Tag: poets (Page 1 of 4)

where i come from

May 2, 2026 / Cheney / 1 Comment

Where I come from the earth was turned and tilled
by my grandfather for years while he grew

apple trees, blueberry bushes, big fat purple grapes
on vines over an arbor, but there were ugly things too –

the bees that attacked when I went for an apple, and
those fat green tomato slugs he’d burn off with a blow torch.

Even then, I thought that was crazy, and I was right. Some
things were not normal, like living with them, and mom, and nana,

four generations under one roof, which gram treated like
a miracle from her Catholic god … Read the rest

life raft

April 13, 2026 / Cheney / 0 Comments

i used to hold on to you
like you were my life raft,
like you were the only thing
keeping me afloat when all
i wanted was to sink

but i couldn’t count on you being there
when things got rough,
i couldn’t trust that in you, i’d find safety
because i never felt safe with you

i thought it was sand that
slipped through the hourglass
but now i feel it’s more like water,
cold and powerful and sacred
until the moment
it pours from your hands

never close enough

January 1, 2026 / Cheney / 0 Comments

You always take care of the dirty dishes. Always. I can’t remember the last time my hands slid in slimy, sudsy soap water. You always take the trash out. You always bring things down to the storage space so I don’t have to go down the scary stairs full of cobwebs. We were so close to making it, but not close enough. I’ll never know what glue I was missing that could have kept you here, but I think I was the one lacking, and I will blame myself for everything until my last breath. I’m taking the jump from … Read the rest

you’ll linger

December 30, 2025 / Cheney / 0 Comments

This isn’t a time out,
this is an end,
and I know now
it’s coming, soon.

We don’t need a
critical analysis or
more digging down
into our psyches to know
that we’ve gone
as far as we can go.

It’s not as easy as
sweeping the past
under a rug and hoping
to forget the mess.

What’s left here will linger.
What’s left here will poke
at my tortured heart
long, long after you’re gone.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: time out, critical analysis, and sweeping.

_{Photo by Joseph Sharp on Unsplash}

hit the road, jack

December 28, 2025 / Cheney / 0 Comments

I’ve always wanted to see
the skies of Montana, or even
Wyoming, wherever that is;
can I find it on a map?

I’ll check the forecast,
pack up my medicine and
toothbrush and clothes,
and I’ll just fucking go.

Set out on the highway

With “head west” being
the only thing I know,
a road that may or may not
be lonely, and my cat,
she comes, too.

I’m going to die
if I don’t get away from you.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: Wyoming, forecast, and medicine.

_{Photo by Neil Wallace on Unsplash}

i want to be free

December 27, 2025 / Cheney / 0 Comments

I can’t take this anymore
I’ve said hundreds of times
but now I really mean it.
I can’t take it,
not a minute longer.

We’ve lived a life of
make-believe and never
stopped playing games.
Dress-up, house, pretend.
It really has to end.

I’ve been dancing
around the edges of
my escape route and
now I’m running toward it.

I want to be free
as fast as I can be.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: not a minute longer, make-believe, and dancing.

_{Photo by Erik Karits on Unsplash}

it’s not for me

December 23, 2025 / Cheney / 0 Comments

I wanted to be a part of your family at the Fourth of July picnic that’s crazy like a circus, at your sister’s table on holidays, by your side on Christmas morning. I had dreams of all of these things in my life, and now I look past tomorrow and see nothing but darkness. I’m spaced out in shock, still not wanting to accept it’s over, regarding re-entry into real life as an assault, because how do I live without you? How I go days without talking to you? I won’t be going to your niece’s wedding next year. I … Read the rest

games we didn’t play

December 22, 2025 / Cheney / 0 Comments

We said it so many times we called it 10%, because it felt like “I love you” was 10% of all we say to each other. Every day, I love you, I love you, I love you, a balm I’ll never grow tired of but, underneath it all, became a noose around your neck. We’ll stick to easy games; no tag, no red rover, no hopscotch, nothing that involves touching or thinking about you. Finger painting, maybe, that’s an activity we can do together now that cuddling and sex are off the table. My best friend has a sex painting. … Read the rest

construction

December 19, 2025 / Cheney / 0 Comments

You are not special. You think I made you my world, but my world is built with words and dreams, and I’m not dreaming about you anymore. Surely this was to be expected after years of swimming in your toxic waters; there should be no surprise. I dreamt you had the face of an angel, the ass of David, and a heart soft enough to feel safe inside. But these dreams turned out to be wishes, there is a difference, and either way, they never come true.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: not what anyone expected, swimming, and David… Read the rest

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