Carolyn Brunelle Poems

She calls at my door;
wants to know
what I’m sitting here for
when the sun and soft breezes
...

There’s a strange silence in me
almost a reverence for this tear inside;
one I can only hope
will somehow mend.
...

Trees in blossom
make me sneeze
with every incoming breeze;
when Spring comes alive
...

She only came to visit
every now and then;
I didn't make it easy
from the place I had her in.
...

A cloud of morning air hangs heavy
as a wet blanket
over a world it subdues
of its clamor, its chaos;
...

Words begin to float
to the surface of her mind.
She grabs her pen as
the lines begin to rhyme;
...

Some of the old black and white
classic 'Creature Features'
still create escape for my world-weary psyche.
Like old friends, they can turn back the clock
...

A bond made then broken,
cast aside to some greater need,
changed the course of a life
inside and out from choices made.
...

She'll stomp at me in defiance
hold her fists up in the air;
I'll get sick when she cries and screams
and tries to pull out her hair.
...