Author Archives: chimerapoet

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?

Obstacle Course

I am just so accustomed to thinking no one is going to approach my body with kindness.                                               … Continue reading

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Language of Love

You don’t see it on my face I guess. It’s not in the space usually looked for. It’s in the words,  although hidden, like old notes in a book, language cloaked in a rough and raspy cloth, to hide the … Continue reading

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Terror

It’s about terror. That’s all. It’s about being the thing under the bed. The monster in the closet. The footsteps behind you at night. It’s about terror. If it were about one cause or one goal or one vision the … Continue reading

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Blue Lily White Lily

Blue Lily, White Lily, where the air is soft and the garden shadowed, and the perfume changes with the direction of the wind. Raise your arms and turn… Quiet dance, quiet fingers, reaching to tattoo the sky. Blue Lily , … Continue reading

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Surface Self

    She stands unevenly as if poised to run, or topple, or drop into a hole opening up under her by sheer wish power, and her eyes have pieces of broken sky in them. You noticed her and she … Continue reading

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The Devils Playground

A place of light and color and ice cream truck music, where all the slides had flowers, and all the swings had rabbits to help push, and the smell of summer was in my eyes, in my face and hair. … Continue reading

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Dancing On the Head of a Pin

I keep my feet moving,  fast, fast, in fervent hope that it will keep my mind stepping in place, in unison, that I can prevent that slide, that clumsy slipping toward the edge. The head of this pin has little … Continue reading

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