Tag Archives: poem

Listening to What She Wants to Hear| #1000Speak

Bernie’s bare finger taps table top

Trying to bring a ring to life.

tap-tap tap-tap tap-tap

He talks of his work. Job.

Mom. Oh how his mother rails against him.

She’s on a fast track to a nursing home.

It would be better for him.

Out of his hair. For her too.

Someone else’s care.

His greasy angry lays heavy against

Bernie’s lungs. She’s not sure when she would breathe

if they were together.

But he’s single.

No kids.

Good job.

Isn’t she about that life?

She wasn’t sure,

The Wild Turkey was telling her to drink more.

With enough inside, she could go on a ride

Problems resolved behind closed doors,

back pressed against a wall.

As he went on about how mother’s lack of support,

zero appreciation.

But it rested on his shoulders,

younger siblings too busy being young- useless.

His fist balled, quick motion and he poured his anger out into the table. *crack*

The sound reverberated .

Forks clattering against dishes, murmured words,

shoes clacking against marble tile.


Eyes on them.

She excels at ignoring things.

Laid loving hands on him.

It’s going to be alright, she whispered.

Such passion, he had. Just needed it diverted into something positive.

Anyone with that kind of passion had divine right make things happen.

She could make them happen.

Mold him.

But he was such a kind man to want to take care of

everyone despite their failings.

A hero really.

He put family first before everything.

She respected that.

Respected him.

Even if there fear fluttered on the edge.

She assumed she would love him one day.



This month’s theme is Listening for #1000Speak for Compassion. I was thinking about Bernie from my WIP Blood Roses and Honeysuckles at the beginning of her dating her now husband. She had heard what she wanted to hear. And now things aren’t quite what she wanted.

There’s still time to link up. Go to the  for #1000 SpeakCompassion Facebook page and link up there.


Other poems in the Blood Roses Group if you haven’t checked them out already:

A Guessing Game

About Addy’s Mama


Aloha ya’ll!


Filed under My Poetry

Introducing Heartbreaking Poet, Laura A. Lord | Indie Author Spotlight

This woman impresses the Hell out of me. I won’t say that very often, so you know it’s real.

Laura A. Lord pens such smart and beautiful poetry. And she produces it so quickly. (Keep in mind, my collection from last year was from the span of 15 years or so.) Not only is she a beautiful soul, a writer of such skill, a devoted mother and wife, and she’s a graphic designer. Did you see The Reverie Journal‘s beautiful layout? She did that and she’ll be designing the magazines.

Oh…and the covers of all of her books. Ms. Laura A. Lord, could you please stop being so awesome? The rest of us are just trying to keep up.  I’m reading her latest release Of Roots and Wreckage and  I am absolutely slayed.  There’s a deep-seated strength, a snarl, a quiet desperation, and softened eyes gleaming with tears in the pages of this collection. I wanted to give you guys an opportunity to learn more about her, to check out her poetry, and to just feel this.

(By the way–can you just look at this glorious cover?)



In Of Roots and Wreckage, Laura A. Lord moves us with the imagery that has come to define her poetry. Whether looking into the brutal truths of where one calls home to moments of reveling in the joy and pain of an aging body – Lord is  to exploring in raw honesty the smallest of moments and describes with startling clarity the mysteries that move and break us.

Want to win a free copy of Laura’s Of Roots and Wreckage? Enter Laura’s Goodread’s Giveaway Here!

Her newest collection, Of Roots and Wreckage, focuses heavily on where she grew up. Split into three sections, this collection explores the ideas of “roots” and hometowns, of people and change, of aging and death.

Here is a selection from Of Roots and Wreckage:




Field of Poppies

I was thirteen when I watched

the blue of your eyes

take on a strange hue.

The roots of some storm brewing

right there below your lashes,

clumped with cheap mascara

like the gnarled ends of an apple tree.


You paced the bedroom –

speedy steps across twelve feet.

The inklings of your maelstrom

were as audible as

my grandmother’s tap, tap, tap

on the conjoining wall

and I wonder if she heard your thunder.


I loved your nightgown –

a frivolous scrap of blue

bouncing around the edges of your thighs,

as you delivered an epilogue

of literary proportions.

I knew this was the end

or the first of apocalyptic beginnings.


You tossed the slim shining metal

in the air like one big

piece of WalMart brand confetti,

sucked in your lip at the corner

until it turned almost as crimson

as the first cut – a thin line

breaking free of your porcelain skin.


I was picking at the dried bits

of yellow wax on my leg –

the remains of some old

Christmas cookie candle

and when I had cleared the field,

you made a furrow with the tip.

An explosion of poppies bloomed there.


So, you curled up beside me

and when I tried to catch

the soft petals as they dripped,

you kissed my hand,

said, We are women.

They’ll never know.

I was thirteen and my grandmother tapped on the wall.

© Laura A. Lord 2015

Pre-order your copy now!


You can find this author and poet in all these wonderful places!

Twitter    Facebook    Soundcloud    YouTube

Amazon    Goodreads    Google +    Pinterest

Independent Author Network    Dystenium


Her other books available NOW!

History_of_a_Woman_Cover_for_Kindle BookCoverPreviewBookCoverPreview - Copy (1)




















Laura A. Lord is the author of numerous collections of vignettes and poetry and one awesome children’s book about a T-Rex screwing up her entire day. It’s absolutely a true story.

Laura’s work has been featured in The Beacon, The Collegian, Whirl with Word, Tipsy Lit, Precipice, Scary Mommy, The Powder Room, The Reverie Journal, and Massacre Magazine.




Indie Author Spotlight 2




Filed under Indie Author Spotlight

Nurtured bites (A Poem) | #1000Speak

Nurtured bites
She rested against the locker,
cold metal pressed against her back
hunter green like her thrift store Army jacket.
She wondered if someone had worn it in war
and if they’d been on the winning side.

Head on her knees
she tried to breathe deep
like her mama’s newest guru
taught her. Breathing was a gateway
to her chakras, which seemed clogged
but she thought maybe they were just hungry.

Sharp pain in her ankle,
dark laughter and footsteps racing
down the hall. She hadn’t bothered to
look. They were all the same.
She was always their target practice.
The weak ostracized from the pack.
The gazelle.

Tears burned the back of her eyes,
Waiting to be freed.
She swallowed them down.
On today’s lunch menu:shame.
Then something changed,
Shadow above her
Seen through her hair curtain.

Teacher lowered herself quietly.
Legs crossed at the knees.
She reached into her satchel,
that matched her shoes perfectly,
pulled a sandwich and
passed it to the girl.
“Want to talk about it?”

The girl shook her head.
Not today.
Maybe she would next time.
That sandwich seemed fill her
With hope.
1000 speak logo

Nurturing has to start somewhere. Sometimes it can be as small as a person consistently being there.

It’s time for the #1000Speak linkup. This month’s theme is “Nurturing.” If you’d like to participate, feel free to linkup.

If this is all new to you, watch this video.It tells you the backstory of the 1000 Speak for Compassion campaign.


Filed under My Poetry, Poetry