Featured Post: Kissing the Witch II – Robert G Wertzler

Let me kiss The Witch
Kiss Her with words
Love her with poems
And with spoken truth
To debunk the lies
Men tell of Her
Have told for centuries
Demanding Her to believe
Her Light is Darkness
Her wisdom is folly
Her freedom is a crime
Her strength is weakness
Her beauty is for them to judge
Her body is theirs to use


Bob Wertzler is retired from almost twenty years in the mental health field in California and Arizona. There are times the title, “Recovering Therapist”, seems to fit. In 2006 he retired to move to Western North Carolina to help and become primary care giver for his father who had developed Dementia. Before all that, there was work at various times as a soldier (US Army 1967-70), community organizer, cab driver, welfare case worker, wooden toy maker, carpenter, warehouse worker, and other things. He relates to a line in a Grateful Dead song, “What a long, strange trip its been.”

Featured Post: Kissing the Witch – Robert G Wertzler

If you kiss The Witch and
If The Witch kisses you
Then, spells are cast
That test your truth
All your truth
Even truth you did not see
And truths you feared to show
With The Witch, be real
Meet her magic with
A naked soul
Or run far away


Bob Wertzler is retired from almost twenty years in the mental health field in California and Arizona. There are times the title, “Recovering Therapist”, seems to fit. In 2006 he retired to move to Western North Carolina to help and become primary care giver for his father who had developed Dementia. Before all that, there was work at various times as a soldier (US Army 1967-70), community organizer, cab driver, welfare case worker, wooden toy maker, carpenter, warehouse worker, and other things. He relates to a line in a Grateful Dead song, “What a long, strange trip its been.”

Control – Christine Bolton

You were inside my head
reading thoughts like an x-ray
Obedient to you no more
I escaped and ran far away
But you lured me back
with your bait and switch
and before I knew it
I was kissing the witch

I am putty in your hands
Weakened and malleable
Soaked like leather
until I am pliable
Stretched to the limit
on the verge of breaking
I am your conquest
and my heart, it is aching

Christine Bolton – Poetry for Healing ©


You can read more of Christine Bolton’s writing at Poetry For Healing: Words from the Heart

Featured Post: Kissing the Witch – Georgiann Carlson

you will only find her
if she wants to be found
she can melt into
Nature
faster
than your eye
can see
she can make you
follow her
worship her
she can
make you her slave
Kissing the Witch
can cost you
your life
but it can also
make you happy
to just
hand it over


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

The doomed bridge – Pallavi

We crossed that bridge as five
But only mother and I survived
Your father and brothers will be back, she wiped her tears and said.
I know this was a lie, for her eyes flickered with remorse and dread
In a fleeting moment,
My identity changed from a boy to what they called a refugee.
Mother said it meant we were people with no guarantees.
no guarantee to shelter, food or drink.
no guarantee to life or new beginnings.
Can we go back? I pleaded.
Back to where? she snapped.
The bridge is broken, our home is gone.
What’s left is us and us alone.
Then almost trying to mend my bereaved soul, she hugged me tight.
And once again lied,
I will always be by your side.

Photo by Steph Lord-Wetherington https://www.lordywilder.com/bw-photography


Things which get my endorphins pumping – my kids (mom of two), coffee (green tea just doesn’t do), writing (find it a cathartic release), dancing (absolutely, first love it remains), reading (with or without coffee), working out (with my husband as my buddy).

You can read more of my writing at Curating Thoughts

Featured Post: Curious Wine – M.A. Morris

I drink this curious wine
Amidst this dying battle
In the early morning hours
When sleep is a dream
Chased no longer.

A bruised oppressive rawness
Settles over all.
No joy to find
Amidst such wreckage.
I am siege wearied
By a bombardment of words.

Thus, I lay down the sword,
Offer up my neck to you.

And though I should win
The gold and gems,
It is bitter truth to swallow
In this curious wine
You’ve given me to drink.

I begin a day with no respite.
Stones piled
One upon the other,
Weighing on the chest.
I feel the crunch now of bones
Pressed by the tonnage.
Death by stones of grief.

 


I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing