wanton women
with wicked ways
want what weary women
wish wouldn't wander
...
i am a woman
of words and
though you can not
hear me speak them
...
I've found a friend in nature
although nature could turn on me
if i'm out and about in a storm
and its lightning strikes me
...
each summer i go to paris to write
and each trip i make you greet me
as though you haven't seen me in ages
then you tell me i get more beautiful
...
there is evil in the powder room
there is evil lurking in the halls
there's evil everywhere you look
it even pentrates the walls
...
there is something about the ocean
that brings out the earth-mother in me
it is a place i love to go to write or
to ponder life's mysteries
...
if God has made
everything beautiful
in its' time
then you are beautiful
...
i see things clearly
and yet i am called a dreamer
yes, i am a poet who sees things
only another poet can see
...
men-
they like to see us smile
no doubt
they like us cheerful
...