In the living room
Underneath the beautiful tree
In the pale glow of the late Christmas afternoon turned night
My brother is wearing a tutu

He squeals and leaps
As he stretches at the barre we got him
The joy from the morning pasted on his face
Fourteen years old
But a little girl still

His beauty is pure
His excitement over his gifts true
His wig, a shield from those who would intrude
His Sephora gift card, a weapon
No goddess ever better armed

They fall
From the heights
Of Mt Olympus
Down our face.

Overburdened
With the toxic slurry
Of our lives.

By Therisa Godwaldt

© 2008 Therisa Godwaldt

All rights Reserved

An angry feminine voice
Jars me
Back to the present.

My eyes
Bleary from crying
Realizing
It was your mom.

Hastily
Wiping my eyes dry
Turn to face her.

Knew
She was talking
But didn't understand
Her.

Slowly
Her words penetrated
My mental fog.

Judging
From her voice's pitch
She has been yelling at me
For a while.

"James Robert McLeod!"

Reaching up
I grasp the patchwork doll
Within my hand.

Noticing
For the first time
As I turn it over
Various repair jobs.

From her mom's strong
And confident stitching
To Ellie's loose
And inexperienced stitching.

Tears
Run down my cheeks
Streaks of black mascara
Marring my face
Before landing on the doll.

Remembering
Your final hours
How you needed
Everything to be
Your way.

Forty years ago
A child was born
Into this world.

Perfect
In all ways
With ten fingers
And toes.

No visible signs
Of a birth defect
Except one.

Only known
To the child.

Not a defect
As society understands
But a greater truth.

That burns
With the intensity
Of a white-hot flame.

Removing all doubt
In the child's mind.

She takes small steps
Within the safety
And privacy
Of the bathroom.

An Ode to 'Bike', the first 10 years

I’d rather be Riding my bicycle
My bicycle made for two
With bells and rings and things on
But a trusty read that always delivers
What it says on the tin

Through thick and thin
Wet and Dry
Another episode comes along
And then two or three more just like busses
But it always delivers
What it says on the tin

Angharad you are a trooper
Sooper dooper
And that is a fact
But the tales go on
And it always delivers
What it says on the tin

I managed to find some of my poetry pieces, I wrote this one while reflecting on how depression, etc., can affect people.

**********

The Voice Within

I walked alone in a garden,
When my life seemed so drear and dark;
I could not see the flowers there
Or hear the sweet song of the lark.

I wandered here, then wandered there,
Looking for a way to the light;
I knew not where I went nor why,
Just that life seemed eternal night.

“Mama…”

She doesn’t say the words, but you still hear them: “not now, sweetie. Mama’s busy.”

You know better than to reach out for her. Your hands are already stinging. Better to keep them by your side where they can’t annoy anybody.

Still, the need aches at you.

“I told you, I’m busy,” she doesn’t say.

You try to be a good girl and pull away, but your heart doesn’t listen; it still reaches out despite knowing it’s not allowed.

The yelling gets louder. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I was busy. Stop being a bother.”

While crying about my own and Cathy's mom, a funny thing happened. A happy, silly, little song started tripping around in my brain. I couldn't stop it, so I had to write it down. It didn't stop my tears but at least now I'm smiling. :)

They told me
I could be
Anything I wanted
Asked me what
I meant to be
When I grew up
When I told them
"I want to be a mommy!"
They changed their tune
"You can't be a mommy
You can only be a daddy!"
My life could be
A consolation prize
And then they wonder
Why I don't know me

Dysphoria

(With apologies to Rhianna)

What’s wrong with me?

Why do I feel like this?

I’m going crazy now ...

Author's Note: These alternate song lyrics just came to me and I had to share. They're too good not to share. I hope at least some of you enjoy this as much as I do.

Turn to Girl
by Terry Volkirch

(sung to the tune of Turn to Stone by ELO)

An older, somewhat brittle man
(Still young at heart and full of life)
I stay in shape because I can (yearning, yearning)

Strange magic hit my body good
(Turned me into someone new)
And in my room my body stood
In my pink world

This Halloween
By Barbara Lynn Terry

The witches sabbat is this Halloween
It behooves us to be seen
In our favorite scary garb
To keep the ghosts and goblins and witches at bay
Also, the werewolves, monsters and vampires
Lest they devour us little by little.
So, on this Halloween day,
Let us aspire
Not to perspire
Lest we be found out
That we are not a ghost, goblin, monster, vampire or witch
While we are out and about.

TG Limerick Day

May 12 was National Limerick Day because it is the birthday of Edward Lear, who is credited with popularizing that poetic form in his Book of Nonsense, published in 1846.

So I decided to compose a few TG limericks for today.

1. There once was a boy from Purdue,
Who thought he was really a Sue.
She put on a skirt, turned into a flirt,
And sings in a café near you.

I'm at peace when I'm asleep
No fear, no pain
No troubled soul crying inside
    when I'm asleep

I don't cry when I'm asleep
No tears, no sorrow
No mirrors reflecting the hurt
    when I'm asleep

I dream of home when I'm asleep
A place of peace
    when I'm asleep

A Soldiers Christmas Poem