NaPoWriMo #19

Other Mothers’ Children

The movement for animal rights
boils down
to this:
What humans do
to animals
boils down
to this:
stealing other mothers’ children.
At night, we watch
our children sleep
the pit in our stomachs
the fear that someone
will steal our children
do horrible things,
because deep down
we know
what humans do
to so many mothers’ children.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #18

I started this poem April 17.  (I could not get WordPress to do the proper spacing for the last line, so I had to add underscores to get it where I wanted it.)

Bitter Chill

I hold back
my equal opportunity profanities,
shout the universe unfair
knowing it has too much time
to listen to the cry.

Sickened to see that
housing the revolution is worth
three months off the dole almost exactly.

Experience is a flaw.
You want the fresh and new
unqualified ideas
political wrangling strangling
the hard-won freedom of the little group.

You forget  forget
what temptation power makes.
You pushed out the tyranny of two
only to let the vacuum pull in
the machinations of unstable unknowns
angry like we all are angry
jabbing their fingers like questions
twisting words into bylaws
or demanding vessels for their wants.

Fed up.
Get your act together,
or you’ll deserve the downfall
__________________________you get.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo $17

The typo I wrote in the title of this blog post and have kept inspired a poem:

$17 for a poem      for a breath
where there may be life
might be a heart
to pump the words
through your brain and body
throbbing for more and more and
losing yourself
in a possibility   praying
it could lift you out of this low
which eats you every day.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams


NaPoWriMo #16


I am swimming through
the day   days
pushing panic down
dreams sparkle like snowflakes lost
in the drift
of this everyday life machine
created by the increasing greed of human hands
oh, how they sparkle!
see how they shine?
fragile little innocents
crying       dying        final sighing
under the weight
of this mad world.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #15

I have a big
on poems for April,
the month of spring bursting forth
in rain and sun, to
the oncoming storm of poverty
again      the push back
to mediocre oblivion
denials to an unfathomable universe and
for a miracle, a tiny drop of better
swelling into a sea.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams


NaPoWriMo #14

I started this poem a couple days ago but did not finish it until now due to a serious mood crash.  Anyway, here goes:

I wandered the edges of our woods
afraid of ticks and of falling down hills
broken sticks
watching honeysuckle nectar slide down stamens
sucking the sweet
a fear of bikes leading to my Popsicle Girl scooter
riding over maple tree roots
around the house around
I’m a trucker with deliveries to make,
I’m a princess on her steed (more She-Ra
than Cinderella).
Then there came a pool in-ground
pool parties and skinny dipping alone.
A pirate flag declaring our oasis there.
Inner tube burn on the armpits,
splashing away horseflies.
A jumble of summers,
a litany of I am.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #13

a pink ribbon shines
remembering salmon a-swim
in what must be done
not this happy illusion      feet
running and running to the wrong side of redemption
prevention receives pennies
while carcinogenic vinyl decals,
plastic cups so pink to turn
your stomach
sell and sell the buzzword of hope
but it isn’t pretty      the self tripping
over screaming mammography
screaming masectomy    screaming
in the bubble of this ugly, sick,
killing thing.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #12

I wrote yesterday’s poem yesterday but didn’t get it posted until now.

Bus Shelter

bus stop gossip
cat lady cackles
what’s wrong with that?
what’s wrong with that?
biding time in the westcoast light
canes and swinging legs kicking
heart-stopping, syrupy sweet pop
to increase the thirst
as two blondes saunter past, absorbed,
legs and arms worshipping the sun
better than a kick in the pants
better than a kick in the pants
greasy smell of fake food feasts
the bright dots of shopping bags
walking their people around around
the shopping mall sidewalks
crows swoop and snatch
two flags wave on.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #11


I went the back way,
and here I wander through
endless eternities of life
stitched together for amusement
for wisdom
for fear.
The bizarre behaviours of aunts and lobsters
only here
can I seem bland and wanted as a puzzle piece.
The awkward hysteria of the every day
as I prepare to dig up a timelord
and bring him back with witch work
or as I hold her hand and run
from men with guns
or great formless Threats
chasing, chasing.
Curled up in the warm of near-dawn,
I want to stay.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #10

Today’s poem is inspired by a comment a friend made on my recent Facebook status about how I had to get my wedding ring re-sized.  It has been loose for a few months and was really loose this past week.  My friend congratulated me on the loose ring (a.k.a. lost weight).  I have complicated feelings about this weight loss and attempted to work through them in this poem.  I am not upset at my friend.  It’s an innocent sort of comment that many people make, not knowing perhaps the scope of what the subject is going through and not knowing whether “congratulations” is expected or desired by the subject.


she said,
on the fat that just walked away
from your finger
where the ring wiggles and slips,
lost and found, some sideways commentary
on matrimony.
I burrow in thought:  what can I say?
I don’t deserve
praise for this step― it is a step―
to a door where I’ve been before,
a step to desperate knocking.
Please, Goddess, let me in!
This loss of fat cells
swimming down the drain of carb denial,
when I hate weight loss diets on principle,
is not the goal.
Your well-meant words a weight
remembering the fat girl
picked  last     horrible
at sports (and they had me convinced
for years all that mattered was being good)
a weight of how denigrating infertility is,
despite past losses and success
despite years of self-restriction
loss     of     self
counting days   reading thermometers   watching clocks
drinking herbal potions   chanting moons
despite so many tears shed and unshed,
snakes rippling in ponds searching for goddess hands
a weight of society’s Should Be,
because I am not and why
should I be?
(Being hot and heavy available
is no good reason.)
a weight of how long must I wait
for okay to by-pass fine to fantastic?
I am not what I lose alone,
I know you know,
and I ask you not to say.

© 2014 by Robin A. Sams


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