Barbara Haskell

We were conceived together,
our first existence, sharing our mother's womb.
We took our first breath's of life
within minutes of each other,
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People write poetry for diverse reasons,
as in poems that describe the yearly seasons.
Poems can show the love for mother and father
and vent feelings against the boyfriend of your grandaughter.
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My mind wanders through memories
of my hands,
digging in the soft earth,
barefeet,
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As I cry,
I write poetry
of sweet love
and pain,
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A thousand things and nothing,
can conjure up memories of you.
Everything about you, before I could become your wife
and I'll remember them all the rest of my life.
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We harm others,
with words and deeds,
rarely considering
that they have their own needs.
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I miss the times I used to have to myself,
writing a letter or reading a book from my shelf.
I always have this unwanted company,
I've begged it to leave, but it won't, you see.
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Can you just make me some eggs?
Can you just get up and hand me this?
Can you just get up and hand me that?
Can you just go to the store and buy me a coke?
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Banished,
to the smoker's corner,
oh, how lucky I am!
My vision rests upon feasts for the human eye;
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People write poetry for diverse reasons,
as in poems that describe the yearly seasons.
Poem's can show the love for our mother and father
and you can vent against the boyfriend of your daughter.
...

Pain has taken all purpose from my life,
because of my being unable to help my family.
No one can count on me, including myself.
When pain came into my life,
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Now that I have finally located where you are,
it brings me a small measure of peace.
For years, the voice inside my head has been unceasing,
'You've lost your best friend, your soul mate, you fool! '
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Screams echoing
through memories filled with fear,
I tremble, as if cold,
whispering words,
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Just as in the temper tantrum of a two year old, flaring,
throwing herself to the floor, legs kicking,
fists pounding the floor in raging frustration,
so the inner me does identify,
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Headless chickens,
churning spinach,
muttering schemes,
what's going on? ?
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Outside,
amongst the freshly mowed grass
and hot sunshine,
curtains sway on the clothesline.
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High clouds,
ocean dunes,
sea waves,
biting wind,
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No stranger am I to death,
he lives with me each day.
He tempts me
with a painless death
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For many years Janie had a friend named, Joker.
She saw him many times throughout the day,
but Joker could count on two scheduled times,
once in the morning, when the sun had not had time
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