Biography of Charlotte Ballard
Writing is the journey.
Charlotte Ballard's Works:
Her Highness the Radiant Dyke Deborah from Canada
Charlotte Ballard Poems
To Emily Dickinson
Emily, your words breathe fire. From simple words to grand designs- Heaven drops, sweet nectar. I propose a promise
My Only Song
Man of Sorrow Man of Pain You took it all Without any gain.
Ode to Pizza
You delight the nose with evocative Promise of stringy cheese, pepperoni And tomato sauce warm. Each piece Contested over, grabbed, hungered over
A Two-minute Poem
While I wait for Blue Berry Cobbler To blend, and heat Through,
(inspired by Stubborn Students) Locked doors Closed windows
Writer in Training
I work the books As if knowing the Words could somehow Translate into
A Mother's Day Poem
My mother keeps a poem That I wrote when I was More than a child, but Not yet a Woman.
You Come Too
You Come Too I'm going to write a poem now, a little thing- Not much to it. A line, a verse, a meter
Taps are being played In the middle of me To say good-bye To that part that
I don't have much That I can claim- Just an old brush With half the bristles gone,
I love jelly babies Prepared with fat Sage and garlic Just right for a snack.
I Never Had a Mother
I never had a mother Who read “Hello Moon” Fifty-seven times before Tossing it behind the refrigerator
Honor is a pretty thing, Bright and shined Yet easily lost, not soon Regained.
Washing dishes is like Waiting for roses to bloom. Roses blooming never wait For washed dishes.
Night wanders in
And coils around my leg-
Meowing up at me, to
Scratch it's back-
And search for fleas
My eye twitches as I
Pluck the night and
Fling it into the first
Burst of dawn.