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Shut Up and Kiss Me – then…

nick notch
score scotch
wildly wounded
bitter bite
wrong or write it down for future fights

time is wasting
tired of chasing you I hate
you suffocate
put away your pasties
and get real

get real for a minute
or two late for anything
go any further we drop the dime
click the quarter
buy the ring bell is clanging toll is
heavy stuff here

need to
take a
step back and look at it
from a future point of view
in a different light bright wish I may wish I might
find you in the parking lot
I forgot
where you left me
fighting the dragon
so stop stabbing me
stop stabbing and jabbing
and talking me to death

I have no answers
but want to see me laugh?
laugh out loud till my body shakes
with too much

Is this how we got here?
too much intensity
chewed through too much
just want to hitch
and ride to galaxies
and beyond
where you are you and I am I
and we are where we were
before this fight
this nick this cut this

Kiss me
Shut up and ya I know
kiss me
stab a little further

by colleen hannah

life is never as it seems and I usually do a little editorial spout at the end of my poems, but I will just leave this one for you to try to figure out. Hint- theme from one of my other poems. Write me a comment if you think you know. I would love to hear from you.


In the cold dark heart
of a deep winters day
mourning loss of warmer days
naked i was and naked will be
here in the groaning grey.

-colleen hannah

Like Ink Black Origami

Like ink black origami

left folded on a shelf

my inner involutions

lay hidden in the midst,


like a fragile butterfly

with outer wings of blackened paper

resplendent inner glory

lays shrouded till she flies


And like that fragile butterfly

I lay beneath, between the folds

imprisoned by my fear,

fear of the unknown

fear of unfolding

a one dimension lonely woman


By chance, a day will come

when someone reaches out

takes hold of each keen corner

smooths out each whetted fold

and frees the captive core.


Perhaps then I,

like an exquisite butterfly

of ink black origami,

would leave behind the masking folds

spread my fragile paper wings,

and fly.


-colleen hannah

We all fold in on ourselves from time to time. But we gain strength when we turn ourselves outward, and gain respect from ourselves and others, when we show our true faces.

I Am Bonsai

Trained bent stunted

plucked trimmed uprooted

At times I feel I am bonsai

and life is master

Master please

set my root to ground.

by colleen hannah

Death’s Duet (lament for the addict)

the dance is waiting

instrument picks up instrument

the waltz begins

one two three,

one … two… it’s the same every day

the violin plays but the music is scarred.

some days I am not the one

who holds this heavy bow.

the music will not be rushed

he knows time is on his side.

the smallest opening,

he slips inside, tears me from within

exposing bones,

plucking tendons

a maestro of madness settled on his strings


to play his way with me.

sound changes

like tarantulas crawling

on a skeleton thin glass table

tic tic tick… tic tic tick

this is not the music I first heard.

he and I continue

this sickly death’s duet

but arms so worn from playing

tired of tired out notes

I have no strain left in me and feel

the opening close

too late.

the music has been written

the very last note drawn

a lonely string plucked one last time this waltz

is over

by colleen hannah

I have lived a life of differences, each one leading me to where I am today. One of those differences, one sometimes I would like to forget, is depicted here. I have learned so much from my journey though and each step taken, whether off the track  or not has brought me to the people who love me for who I am. I could not be more grateful. I know though, as I say in one of the lines in my poem that sometimes we learn too late. I am just so very happy that I was able to finish the duet before the music ended.

The Smile of the Electrically Challenged

Cubed up white screen

memory blares

Hum drum white noise

sticks to the brain

Plain jane white robe

on switch thrown

head thrown back

beepbeep… beepbeep…

electrically convulsive, don’t you think?

monitor off

memory fades

da da da dah… cue forever smile!

What am I smiling about?

Never mind dear

Now give us that cheer

That’s the smile we like to see – the smile

of the electrically challenged.

Once upon a long time ago, I had the max set of E.C.T. treatments allowed at the time, I am not certain I would be here if I did not. But it is a treatment that (for me) stole a lot of my short-term memory, but given the same circumstances (the same all-encompassing depression with no end in sight) I would do it all over again. Now 12 years later, the treatments are much lighter, much less damaging to the memory, and in smaller doses. So please do not let my memories of those days, in this, or any other poem I may write, scare you off if you feel Electric Convulsive Therapy might be a treatment you need. I believe it saved my life, and what’s a little memory shaved off the top compared to that… hmm?


Bruises on a Backdrop


Columns gathered

dappled darkening

bruises on a backdrop

daring her to play in their current

random playground

and horses

go charging

☂ ☂ ☂

Advancing closer

currents sprawling

can she stand

the coming storm?

But instead of fleeing homeward

she faces boldly forward

and mounts

the wilding winter steed

☂ ☂ ☂

lifted up

excitement racing

electrified and radiating

being pulsing ions rising there’ s no stopping she is writhing

vortex forming heart starts throbbing

body’s aching back is arching and

she comes

☂ ☂ ☂

Smashing to the ground

she runs home

safe and grounded

in her flat flannel world

then a spark


a few small ions

unexpended from the storm.


☂by colleen hannah

That little stormy, electric side of me is still in here. I hope.  Just have to catch a cloudburst at the right time.

If Decades- a swing and a wish

A swing and a wish

If decades-

it might be different

but we may not have that long. If we did

then perhaps all our gainsays

whether justified or not

would be received and chewed through thoroughly

then challenged back.


But all that swinging

back and forth

takes time we do not have.

So Dad, I would love

to just talk back and forth

and laugh- ’bout day’s events

like when we swung

on the slightly used tire you hung

from the shading maple

in the backyard

of my childhood home.


by colleen hannah

written for my Dad, whom I love more than anything. And more than anything- I love to sit with him, and listen to his tales. Then we laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

Love like a Citrus Spray


Your love is like...

Your love is like a citrus spray



and sometimes stings

but life without you

would bore me

and like a lemon it would suck

without it’s zing


✍ colleen hannah

My boyfriend is like a watermelon. Refreshing- never stings. But every once in a while… the rest applies.


Shiny, Pretty, but of no real use.

You iridescent fool

shining pretty


like prisms along pools

of clear cut  glass

But vapid

and vacant

no maiden of any intent

would share

the looking with you.




by colleen hannah

Many I have met shine pretty but shine wears off eventually, doesn’t it?

It’s time we sift a little substance into the shine.