

let her ramble, not knowing what’s bouncing in that brain.

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The Pale Woman (a poem)

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Down the winding path, you go deep into the forest –

the dense birch trees make it so dark that only

a faint light breaks through and illuminates

the leave-strewn path.

You were told to avoid this place – a place

where corpses dangle from branches and

lay twisted on the forest floor, their faces

stuck in a final moment of eagerness to

kill a lifetime of sorrow.

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The Witch Queen (a poem)

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The Witch Queen nurses you to health and assures you

she means no harm – the people fear her because she’s

ageless and has wandered these woods for centuries,

speaking with wild animals and traversing the dark

landscape, looking for lost travelers.

She tends to their wounds, offers medicine in her hut,

then devours them in sexual ecstasy like they’ve

never experienced before. They all leave feeling better –

the Witch Queen is your friend, not your enemy.

(Photo by Miriam Espacio on Unsplash)

Note: This poem was inspired by a character in Old Gods of Appalachia, a horror anthology podcast that I’m currently obsessed with.

In the Garden (a poem)

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In the garden, I dig my hands into the cool,

dark soil and pull out weeds – it feels so good

to connect with our Mother. The sun is shining

and I can smell the rosebush near the shed,

reminding me not all is lost, that when

we’re all gone, there will be peace again.

(Photo by Ricardo Resende on Unsplash)

Addiction is Like (a poem)

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Addiction is like an old record skipping,

caught in a permanent loop,

but you can’t stop the needle,

because you’re handcuffed to the radiator

and your hand is sore and bleeding from

trying to break free –

so you keep pulling until you realize

you can only accept the skipping sound

and once you do that, it’s like

you don’t even hear it.

(Photo by Steve Harvey on Unsplash)

Spirit and Flesh (a poem)

Nick Pipitone5 Comments

This gothic cathedral was once a spiritual home.

Priests dabbed foreheads with holy water and

incense wafted to high ceilings and

parishioners chewed on wafers and said:

“Peace be with you.”

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The City Breathes (a poem)

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Why does this city feel like a living thing?

It’s like the people teeming from buildings are all

part of an organism, and the endless concrete breathes

and coughs up dust that suspends in hot air.

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