Category Archives: Poetry

My squirrelly niche…

A long time ago I started this blog with the vague idea that I would become a titan of the blogosphere, writing about being a mom and a lawyer, writing about saving the environment for my children, writing about making my own baby food while crossposting articles from my side gig writing for Attachment Parenting International.

During this time of grandiosity I studied the art of blogging as only a woman who just sat for the Bar Exam after three and a half years of intensive study and then became a stay at home mother in rural New Jersey can, obsessively. I learned you are supposed to choose your niche and write about it passionately, truthfully, and with a raw openness that lets complete strangers into your bleeding inner core in a way you don’t even let your friends in.

That my dears is the way to internet stardom.

Well I don’t have a problem with writing passionately, or really with bleeding my feelings all over the internet. Y’all are really pretty decent and besides, it’s not like I’m going to run into to you at the next cocktail party and have that embarrassing moment when you recognize me. No, my problem was always the niche.

See I, my dear friends, am an interest whore.

I am interested in ALL THE THINGS. I want to read about the things and learn to do the things and write about the things. I want to blog about being a mom and a spoonie and an artist who paints and also makes stuff in 3D and also draws and also makes cards but is also a poet but also writes serious stuff but writes about being sick but can cook and wants to share recipes and loves to take pictures and did you know I make jewelry and am a silversmith and am looking at wood working and oooooh let me share my photography with you and here’s the song I started writing to go with the Kalimba I started playing to help with pain management and do you Yoga and have you tried kayaking and did you know the neuroscience behind exercise and fibromyalgia and the venom in tarantulas in Peru and I have some really good ways my husband and I deal with being chronically ill and I can share those with you and I can talk about parenting teens and….

Yeah. What I am passionate about and interested in is the same thing a fleet of hyperactive squirrels on too much caffeine are interested in and passionate about. Everything.

So after years of trying to write about what fits in the narrowly defined idea of a blog about something other people might like to read I have just given up officially and am just going to put it all out here.

I’m writing down poems and sharing the art. I’m going to talk about the pain and the things that help, the kids and the world and the interesting things I find. I’m going to share and overshare and I am going to enjoy it. Because I finally did find my niche.

It’s me. I’m my niche.

Stirred Crazy…

dreaming of drinking
in noisy locations
with people surrounding me
a thousand new faces a day
strangers grounding me
bodies covered in sweat
as we move to a beat
being pounded out
at volumes our
voices can’t compete with
a favorite past-time of mine
this tribal activity
this dancing.

seeing but not seeing
faces uncertain in
shifting shadows
and strobe flashes
only one thing dominating
the act of mating movement to music
rhythm to writhing
soul to sweat
i can’t forget it yet
the yearning
for the feel of muscles burning
from hours of endless
frenzied whirling.

with the breath
of a crowd
bringing death
to the dance
is there even
the slightest chance
we will ever again see
the sticky drink covered
dance floors
and the cover-charged
roped off doors
of my youth open to
the sweat covered lovers of
of hip hop and house?

will our children know the
dubious thrill of raising the roof
with their hands on their drinks
at all times and their ID’s
in their bras because they
still don’t make club
clothes for women
with pockets?
Or will the idea of sweating
so close to so many strangers
always feel like too much danger
and sharing that much air
alway carry the risk
of too much death
from the chance
of sharing too much breath
with too many people
you just don’t know?

which way will it go?

the club life
had pitfalls of
roofies and date rapes
unwanted gropings
along with DUI’s and
those sad over-dosings.
It wasn’t a scene
for those without armor
or someone to teach them
to watch out for charmers
or to stomp someone’s arches
“by accident” if needed.
it wasn’t a place for a lamb.
but it taught you to lose inhibition
to let go of the need for perfection
to give in to the feel of the music
and just be part of something wild and primal
and yes, at times, explicit.

It would be a shame if we were the last to know it.

—- mmorehead 02-20-2021

O Civility…

duck your shameful head O’ traitor 
don’t show your face in my land of freedom.

tear down your lackluster campaign flags
cease your tone deaf rally cries.

you pressed your pestilent idol upon my nation 
and with overwhelming numbers you were rebuked.

your time of relevance is no more.

you tried to force yourself upon us 
like the cheapest of history’s cowards.

raging through our nation’s capitol
smearing shit on a symbol you claim to revere.

bludgeoning friend and foe alike
with every quisling blow.  

all for one who never cared a whit for you.

now your leaders quake in the murk
hoping to be unnoticed while you rot.

your sniveling idol pouts and putts 
as his reckoning comes due. 

and you lecture me on civility
telling me it’s time to end our divisiveness. 

your brazeness is boundless.

you do not get to come into my house
to set a bomb off in the living room

then get upset when I don’t offer you tea
to go with the shrapnel. 

—mmorehead 2-15-2021