Poem: is there peace

by Debi


is there peace
.           in your heart



you    ought to
.          refuse to
.          deceive yourself

.           justice
.           righteousness

.           your thorns
.           your heart
.           your deeds

be        broken
be        cut away

so your heart

.                                    can beat

Poem: leaking family trees


leaking family trees
by Debi

energy from the light
glowing paint
Day-glo thread
the visible emerging
from the invisible
when the final darkness comes
still glowing

circles of death tanks
feeding the ground
the rivers, the homes
the families, the future
a secret, a cover-up
20,000 turns around the sun
until Spring

the children unborn
carrying on the family business
cleaning up the waste
from the death beds
of their fathers


Inspired by Ginnie Hebert, Leaks, 2013
Cotton quilt, glow-in-the-dark paint, glow-in-the-dark thread



Upside-Down World

upside down hanging lamp

This is a short excerpt from a project I’ll be working on during the month of July for Camp Nanowrimo. This work currently has no name.  It will be a cross-genre work of fiction blurred with non-fiction, poetry, memoir, prose, stream-of-consciousness, epistolary forms.  And whatever else may work its way in there.

Upside-Down World
by Debi

Friends become enemies. Lovers, exes. Families, estranged. What the hell’s happening? The world is upside-down. My world is upside-down.

I’d lie on my back, hang my head down over the edge of the bed—down over the edge of the world—and the ceiling of my childhood home became the floor. The floor, the ceiling.  Magic.  This was Upside-Down World. A charmed world peopled by people similar to my people. But altered. Different. Stronger. Bolder. I was younger. Ceiling Girl older.

Upside-Down World was sparse. The only décor, an occasional floor lamp (the hanging lamps of right-side up world). The floor (my ceiling) was white, flowing-from-room-to-room. White. Always the same. Uniform. Level. Steady. I sensed something serene about those sparsely furnished and simply colored ceiling spaces. I knew nothing of Zen. But felt the truth. Less was more.

Lying on my back in this house, this home of my grownup years, the ceiling’s slanted. Unsteady. Yes. So is grownup life. No level surfaces. No easy answers. No sure footing. An upside-down world.

Dear Ceiling Girl …

You’ve watched. What did you see? What do you see? Does it make sense? You’ve followed me forever, looking down. A witness. Seen the highs. The rockbottomness of rockbottoms. Can you trace the path, the twisted journey, that led here? I’m lost. I’m here, but lost.  Confused.  I miss the surety of childhood’s future. The hopes. Dreams. Imaginations. Magic. Witchcraft. Wishcraft.

Are you still there, Ceiling Girl? Or did this upside-down world shake your footing, too?


Poem: Night Skies

by Debi

dark arch of sky
millions of stars
mysteries of the cosmos
blazed in darkness
gleaming jewels
of rose or crystal hue
beauty overhead
a clear night
without a moon
alone with the stars
patterns of constellations
standing out
bright and clear
misty river
the Milky Way
drink in the beauty
a blazing planet
low on the horizon
look up at the sky
breath-taking glimpse
the night skies are alive

Poem: Dragging the River of Memory

(In case this poem looks/sounds familiar, this is an updated version of a poem previously posted on this blog.)


by Debi

dragging the river of memory—
.           in search of her younger self
it’s already too late

her life was her torture
she was capable of imagining
.           a life outside of housework
that sense of youth
and immortality disappeared
.           in the destruction of the old familiar

the river hurtled toward the sea
.           foretold
.                      foreshadowed

re-seeing herself
creating multiple mirrors
dreaming again
re-writing her life

don’t look back
.           or you lose her forever

Erasure: LISTEN

I’m currently working on an erasure poem of an entire book. Is there such a thing as an epic erasure? That seems to better describe this undertaking.  I actually completed the book’s erasure and now I’m working to format and edit it.  I’m sort of excited.  It’s been quite a project.  🙂

Here’s a brief sample of a small part of one of the poems I found hiding in the text of the book I’ve been erasing. Stayed tuned for more on this project.

UPDATE!  The book is now in print!  Click on the book cover for details!

by Debi

31m2vqk1gvlyour       freedom


you         learn


you         read
you         know
you         think
you         do


Poem: at fault

by Debi

I sat alone                with them all
my greatest fear        realized



I would’ve been
.                              less alone
if I’d stayed
.                              home alone
.                              brokenhearted
is it
.                   my       fault
.                   no        fault
.                   his        fault
.                   her       fault
.                   their     fault


when     everyone’s
.                 at           fault
who’s    to                  blame?


I would say
.               our            fault
but there seems to be
.                               no our


is it no one’s fault?


I’ll take the                blame
sometimes                 it’s easier to be
.                               perceived as
.                               the one wronging others
.   rather than             convincing others
.                               you’re the one wronged


if it keeps the peace

.                               then


it’s my fault


(does this make me a doormat?)

Writing Prompt: The Freezer

This was written in response to a writing prompt given in an MFA class last year:

“Write from the perspective of a common home appliance.”

I found that if this is read without knowing who or what the “I” is, it’s quite unnerving.  Serial killer, perhaps?  I stumbled across this on my computer today and had forgotten I’d written it, or even what it was about.  Creeped me out.  It brought to mind for me “Psycho” and someone a bit like Norman Bates.

The Freezer
by Debi

Darkness, total and complete.  Bone-chilling cold.  Stacks of frozen carcasses.  Solid ice.  The never-altering, eternally freezing, condition of my life.  Waiting.  Always waiting.  Quietly humming tuneless songs. Wondering when a flash of light and heat will signal the entrance of The Family, disturbing my solitary, frozen existence.

My downstairs neighbor receives frequent visits from The Family throughout the day.  Although my neighbor’s darkness is also complete, the blackness never lasts as long as the darkness I live in.  His cold environment isn’t enough to form ice or frost.  The fluids are chilled but still liquid.  The carcasses are preserved for a time, but not eternally frozen.  The Family worries when the small glass bulb which provides light burns out in my neighbor’s apartment.  My living space has no light source of its own.  Only when the door opens do I see the contents of my own interior.