Monthly Archives: May 2013

Inkblot Test


Yes! you guessed!

This is the Rorschach inkblot test!

No worries, friend! Please! have a rest!

No, no, I assure you

You aren’t being a pest!

Now, try your very best

To see what you see in the ink blots


We might call the asylum at my behest.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry


The sonnet project: Sonnet # 11


The Sleepwalking, Mad-talking, Hedgehogging mouse


Why Doctors Aren’t Worth the Money

The hearth has burned for hours now, it seems

My head is aching too, I’m sured

Of all the things I whispered in my dreams

For walkers never sleep until they’re cured.

Last night I think I swatted at the flies

And shrieked with laughter at the harvest moon

But through it all I simply closed my eyes

And when I woke it was the afternoon!

The doctors have all tried and failed their case

And watched in vain as I’d romp round the house

They said my madness could not be erased

But it was all because I was a mouse!

What good does it do to heal a rodent?

The pills never work, no matter how potent!

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Black Streamers


Lila hated the mornings.
fleeting, once, she dreamed
of flowers
whipping flashing
wanting the wind to kiss the peonies
she knew her lover stood there
and he boomed commands like a vast mountain

“who dares to find the treasure inside me?
I alone can grant the misery or the pain or the pleasure”
and it was true:
he knew to cast the pain or the joy
when just the moment came

and when she would realize that he was not there
she would scream into her comforter
while her mascara painted
black streamers
onto her ruddy cheeks
as she half shuddered the words to a poem that’s first line was:
“I just wanted to talk to someone beautiful”.

she could feel the nausea,
and she still hated mornings.

the mornings hated her,
but the dreams wanted to love her silently
giving her the same dream with the same lover.

yet she still she wakes up,
half groaning,
lying on her stomach
feeling seasick
from tossing around in her bedridden storms.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry






so now a funny story I wrote recently. It made had my friend and my mother and my grandmother in hysterics, hopefully It amuses you.

Stop, Look, and Listen

In the most dire of situations, my mother seemed to create rules that were entirely her own. Instead of, say, “duck, crwal, and get out of the house”, my mothr’s responce to a fire was -“Go down to the basement and try to salvage all of your knickknacks and nostalgic family photographs and climb back up with them and then try to fling the cat out of the window before the fire gets to you. If you die, who cares?” I realized this horrible fact the first time there was a disaster in our hometown (a typhoon). My mother had decided that that was the perfect time to get rid of grandpa’s “damn peekaboo tie collection”. She went right into the eye of the storm to get rid of the dastardly things. My father ended up having a swell time paying the 8,000 dollars or so of medical bills, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Unfortunately, my mother did not seem to be the type to learn form her mistakes. For our next housing endeavor, we moved out to a bungalow in california just bordering the San Andreas Fault, despite repeated warnings from our real estate agent (the poor man gave up on our family three years later after the house collapsed in an earthquake).

As a result, I became a safety freak. Everywhere I went, I carried a portable first aid kit and forty five cans of Red Bull in case of a natural disaster. I always drove no faster than 30 miles per hour, no matter the time of day, or the place that I was driving in, or the minimum speed limit. I was ready to recieve multiple driving tickets; Security, as I would say, was my first (and, I must say, only) priority. I raised my two children ,Chastity and Moral, to be minitaure clones of me – getting them used to buckling their own seatbelts by the time they could crawl, making them memorize the top five most commonly found posions in food, drilling them on the proper way to cross a street (wait, look right, wait, look left, make a bikers’ stop sign with the hand that faces the driver, then cross) and telling them gory cautionary tales about kidnappers and child molesters for bedtime.

My husband divorced me after seven long years of marriage because I was, quote unquote “crazy”. It didn’t matter to me at all. It would have been a shande to keep him in the house anyway, seeing that he was a jobless drunk who went to cheap casinos during Yom Kippur and Shavuos. During those hard times in my life, I camped out with my father (who had become a retired enviornmentalist) in the amazon rainforrest. I begged him to let my children live somewhere safer, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

However, love was still in my interest. I think ( but I’m not sure, dont quote me on this) I dated about forty of the native rain forest guys before realizing I was Lesbian, by which point I was an old hag. I was sure that I, a fat, sick, 58 year old woman was not going to get legally married any time soon. On the other hand, life was not all that bad. My two children both became doctors ,who in turn had two more children ( Whillemina and Charles, Poet and Nirvana) who never learned how to cross the street. All four of them died in a car accident twelve years later.





Rosalie Beecham had been told the previous month that the job in Basin, Montana would be easy enough. It took about three weeks to convince her to go (“I have too many stupid memories from that place mom”), and even when she got there, she still had doubts. Now she was in the (sprawling two acre) front yard of her cousin Amy’s house, talking to Amy’s son, Max, who was 19. Except for the fact that Rosalie was having a few mental fits and was quite terrified to go anywhere, it was what you would call a “lazy afternoon”. “honestly,” said Max, “over the summer they EXPECT kids like you to apply for these things. It’s the way you get college credit”

“A general store? Really?’ interrupted Rosalie “okay,” said Max, “it can also be about getting money FOR college. You know what I mean, Ros. Jesus” “no, I don’t” said Rosalie, trying to be as annoyingly contrary as possible. “Well it’s not like Delilah is going to whip you every time you forget to give them the bills first” said Max “Amy says they have a bad reputation for beating the crud out of the summer employees or whatever , so don’t try to sway me” added Rosalie, who was trying to get out of the situation desperately “ My mother has a reputation for exaggerating, and you know that” said Max, raising his eyebrow. “okay, Maximilian [his real name], whatever you want” said Rosalind coolly, “we’ll go meet our end in the outer corners of nowhereville, despite the fact that you are telling me that there is nothing to be afraid of. Correct?” “I can assure you, you will be very, very safe” he said impatiently.

Then, his gaze softened. He looked at Rosalie intently, and they stayed there for about a minute, as the wind blew silently.“he’s going to kiss me” thought Rosalind “I know he’s going to kiss me agian…he’s…no it’s not because we’re cousins…but we’re third cousins……it’s not because of that, is it?” her thoughts dissolved as they came closer together. For a second she could feel him breathing ever so slightly. They were just centimeters apart, when he suddenly pulled back, his cheeks red with embarrassment. Rosalie’s thoughts were jostled, and she screamed a tiny scream, breathing out the air she realized she had been holding in. Max was searching for the right words to say, his eyes squinting, his face pained.

“Look,” he said, putting one hand on his forehead and one on his hip, swaying back and forth. “I’m..I’m going to go and…why don’t you, um…why don’t you go walk to the five and dime by yourself, huh?I’m gonna…go head back to the house and find that copy of Beowulf I lost”. She stared back at him, not believing a word. That look meant “I know you’re just a miserable coward, so don’t even go on talking”. “Fine”, she said slowly, enunciating every part of the world, so it sounded more like “faaiiiyeen”. Then she turned around and started heading in the other direction, swaying her hips proudly. As her vision started to blur and her head started to ache, she wished she had never agreed to come.

The five and dime was on a dirt road five miles away. She could have easily gotten there in less than fifteen minutes via a car, but as it was, it took nearly the rest of the day. By that time it was it early twilight, and the sweltering heat had simmered down to a low, balmy wind. The store was closed, and no one was there. She started to walk back again, upset that her day had been wasted, but still tried to conjure up an image in her head. She pictured the owner, Ms. Delilah Autry, as a tall, middle aged woman with a long, tired face. The store’s porch light would be on, and Ms. Delilah Autry would be sitting there on a rocking chair, smoking, her hands dangling lazily over the arm rests, the last of the sunset lighting up half of her face. “ I don’t even think I wanted to kiss him” said Rosalie out loud, lying to herself. 

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Despondency- A Poem For My Friend’s Birthday



a landsacpe repeatedly seen
not to be drawn
but to be wondered on

the glass window was her quiet companion
and from her ledge she saw two lovers
who were shyly agreeing on nothing.
(her dress billows, she sees, yes, a nice girl having a nice time-
a fire and a cloudy day rounding out the appetite. I like fires when I can share a fire
when clouds make the milk for my tea and the red leaves spread out in warm blankets)
moments pass, it seems, now she eyes
the second orange sunset rise.

Nostalgia was the gut feeling.
She wanted to be herself at seven
carrying the oval sky in her pockets
in handfuls of cloud
leaning on her mother’s skirt
Looking out at the green plains
crying but not knowing she was crying.

a flock of Ewes go down the mountain
and now the nightwatchman carries his torch to the river, to drown himself.

she opens up a bright scarlet box
(come, hold the cold jeweled nest, and feel something inhibited)
“it needs care,” she says as she looks at it
“it needs to hold an emptiness”

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry


Rules of the Universe (or- Facts About the World)


Rules of the Universe (or- Facts About the World)

1. socks should not feel like they belong to one foot or another

2. memories must be kept well hidden.

3. a few bullets can get you anything

4. (so can a piece of gold)

5. If you take a look at God’s good side and God’s bad side, they will eventually melt together and you will see that they are exactly the same thing

6. peaches on a hot summer day will mend a broken heart

7. nobody ever listened to anybody unless you first say hello and give someone a little smile

8. Ink written “to-do’s” are the best way to remeber things

9. The ‘you are beautiful” propaganda is there to keep the population from aspiring to be better.

10. Ice cream will, inevitably, melt.

11. Annoying cliche’s will come in handy at the most bizarre and unhelpful moments

12. I’m sure I love you more than you can imagine, even If your brain is pretty limited.

13. scissors must always be able to cut at any angle

14. children must whisper their secrets

15. Notes and letters should be written, not typed.

16. youtube comments must be grammatically correct

17. (and free of any gross language and or profane sentences)

tree 1

18. A penny dropped into a fountain will make a wish come true

19. I Love you because I can see the reflection of the world on your pupils





20. I love you even though I’ve forgotten what I’ve said before

my rules are yours and the gods’ now, the hearts and their hands are printed on the walls

now yours are tucked inside the corner

secretly hoping to be opened, to be noticed

in this abandoned tree house you never did bulid yourself,

surrounded by a grove of trees and grass

I said you

never saw the sky

so blue

so blue

so blue.

Copyright 2013 Golden star Poetry

in the Stars’ Freezing Arms- A pantoum


I have never actually written one of these, and as a result, the quality is a bit poor…. I don’t think I will do this kind of poem again, the format is just too darn complicated! It’s alright, I think it’s still good enough.

in the Stars’ Freezing Arms- A pantoum

I lie down facing the stars

My hands are stained with blue

But no one can open my eyes

So I can see the world without hesitation.


I cannot open my eyes

In the stars’ freezing arms

And see the world without hesitation,

So I walk with the winter.


In the stars’ freezing arms

I am thinking of the sun

Walking with the winter

Remembering our love that wasn’t love


I am thinking of the sun

And for a second i think I hear your calls

I remember our love that wasn’t love

But it fades like a whisper echoing through walls.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry