once you’ve forgiven yourself
do not un-forgive yourself on
each anniversary of the guilt
—Terri Guillemets
once you’ve forgiven yourself
do not un-forgive yourself on
each anniversary of the guilt
—Terri Guillemets
the blur of yellow, orange, red leaves
the blur of gray hair
the blur of occupied hours
the blur of dying dreams
—Terri Guillemets
I wanted to write
a book of poetry
but it’s already written;
those poems —
red, throbbing, beating —
are just trying to
make their way
to the paper
—Terri Guillemets
The only thing I want
a subscription to
is the winter chill and
an evening view of Venus
and those are totally free!
The only thing I want
to pop up in my face
is a beautiful flower
in springtime bloom
and that, by the way
never gets in my way.
I just want to read a recipe
not look at a baker’s dozen
hyperenormous photographs
and read a culinary novel
so now please can I cook?
I don’t need to know
the fifteen best this
or 36 surprising thats
it’s free (with purchase)
but hurry, only 2 left!
Bah, no thanks. Is there
an app to make it all stop?
I’m not made of attention
time nor clicks nor money
so I am logging myself off
from the world to walk to
the grassy park with a book
and enjoy a nice simple day.
—Terri Guillemets
snuggled into a warm cozy bed
weather wakes this sleepyhead
with a blustery December night
white clouds reflecting city light
cold drops fall fast and furious
a clattering house, mysterious
midwinter storms in and wails
frigid rain and whipping gales
—Terri Guillemets
there are only so many poems one can write
about umber tree roots and the glowing moon
before the psyche starts crying out to be heard
the suffering of the world isn’t poetic
but it is essential to poetry
—Terri Guillemets
peeling this sweet potato
i can smell the earth
i close my eyes and smile
then cry —
when did i get so removed
from the soil, the land
from simplicity —
the family garden
in grade school
my bare feet on warm dirt
i was so happy
there were carrots
and worms
and life
was carefree —
i finish making soup
do the chores
the day was busy
i am tired —
the nights
when there is time
enough leftover
to snuggle into bed
a little early & read
and i can keep
my eyes open
long enough for it —
this is heaven
simple, free, happy
heaven
—Terri Guillemets
hiding in my winter cocoon
not coming out again until June
—Terri Guillemets
In the wheel of Earth’s years
we watch as Autumn’s clock
Tick-tocks in tiny goldenrod
September petal’d seconds
Frosty trees bleed scarlet hours
through veins of October leaves
Amber minutes wither and fall
drifting in November’s breeze
And the silent strike of midwinter
turns December’s snowflake gears
—Terri Guillemets
cold winter night wind
warms my soul but chills my bones
spring sleeps in the earth
—Terri Guillemets
Orion —
knocked over by winter
lays on his side in the east
rise & shine for the night
twinkle, twinkle hunter stars
you are nearly as tall
as my eyesight is wide
will you and your pups
protect us while we sleep?
—Terri Guillemets
shorter days seem a little ominous
shadows are becoming autumn’ish
—Terri Guillemets
the scale now shows me
one hundred sixty-eight
but in those simple digits
I see rejection and pain
sugar, laziness, exhaustion
hormones splayed out of whack
menopause ready to rumble
plaque buildup and repressions
anxiety, regret, some depression
the past, the future, sheer panic
tension, disoriented expectations
ice cream, sweet junk addictions
griefs, hurts, disappointments
bad habits, cliffs, fear, falling
the eating of all my emotions
gluttony and gorging ghosts
turbulent raging blood glucose
sleepless nights, too-busy days
nerves, toxins, worry, age
unwelcome rapid-fire change
lack of trying, trying too hard
loss of control, culinary excesses
no longer fitting into my dresses
—Terri Guillemets