the safe place

in the dark  uncertain how to go
i turn my gaze inward and feel the motion
still in my bed i remember myself again and in my mind i rise
speeding through the universe in five or more directions at once
me in my mind the vehicle steps out  rising higher and higher
first the whirl of the first circle i feel the thin skin of life
that wraps the orb of earth

then the magical motion
this world passes around and around
the orb of our star

extending consciousness
i catch the magnificent race of our star
within the arm of the galaxy

exultant and excited
the wings of the galaxy fly
quickly passing my imagination
but i know i move
i believe

out and out
farther and farther until
the scale becomes almost more
than I can encompass
thought fails

my heart my mind my spirit
embraces the wholeness and sings
what is next who knows
a wall a door a window
open for me

i sing
within the framework
the universe the cosmos the totality
dreams come to tell me
this is the way

Louie Spooner Bucklin                           copyright 2017


in twilight
twisted genius guards
secrets spoken of in code
words whirling on the white pages
reality retold as fantasy
filled with darkness
blood pools

where it goes
when it moves into the distance
no one follows or calls out as it disappears
as past as past can be as fast as word and thought
fear banished forgot immediately
frozen face smiling

cold-storage shadows
clues claw through the ice and climb
into view vaulting and veering
avoiding  direct contact
anger and desire

i ask you
what chance has love
when lives become games
without rules


lost for dead and gone
nearly forgotten in the precious past
scrambling to stay afoot while scrapping
over crumbs of possibility with ghosts of guilt and anger
coming to a place where things were standing
waiting for someone to find them
nameless blameless pieces
sing out take me

assembled together
it appears that there is a plan
a use to put to these things
for good

finding my voice
slipping through vanities foolishness
stopping and gazing at grand graces
lit in the distance of the future
open my mouth and try to say
this is who i am now
my song is coming
wait and listen


Louie Spooner Bucklin   copyright 2017


when someone tells me to go fuck myself

there are so many directions I could go with that

do i do like the sufi and go into myself and revel in the sensation

of feet dancing  voice ululating

oh yes

dazzled by the light and sound into ecstasy and transport

one way to go and not a bad one

or do i retreat into sparse existence paring down what i take in

eliminating what is put out

releasing the self completely and sailing into nothingness and oneness

to be self fucked they wish me but they offer no map or sense of direction to go

i am inclined to do both by turns too much fun perhaps

but without better direction

there i go hither

Feeling up the Creek Without…

The past few weeks have felt kind of okay in a flat, not really enjoying it a lot of the time kind of way. My ex has been on my mind. I don’t like having him living so close to me. He is a clear and present danger to me in so many ways.

Then, today, I am reading my FB stuff and I find a picture of him at a party, playing guitar and singing. I know it sounds completely awful, but I wanted to tell him what I have been doing for the whole almost three years since we parted. I have been waiting for one of us to die, and that cleared up into me waiting for him to die.

When I heard he was in bad shape, I wasn’t happy about it; I’m not a completely cold bitch. When I saw him stand and reach out for me, it freaked me out though I did not freak out in front of him and his friend. Seeing him playing guitar hit me hard because we were musical partners for 15 years. I worked very hard to sing and play up to his standards. He was always patronizing at best. He criticized me in front of groups we played for and when he asked to see my songs, I gave him my manuscripts, and he left them on his table in the living room, then they fell to the floor. He never opened the folder.

He wanted a lot from me, and I gave everything I had, in so many ways. I kind of wish I was dead again. But what I really want is to not have him anywhere in my life, and that means cutting myself off even further from the people we both know. It’s hard beyond my ability to communicate.

I wrote this for a couple of FB friends this evening:

I am feeling really depressed right now. For those of you who find I am too negative, I can only say that if you are not interested in what is going on, I don’t know why you have me as a friend here on FB or anywhere else for that matter.

All I have wanted the last few years was to feel accepted and safe. I’ve been through too much crap to want to be with people who try to control me. I had enough of that from my foo family and some persons in my adult life. If you tell me you don’t want to hear about my hurts and my struggles I will stay away from you.

I’ve tried not to be a blemish in people’s fair lives. I have left many places where I was told I was welcome but it turned out I was only being tolerated. I don’t know when, if ever, I will cease being depressed and anxious. These things are likely conditions I’ve had since childhood.

Most of the time I don’t mind being alone, as I am generally good company to myself. But other times I need to talk about the things that bother me, and being told I shouldn’t strikes me as cold. I don’t want to be told what to do or how to do it unless I ask.

Tonight is the first time I cried since the middle of November. That’s pretty good. Now I’m feeling really unhappy about a number of things that have happened today, last year, and a couple of years ago. I am not about to apologize for being who I am.

Maybe some day I will learn to be like this little poem I wrote when I was a young teen:

You cut the grass
It grows again
It never seems
To mind the pain

Someday I hope
It comes to pass
That I might be
Just like the grass

But, you know, that’s not really a thing to aspire to. Sometimes I think that being a vegetable might be a thing to think about. Some have wished me dead. I’ve tried so hard to build a life with meaning beyond pain. It seems that nobody wants to give me the time of day other than my therapist. I’m supposed to get better and not be a bummer.

I’ve lost almost everything I loved in the last few years. It hurts!
I lost my mind, I lost my physical health as well, and even doctors
have hurt me. I want to be able to trust people who say they are my friends. I ought to be able to trust my doctors.

What is left of my family I cannot rely on. I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to roll up in a tight ball and disappear.

End of that.

I am going to bed early; I’ve been a little short on Z’s this last week, which hasn’t helped at all. I appreciate that some of you are reading the stuff I write. my poems have been put in a file, one of these days I’ll dig one up and put it here. I feel so tired out in so many ways.







It’s been quite awhile since I wrote anything on this site. I’ve been processing some of the individual traumas I lived through with the help, of course, of my therapist.

The other thing was seeing my ex after 2 1/2 years for the first time. I had learned that he was unable to walk, play, guitar or use a computer because of some kind of stroke or other cerebral event. All the hard work I have done has allowed me to overcome anger and forgive him. I wanted to see him just long enough to have closure.

I was shocked when he rose from the chair he was in and walked towards me holding out his arms for an embrace.

Then I caught him by the arms at his elbows, holding him off. I told him what I just wrote, and that I had never stopped loving him. He asked for my phone number, which I gave him. Later I regretted that, but as I thought he would, he lost it, so I never heard from him until six weeks later, when he phoned my friends in Winnipeg looking for my phone number. I called him back and he proved how scrambled he is by asking me what I had been up to for the last couple of years.

In a very controlled voice I told him that I had lost almost everything I loved in the last couple of years. He said “Thank you for calling.”. I think I handled that well enough. It was unsettling to see him in person that one time, and more unsettling to have him calling Canada while I was there.

I have gotten over the anger I felt at his trivializing what happened to me before and after things came unglued four years ago. Something in me closed like a steel door when he asked me what I had been up to; I realized that I did not want to share my struggle to get over him and build a new life. I’ve been keeping an even keel (pretty much) since then.

The holidays are being subdued but enjoyable. Tonight was the first time I wept in over a month. I fight the urge to see my ex or talk to him. I worry about his happiness and his health. I never stopped loving him. But trying to have any kind of conversation with him at this point would be pointless as he just doesn’t see reality anymore except in short bursts and becomes paranoid and agitated and disassociated. The kindest thing I can do is stay away from him.

The person who helped arrange the visit had told me, “He couldn’t have hit you THAT hard.” when I spoke about some of the brain dysfunction I suffer. That kind of typifies the attitudes of  many of the people who know us both, and explains neatly why I don’t go in that circle any more.

My therapist was bang on when she told me that no one who knew us both would ever understand what I went through.

Monday I get to have an MRI to see how my brain tumor, etc. is doing. I wrote it a lullaby for it shortly after being diagnosed in September 2014. Its called My Little Tumor. I’ll post the words in here sometime.

And I promise to prepare a draft or two of my other writings as well.






The Man

My children and myself were out on our front steps one late morning in fall playing with the dog and talking, when a man came by on the sidewalk. This individual had very obviously suffered some kind of illness or injury that left him needing support for balance in order to remain upright.
Every day regardless of weather, whenever I was out there, I would see him pass, though usually on the other side of the street. We had exchanged nods. His hands were always being used to hold on to an empty shopping cart.
The youngest of my two asked me, “Mom, what is that?” I sucked in my breath, wanting to scream, but said softly but audibly “That is a man.”

My life as a moveable feast has just begun!