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"Poetry is the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." Leonard Cohen

Sunday, January 11, 2015


I came close to crumbling earlier this week
Near the edge of that place, the one I know
Better than to approach usually, or especially, casually
But learning of a late night visitation by gendarmes
Ready, or so it seemed, to condemn me
For my inky ramblings - I felt ready to capitulate,
if for but a single moment

Until, rising swiftly through the mists of malaise
that had accompanied me across an ocean and
a country, continent-wide
I was able to generate some common-sense
Shake off both ill feelings and a general ennui
that crouched ready to seize me should I
become any less vigilant

End the paranoia shrouding me - begin to list
the reasons not to give into
whatever these latest accusations were about
By the time I met the authorities, I was able
to channel my truest self - writer, advocate and
most importantly...

mother who sadly has only one concern; my child
who has gone somewhere I don't recognize for
reasons I cannot fathom...
There seems no end to the betrayal that she needs
to ladle out, hoping to render me gone
Not sure what that's about...I am, after all, gone...

But it's not her fault; she feels threatened, frightened
somehow... it's the death of our relationship, I know it
These latest acts have proven we are done,
more grieving but even that is nearing an end;
...the smell of over, is heartbreak.

*the words in italics are the twelve chosen and needed to be used as part of this week's Whirl


  1. Heartbreak certainly has an odour...the sadness permeates through this powerful write

  2. I have smelled over. It takes nearly everything out of you by bits and pieces. You write it well.

  3. Well done, honouring the words and the message.

  4. So very well done. "The smell of over"--what a powerful phrase, and I think I had blotted that smell out.


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