Bone House is my one and only . . . and by that I mean that it is the only poetry collection that I have published and most likely will be my only one EVER! I can't seem to write poetry anymore, but I suppose that what I did manage is fantastic. So here is one of the poems that can be found in the collection.
I am Woman
I am the fire on the humble horizon,
the last drop of morning dew dwelling on the summer dandelion,
the whispering breeze bustling through the broken window,
the songbird singing sweetly from within the whips of the weeping willow,
the misty moon vanishing behind the sun’s forbidding silk.
I am the alarm clock that forgets to ring,
the orbs hidden beneath heavy lids and hushed lashes,
the smell of burning bacon beckoning from the kitchen,
the stumbling reply left in the ripples of the blankets,
the smile that soothes every soul it encounters.
I am the brand new day,
the list of errands on the cereal covered countertop,
the lost bra buried beneath a heap of unfit attire,
the pair of jeans that finally fit the hungry hips,
the kiss that makes men immortal.
I am the shards of a broken mirror,
the hands that pick them up.
I am the tears that never seem to fall right,
the cloth that dries them.
I am the torn spirit,
the needle and thread running through its seam.
I am the abandoned house,
and one searching for a place to call home.
I am the cloud-cover on a potentially beautiful day,