I see the sadness there behind her eyes…

I see the sadness there behind her eyes,

She dreams that my wounds
Are her wounds and they are:
The baby that I lost
Is now the baby that she lost,

If I could take the sorrow from her,
I would do it in a heartbeat,

If I could tell her that tomorrow,
She’ll feel better, I would,
But that would be a lie,

If I could change her journey,
I would but I can’t,
So I hold her and hold her and hold her

babe on its way eva b

I found a series of poems I wrote years ago …

So I’ll post them starting alphabetically with A:


A)  and   E)

He strokes me, he wants me but because in my mind my body and soul already belong to you, I recoil.

I go into it, I have to but as he comes closer a wave of nausea sweeps my entire body and then the tears begin.

 He asks me why I’m weeping and I say it’s because I’m just so happy, he doesn’t even suspect the lie.

 Only God knows why I’m crying. God see’s but he turns his back with a click of his tongue because I’m a lost cause.

 I can’t outrun my destiny of falling in love with men that will never be available to me, that don’t want me.

 I can’t outrun my destiny of having to share my everyday life with men who I am deeply fond of only.

 I have this problem and I put the blame fair and square on my father. I tell myself that one day it will be good.

 I try to picture what she looks like, this woman that “has your heart forever.” She’s very beautiful and so funny, I just know it.

 You lie entwined with her in your cocoon of love that is impenetrable knowing you will die this way with her.

 I asked you to answer some questions and the answer was a) & e); no future for us, no love for me.

 This time maybe my unrequited love will be over quickly and not torture me day and night for years to come.

 This time maybe I can pick myself up and walk away and leave you behind for a new life, but I strongly doubt it.

 I ask what it is I have to do to put amnesia into my mind and forget about you, to make my heart stop bleeding.

 I tell you that you are my good luck charm; you’ve activated my abundance and inspired my creativity.

 I tell myself that I was just a mother figure to you because of our ages but that doesn’t change anything.

I tell myself that I’m not in love but that I love a figment of my imagination, this logic is denied.

 I ask if we can somehow keep our connection going, is there anything I can do and I await your reply . . .

girl J PH

A WRITER’S DAY Journal entry; 30th October ’08

I found this journal entry yesterday, it was the last one I wrote right before I began to write my first book that was published, Oracle In The Mist:

I write my morning pages (Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way)

and then .  .  . I stare at the blank page and wait for the words to flow.

I think about my problems, my diseases, my loves – some real some imagined.

The fridge calls me again. I rummage through it trying to find chocolate anything.

But the good stuff is gone. It may have been me but I’m never quite sure.

Outside the sun and blue skies are beckoning to me. I daydream from my window.

I consider going for a walk but I know I can’t because I’m chained to this damned desk.

I consider ringing someone but I don’t; everyone is busy at their work. I have no news.

I think about my friends who have real jobs; they get to be with actual people and earn money.

They flit off on holidays and buy luxuries that I just can’t afford. Will that be me one day?

If I could have even a little recognition and money for my writing . . . if only I could.

Again with the daydreams!  I sweep the floor, water the plants, put the dog out.

And then it’s back to the daunting blank page. I think about the eight years I’ve been sitting here,

And with the customary pang of guilt for my hard working husband and his confidence in me.

I think about how lonely I am and right then my youngest child bursts into the room.

Sweet relief !  She wants to share her day with me and I’m glad to get away from this desk.



I dozed off in the lounge chair while keeping her company this afternoon and had the strangest dream about a book I’d written called “Oracle in the Mist.”

Image courtesy of Laurie Turtenwald

girl and scroll lori turtenwald

The Naked Passport:

Oh dear, sweet Passport,

Where are your stamps?

I would hold you to my breast,

Even in an avalanche.

I finger your pages fondly,

I know our time is nigh,

The smell of your paper excites me,

Very soon we will take flight.

I sleep with you under my pillow,

I carry you in my bag,

You’ll be my constant companion,

As we search our globe of flags 🙂