Archive for the ‘poetry is not for the weak’ Category

White speckled starling,
eating withered crumbs from our table
tossed carelessly upon the wintry lawn,
your quick and lively gait inspire me with spring.

It is with great trepidation
that I muscle forth each morning from my own warm comfort
and seek out crumbs of knowledge;
my own daily bread.

I wink earnestly at the bus driver
and count exact change for the New York Times
and listen intently to confessions of strangers
on their squawking mobile phones.

Oh, to be born a bird
with little to do but hunt and peck
and avoid the tireless hunt of
Sam, the neighbor’s cat.

Would I trade this melancholy life
of human stuffs and necessities?

Would I dare to have such simplicity
as the bird with its crumbs?

I think I couldn’t survive living
such a simple life
without such things as television and cell phones
to keep me from spending too much time with myself.

It is these common goods of the American dream
that keep me from knowing
my full self; my bare and naked truths.

And that is my safety-net.


Return to the past

to experience your present

and gain knowledge for your future.

Your forefathers have already made the mistakes

you consider making;

Choosing stasis rather than challenge,

Choosing a mea culpa

over a line in the sand.

What won’t you do?

What will you do?

What CAN you do?

You can revisit history-


The Iliad,

And poetry of the lovelorn.

Theodore Geisel said it best:

“Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple”.





These are codes to live by that will never betray you.

Choose well,

and when you don’t

for surely you will slip, as is the will of human nature

forgive Yourself.

I hate to say it;
I miss you.
I miss you more than I can say out loud.
Never shared so much as a sunrise
and then you’re gone.
But I miss you. I miss you.

about everything and nothing,
more perfect
than anything the writer in me could have conceived.
I could see myself
fitting so perfectly, so precisely,
but with room to grow,
next to you.
Never shared so much as a sunrise
and then you’re gone.
I miss you. I hate how I miss you.
I’m parched with a full bottle of wine beside me.
I can taste your lips.
Still I thirst.
I’m tired
and your soul gives me comfort
yet still I don’t sleep.
A day full of dark, a night screaming light.
I’m here and I’m gone.

I hate to say it.
I miss you.
I miss you more than I can say out loud.
Never shared so much as a sunrise
and then you’re gone.
For you’re nothing I ever had
and everything I lost.

Her limbs tangle twist and kiss the mist.
Golden tresses bless the air.
With swirls and twirls in dress of white,
an Irish dancer, ghostly slight.

Begin, the rapid notes of flute,
and bows to whom she only sees,
her blessed feet in clover spurns
the lover destined she to meet

Her wait, though long, is met with mist,
the clover wet, the bog a fist.
Yet warm remain her lips her cheek,
for when her lover she to greet.

Moonbeams dance on skin so fair
as holy sounds blend in the air.
And prickly skin, from cold, she waits;
forgetting death, her lovers fate.

On every crescent moon she stays
waiting for her lovers sways,
and arms that she shall never hold;
the girl with curling locks of gold.

Until the sun breaks forth the day
ending Irish lovers song,
she blends with sky and moves along.
Her fate, this Irish dance till dawn.

© 2006 Heather Bansemer

As printed in:

Poetry Is Not For The Weak“; (self published) 2009
“Write Around The Corner Volume 3” ; 2006


Posted: November 17, 2009 in poetry, poetry is not for the weak, published

Oh, Woe: naked trees; a nudist arbor colony.
Dramatic burlesque interpretation –
Look at my branches, see what you see.
All my favorite birds leave their nests.
Good bye Blue Jay, au revoir mother Finch,
fly safely little Starlings.
Come-Winter is upon us
and we must savor its brisk furnishings.
Oh sprinkling of snowflakes;
Oh misty fog of morning;
Oh crunchy leaves underfoot;
Oh sweaty brow from itchy stocking cap worn low.
Yea-Winter is upon us all and lovingly so