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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.

My Friend (the sea-gull)

There he is – my friend
With wings quite bland
but beak-outstanding                   Flit and  lift
he’s off
not quite got
the flying down but oh
he is grand



by colleen hannah- for my little friend who just hasn’t got the knack of being a sea-gull. I am not convinced he really knows his true origins at all. But we like to hang out and discuss the days events, nonetheless.

suicide tonight



suicide    tonight

 in my three floor honeycomb


and gone

fly well someone’s son


-colleen hannah

This poem was written after a man committed suicide in my 3 story building. He left behind a wife, who lives with the feeling that somehow she could have done something. She could not. But when someone takes their own life they condemn loved ones, left behind, to life filled with tragedy and regret, and feelings of guilt.

The guilt of course is almost always misplaced, but no one who loves someone can ever see their way past the voices that will not subside after losing someone to suicide. The voices that say, “You should have done this, you should have done that” Yes, there is always something more or different we could do in life, but if someone chooses to hurt him or herself there is nothing, nothing, we can do to change that. We can only do what we think is right at the time, and if that is what we did, that is the only thing that matters.

Allowing the voices to spin self accusations only inhibits our ability to heal, and to help and be there for other family members. If you lost someone to suicide you have been deeply hurt, wounded to the core… but to carry on and to heal is the best way to remember your loved one.

And if anyone reads this and is considering ending their life, please, please, remember… tomorrow is a day where everything can change, and there are always so many tomorrows. Please don’t give up, and please don’t let your family and loved ones live a life of pain because you are gone.

Tomorrow is everything. Today is just yesterday when tomorrow finally comes                                                                                                                                                   -c.h.


Spiral spiritualism- no where to go- but back to the beginning.


the eventuality of events

calls all future tense

to its

inevitable end

for if our time has all but ticked

then we of course have all been licked

a little to the fix and

ten past then


by colleen hannah

a commentary on the idea that all time, and our place in it, has been  plotted or fixed, and is static. We must make room for free will.

Perhaps a better word for it, when it comes to the human race, is mistakes. Even nature has made mistakes albeit beautiful, wondrous mistakes. If we do not allow free will to flourish and admit mistakes are part of who we are, there is no point to our choices we make. We must learn. Or we become stagnant, when that happens we will be clones of clones on a dying world.

we cannot learn without change, without making a few mistakes. This has all been said before, but it seems we have not heard, or not made enough mistakes.

When a mistake is made it is like a step – ready to be taken, ready to be learned from.  Every step takes us somewhere new, tells us something new.

If we have learned from our mistakes then we have never made any mistakes at all, only steps in the right direction. So let’s all take a few ticks to the side of center and envision an actual future, not a reprint of last year’s travelogue.


Hi there, this blog has struggled, trying to decide what it wants when it grows up. Which is difficult because I haven’t even yet decided what I want when I grow up. Often I find myself torn between the light ( and often more juvenile type rhyming, rhythmic poetry) and the seriously serious, (less rhyme-ful state of affairs.)

I love writing about injustices I see in the world, love the aspect of taking a topic and writing a short story. All these types of genres, the different types of poetry included make me one happy little prolific writer, but not a quality assured one. I know I should, perhaps, keep each type of genre within its own blog. But for now that is just not going to happen.

I am an emotional creative type soul, which leaves very little room for the creatively organized section of my brain. Actually who’s kidding who, never had the organizational section to begin with. It was re-sectioned long before my DNA selected.
I guess what I am going on about here is, I am less than assured of my writing’s direction. So please, feel free to give me any pointers you may wish or feel compelled to point out. Because I am working on my writer’s wings and far from full-fledged. I am a writer who knows how to play with her words, but not yet an accomplished composer. One day I hope to hit post, and know, deep down, that the poem, story, or article I have written was truly inspired and technically flawless. Until then I will hit post and be confident I have had a blast writing it.