I don’t believe in fairy-tales
Though I once did with all my might
I don’t believe I’ll find someone
Though hope is always want to shock.
I cannot throw alone myself
And get back less in my return
As I devolve I come apart
And see the pieces start to burn.

In The Snow

I hear the boots harsh out the door
The men have come to take you now
In life and love we find a war
Thrown in a fight we don’t know how.

The cold is not just at my feet
The steel is not just in the gun
Never will I walk a street
So happy under trusting sun.

I do not know the way to find
I do not have the hand to help
The bullets were so very kind
And we the dogs let out a yelp.

In vacant streets I roam a heart
As if it were a stranger’s place
I do not know the way to start
And this is such a lengthy race.

Come dear one and hear me now
Before our time is closed again
Next year in Jerusalem
I will not lie down…


Interviews on Poetry… Mostly, Volume I

Nicole Marie Story is the author of the blog Nicole and Gwendolyn She writes about eating disorders, fashion, and pugs. She participated in the first Desert Abbey, contributing the piece “Unity.”

Ten Questions With Miss Story:

SW: When someone asks you if you like poetry, how do you answer?

NMS: I would never answer this question out loud. But my mind responds that it moves me, if it is not outrageous. It must be real.

SW: What is your favourite poem?

NMS: Everything by Sylvia Plath.

SW: I know you have written poetry (because I read a fantastic piece you wrote for my blog!) but do you consider yourself a poet?

NMS: No. I consider myself a writer.

SW: Please comment on Smurfette’s shoes.

NMS: Fit for a socialist… or for a nurse… ironically the same professional being that my ex man friend, the only that i ever really loved, cheated upon me with.

SW: What do you like about poetry?

NMS: I hate most poetry. I only like that which moves me.

SW: Have you ever dated a poet? (no, relax, I’m not going to ask you out) If so, is it true that they are better kissers? (I think it is a myth… but then again, the best kiss I ever had was from a poet… and so was the second best…) It should be noted that if you dated a poet and did not ever kiss him I have nothing negative to say.

NMS: No, I have not ever dated a poet.
But I think that I would like to kiss you.

SW: Has anyone ever written you a poem?

NMS: Yes. EDmund. But I wasn’t a reciprocating romantic, so it was annoying.

SW: Have you ever written a poem specifically for someone?

NMS: You. And my 80-year-old neighbour in 1987.

SW: You are living in a forrest with at least ninety-eight other dudes and no women or girls. Your house is made out of a toadstool. What is your go-to drug of choice?

NMS: Sex with one of the fellows, lost nine miles into the jungle.

SW: Has poetry ever changed the way you feel about something?

NMS: I think so. How about you?

SW: Of course, may I suggest “Choruses from the Rock” by T.S. Eliot? Oh wait, I already asked ten questions. Just rephrase that as something more affirmative for me. I can usually count to ten.

To Be Touched

I just want to connect
And words are how I feel
Someone please just touch me
Touch me anywhere.

I cannot bear the disconnect
The isolation rots my soul
And every cry I make out loud
Seems to fall away.

Tell me something real
It doesn’t have to be so nice
It doesn’t have to be quite right
Tell me I’m not the only one.

I just want to feel
Not so all alone
Someone take my hand and speak
Touch me till I breathe again.


I’m going running today
I’m guessing you don’t really care
wherever you are
in heaven
or in hell
But I’m going running
I can’t run anywhere near as fast as you did
but then I never could quite catch you even on my fastest day
I wish you could have seen your family
and been with your child
but death did not cooperate
And time did not allow
And now you have a widow
But I’m going running today
Like we always did
And just like then
you finished first
I’ll look for you up ahead.

The Ice-Cream Girl With Big Large Breasts

remember that time we went out for thai food
and you had just found out
that you had to turn around
and go right back
to the sand
remember how cute the girl was?
the one at the ice cream stand afterwards?
they told me about your dreams
your nightmares
the ones that came true
they told me how the second time,
he didn’t miss.
I got the call
the telling me you were dead
not too long after that
I was in an airport
Everything went silent
I only heard my heart
and I just wanted to scream
and the beating wouldn’t stop
It continues even now…

On the Desert Abbey II

For the next installment of the Desert Abbey (Desert Abbey II) the theme will be connections. If you are interested in submitting a poem for Desert Abbey II I suggest you begin thinking/searching/writing now. People need other people. Those connections are very important. And why would we not want to write about what is important to us? This gathering is open to anyone and I encourage all types of verse. Poets, let us get to the heart of it– it is, after all, what we do best, is it not?

Memorial Day

They put a rifle in my hand
but I never thought that I would make
They sent us here and sent us there
but I never thought when wars broke out
they would keep me home
They told us all so many things
But not how we could carry on
when we didn’t have
each other.
Every time I see a sale
I want to burn the fucking building down
That isn’t a memorial
but flames might make it so.