curled, twisted
broke and bent
pulled and pushed
torn and rent
pieces dropped
limbs lopped
all to shape
a perfect figment
of feminine


Poetry - Curl

A curl moves
in and out.
Both yea and nay
are captured
within curls.


My Brother

My brother
A name
I simply moved
One column
To another.

The North Bird

Northern Lights

Upon a hidden sea
Dreams fabled Halcyon
Lulled by gentle waves
Her nest fringed ’round in ice
She sings for Mid-Winter
Her frosted melody
Soothes the winter wind
Calling the sea to soft repose.

Another Day

The fight to live

Another day
Another ten rounds
Even when you can’t
You don’t want
To fight.

Any more.

No mas. No mas.

Those are the days
To fight the hardest.

We fight to live.


Poetry Counterpoint Complex PTSD

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the shadow
~TS Eliot
(The Hollow Men)

That space between
A point
Of precarious balance
Where we exist
Both alive and not.
~ M.Stewart
(on complex-ptsd)


Poetry Moon by Kanenori

Ancient luminary
Creator of tides
Mother of madness
Inspiring genius
Marking the seasons
Witnessing love
and death.


Siblings and Complex PTSD

I cannot describe
how deep
the wound goes.

When I lost my
brother – he was
only seven and
I was only three.

After that
we shared
the same house.

We fought
and shunned
one another.

Neither one aware
of the poison
that forced us apart.

Quiet Grace

poetry Quiet Grace

Grace walks a tip toe, and
is by nature a quiet soul, not
inclined to boastful words.

Grace speaks loudest
where no words are found,
in the embrace,
in comfort given,
in peace and even, yes,
in defense of the vulnerable.

Grace is gentle,
but never mistake
that for weakness.

Because it is only grace
that dares to walk the path
which can save us from ourselves.

A Brief Ode to 2020


The one thing certain
About all this uncertainty
Is that all our certainty
Is now certainly uncertain.
And that
The only thing certain
Is uncertainty.

That much is certainly certain.