The wheels of the bus grind into my flesh.

You proffer your own salvation,
as martyrdom trumps your hand.

Bitch show.
Freak show.
Leave me the fuck alone show.

Let me sleep my nights in peace
and walk around corners
forethought free.

Bark into your own backyard.
Eat what you put out there;
antacids don’t soothe vitriol.

Choke, you bitch.
Choke on the reflux of your words.

Brenda Warren 2015

Riddle Poem

flickering roots potatoes
with eyes fixed to stories
murderous tales told
in color and light
tales that break for product placement

we sit for hours
to cultivate the vegetables
we become

Brenda Warren 2015

The prompt was to write a poem that is a riddle.


My Backyard

Out back
where the garden bench
a wild tangle of roses
spices the air.

Brenda Warren 2015

Day 12, and I’m running out of poetic steam. This picture is from last summer. I’ll miss my Montana roses, but the bench is coming along for the ride.


After a Day of Packing

Packing our belongings,
going through our stuff,
you think we’d overcome the need
to never have enough.

I won’t say we’re hoarders
but as boxes pile high,
we’re both inclined to take a torch
and bid our stuff goodbye.

Brenda Warren 2015

Writing Advice

Write about coffee.
Write about dogs.
Write about murmuring starlings.

Write about money.
Write about love,
just be sure to kill your darlings.

Brenda Warren 2015

If you’ve read Stephen King’s book, On Writing, you understand the importance of killing your darlings.

Fleeting Snippets

This town is feeding on my heart.
I hope it gets indigestion
I hope it belches snippets
of the moments we once shared—

walking dogs along the river’s edge,
twirling in the halls at school,
feeling breezes atop Hill 57,
these fleeting snippets of heaven.

Brenda Warren 2015

Insomnia on Day 7

my bed eats sleep for breakfast
it’s hungry at 3 a.m.
it tosses and turns me over
then changes its mind again

my bed likes me over easy
my bed likes me sunny side up
mostly it wants me scrambled
finally I just get up

Brenda Warren 2015

Spring Break is no more. I wrote a quick ditty too early this morning, and will check out the daily prompt later.

Morning’s Mirror

Morning sighs its arrival
breathing sleep aside.
Denying her charms
you slumber,
holy in repose.

Silent, I watch
as the dog curls into your side
nuzzling the last of night
beside you.

Shifting my weight, I rise,
turning to your form’s reflection,
barely perceptible in dawn’s
tenuous light.

I stand here watching
until color chimes its way
through the blinds,
urging your departure,
while I imprint morning’s mirror
in my mind.

Brenda Warren 2015


Today’s prompt asks for an aubade, a form that explores lovers’ morning farewells.


The sun dispelled night a ribbon at a time
announcing morning’s pleasure
its news like squirrels ran
across the wires
above my yard
with urgent chatter on.

The hills untied their bonnets
and sweetly spread their locks
for sister wind to breathe upon
dancing for the sun.

Brenda Warren 2015


The prompt was to take an Emily Dickinson poem, and tweak it into a poem of our own. This was not my favorite exercise, but I did it. Here’s a link to the Dickinson poem. A Day