Poems that deal with inner turmoil. Sometimes poetry is a good form of therapy. These poems came out of an attempt to heal by facing inner demons. Poems that focus on Psychological stuff. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie. Some Thoughts and How to on Poetry Writing. What I Learned One Day in Hell.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007. But then felt it move. This poem appeared in my graduate thesis, 1988. Poems that focus on Psychological stuff. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie. Some Thoughts and How to on Poetry Writing.

Saturday, April 7, 2007. You have sired my children. I hold you on my lap. Nurse you at my breast. I love you, lose you. And find you, but can never. Quite sew you into my life. On bright sunny days you smile. In the dark of my chest. But come night you turn hard. You are ransacking my house. I run from my bed.

After dreaming what I dream. I wake to my world. Outside my window the sparrows and starlings. Inside my mind is my daughter. Dawn who lives with her boyfriend. She is sick with an ear infection. It is too early to call or bring. I would like to bring her mint tea. My Andy and friends are sleeping. All over the living-room floor. All of them have been playing.

The Dog Died on a Daily Basis. The Dog Died on a Daily Basis. Then the next day it died again. Those were the days left for mourning. There was always a new death. After a while the baby started dying as well. It became a daily occurrence. Dog death and baby death. Then came the leaving of lovers. They came just to leave. They left you and then the next day. It was a kind of daily rape.

Monday, May 21, 2007. A wind so dark it breaks up branches, shatters poles. Jew bodies burned- Jew spirits shake the trees-. Inside my head, the horror blows and blows. Born of the holocaust I swallow fear. Like food and suffer childhood without end. I choose a man as cold as wind is where.

What I Learned One Day in Hell. Sunday, May 6, 2007. I learned that hell is not just in the mind. But in the body, that suffering permeates. All life on earth and time itself is thin as air. And makes no promises, while death is everywhere. I saw myself a sagging empty bag. Unable to cry or write or speak, vomiting foul fluids,. Pissing my pants, writhing in nausea. None of these things, just that empty bag. I am a good person! .