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Author: Ingrid Foster



Though rusty, I have found my voice!

No fear of ridicule, free from assassination

I write and sing to my hearts desire

The crypt is open, the walls broken,

The freshest air ever breathed surrounds me

The bluest sky overwhelms me

I cry the tears long kept hidden, my soul refusing to be broken,

The crypt keeper is dead, long gone, vaguely remembered, better forgotten,

She was a lost soul, better left in her royal splendor.

My soul surging within me takes flight to the heavens

It cannot be contained any longer

The wicked witch is dead and I…

I am ALIVE!!!

Copyright 2007



We had a fight

We never fight

It was about a sofa

No, not really

Though you didn’t say

It was about money

Funds are tight

Our worlds are drifting

I have my writing

And you,

You’re scraping a living

I love you my husband,

I always have

But when you jerked away

I’m done

You go your way

I’ll go mine

And maybe some day

Your light will shine

And you’ll be happy

Without me

Making a living

Copyright 2009



The resolve of quiet tear soaked sheets

Does not the ache of painful memories ease

My mind wanders restlessly

Toward years long gone decisions made turned erroneously

How I wish I could undo what once was done

I long to hold you in my arms and erase the scars you carry

The past I cannot change and the guilt forever lies on my heart

If what was is no more than why does it haunt me so?

Perhaps it is only myself that must be forgiven by this weary vessel self-condemned

And so I lay me down upon this shallow grave where once I buried the past

And with sincerest voice I forgive the woman I once was

For her heart was true though her aim was warped by what she could not control.



Hip, hop, here I go

From this spot,

My mind a mass

Of required tasks

But I must write

Not for delight

But simply because

It’s required

Every day

In any way

Pen to hand

Is the demand

If I am to make

“This piece of cake?”

Make money

My bills a wait

For heaven’s sake!

So off I go

No, not to and fro!

But to my laptop

Oh what a sop

I am to write this mire

My goal today?

I must not stray

To finish work inspired

Goodbye my friends

This poem now ends

Did I Ever Really Know You

Did I Ever Really Know You

I had to say “goodbye” today, you said it once before

To me when we were young and I was not your type

Or so it seemed…

And now you say you were shy and unsure and I was so

Much more than you ever thought you could have,

That’s not the you I remember.

But now I think the you I know is too quick with words

That you think I want to hear.

Alarm bells have sounded and now I must go for the you

I now know is not the you I once knew and I wonder

Did I ever really know you at all?

Copyright 2010



I can’t focus

I can’t think

The wanderlust is growing

It’s time to go,

I feel it so

With each degree it rises

The winter sun now getting hot

My patience is imploding

I loved it here

Our home away

My favorite destination

Now with each day

I fight my restlessness

Homes boarded up

Cupboards locked

Our neighbors have gone north

We are alone

I hate to moan

But it’s time we move on

My inner spirit warns

Yesterday it spoke

It was no joke

It’s voice was loud and clear

I’m done with here

This cross to bear

The Wanderers must depart.

Copyright 2008

The Writer

The Writer

I’m floundering


Too scared to know

Where to begin

I’m lost in a maze

Of confusion

Not knowing where

To start and

where to end.

There are so many stories


A thousand voices calling

My name.

All pleading for

My attention.



Why this feeling of anxiety?

I’ve been consumed by it everyday

As though something is missing in my life

I miss having a library to spend countless hours writing

Or researching

I miss fresh air and sunshine

And long to have a balcony to relax on

Without the feeling of being pent up

In a box!

I miss stores and malls to escape to

I miss peace of mind and large bank accounts

I think we’ve been down here far too long

At this the sandy bottom of the US

I don’t long for open roads but rather open spaces

To allow my mind to soar as needed.

I am not made for pent up closures

I am not made for rules or restrictions

I am made for life and living

And breathing

And the endless flight

Of a creative mind.

Am I Wrapped in a Layer of Ambiguity?

Am I Wrapped in a Layer of Ambiguity?

I am lost in the daze of an unfamiliar fog

Mentally drained, emotionally depleted and

Physically? Restless, yes, I yearn to walk

Among the colorful landscapes of my youth,

Where reds and golds and browns layered

The ground while filling the sky above my head,

I long for chilly temperatures and the light of

Jack-a-lanterns …and the dresses and long capes

We wore back then, I long for the fellowship of

Family, the songs, the dancing, the merriment as

We embraced the natural world long gone…

I was different then, I was wild and free, and we

Were…hunted,  we did not fit their ideal,

We were strange and our naturalness was

Unnatural in their eyes, we were a threat, and so

They chased us and imprisoned us, and ultimately,

Burned us, but not to rid the earth of us, but rather

To purge their own damaged souls…, Is this why

I feel so restless? Are the memories of who and what

I was returning? Am I denying my true self?

Perhaps that is why I yearn for the simple ‘ness

Of yesterday and the love of the family and friends

Long gone…but I wonder, are the lives we live today real?

Or a lie, a search for fulfillment as we strived to hide

The truth of who we are inside, Or maybe, that’s just me.

Copyright 2014

They Marched Through My Dream

They Marched Through My Dream

They marched in a line, through the

Darkness of my dream, their bodies

Engorged as I remembered them, eyes

Wide, frightened, reflecting our betrayal,

To this day I remember her, her loss

I felt so strongly as a child, hearing her

Loud, horrified cries as that man

With his three stubbed fingers,

Forced her onto the bed of his truck,

“No,” I had yelled, cried out, she was

My world, my Molly…and she was there

At the head of the line, Molly so big,

So beautiful,

They were all there, Molly, her daughter

Beauty, and Baby, my Becky’s mother and some

I hardly remember, ones we hadn’t named,

In a long line,


My father, he was gone, but his words,

His history, his indifference remained,

A farm is no place for the soft of heart,

Our food begets our food, the first mistake

Is naming them, the second is loving them,

And the third is sending them to slaughter,

I left the farm right after high school and

Never looked back, the memories, the

Reminders, they still haunt my dreams,

My own private nightmares,

Of a place I can never return to,

And a barn that was both my haven

And the place of my first, worst nightmare.


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