Awareness - By Louise Minch 

Caught in my own awareness 

I sought with audacity to 

force others into my space. 

I would not tolerate ignorance. 

I tore at it with clenched fists 

And lashing tongue only to find 

anger and prejudice as my reward. 

I could not understand. 

Failure gripped my heart 

And in my pain I cried. 

The tears at last began to wash 

The fear of seeing from my eyes. 

The truth began to alter 

The pictures in my mind. 

I saw my own ignorance 

Safely guarded from awareness 

By my own fear. 

I once again walked toward my own goal, 

But this time with compassion, 

Understanding that awareness 

Is eagerly received only 

When fear has been relieved.

Burden of Myself  - By Louise Minch 

I walk briskly a while, 

but all along the way 

my shadow, clinging to my past, 

becomes so heavy 

I cannot walk so fast. 

Simply stepping 

deliberately and carefully, 

my shadow 

dragging in the dust 

still follows me. 

Up the stairs, across the floor, 

at last the darkness 

trapped behind the door 

is free 

to take the burden of myself 

from me . . . 

until the sunlight slithers 

through the cracks 

forcing me to face myself.

Don't Run Too Fast - By Louise Minch 

I ran along the beach 

And soon came to the end 

Where the giant rocky cliffs 

Extend into the water's edge 

And divide the sand. 

I slowed to walk back 

To where I had come from 

And saw all the beauty 

I had missed as I ran by 

The first time. 

Life has divisions too 

But we can't retrace our steps 

To capture the treasures passed 

In our rush toward tomorrow.

Childhood Chains - By Louise Minch 

They put that burning pain 

In the pit pf your stomach. 

Years did not take it away. 

Time left unhealed scars, aching. 

They squeeze life from you 

at every turn and even when 

you don't know why you are hurting. 

The hating doesn't go away. 

Emotion churns within you, 

Boiling over in raging 

Anger against the ones you love. 

You act as a helpless puppet 

in the fury of it all for 

you do not know the secret 

of its destruction. 

If I could have been there . . . 

If I could have stopped them . . . 

But you were alone in your 

terror and you live with the 

haunting memories every moment, 

carrying them into every situation. 

Only you can lose those childhood 

chains that bind you like a slave 

to your past. 

Only you can forgive them all, and must, 

to be free of them at last.


Just one of those little wildflower seeds 

Dropped by a bird in a field of weeds 

Grew and flourished in sun and breeze, 

Admired by all the birds and bees. 

Still she complained that she was there. 

Was not content to breathe fresh air. 

Then someone, walking, picked her from 

The field she'd always known as home 

And put her in an old cold jar 

With flowers who surpassed by far 

Her beauty and her fragrant light. 

She slipped unnoticed, out of sight. 

Amongst the flowers she did lie, 

Longing for the clear blue sky 

And knowing now, but much too late 

How we should appreciate 

The good we have and hold it dear, 

for it will not always be near.

A Fifty-Cent Glass - By Louise Minch 

The glass broke and so did I . . . 

crash upon the floor. 

"No more!" I cried. 

The car, the kids, the bills, 

the peeling paint. 

The lock just broke. 

I cannot cope with more. 

And so, I lay upon the floor 

with this cheap glass 

in pieces everywhere. 

I just don't care. 

Let someone else 

clean up the mess. 

For I am underneath myself 

and will not be 

called out again. 

I will not stand 

and watch the roof 

fall on my head. 

I'll lie instead 

upon the floor 

until no more 

disasters come. 

I cannot bear 

just one more broken door 

or chair. 

And don't you dare 

ask me why I lay and cry 

in such a mess, 

over a broken fifty-cent glass.

I Don’t' Want to Go - By Louise Minch 

Spring has sprung 

My last one 

so the experts say. 

I'm lucky to open 

my eyes 

one more day. 


I can scream 

I can cry 

and all that I know 

is that I'm going to go. 


I search for 

new hope 

but the truth is I fear 

I won't be around 

this time next year. 


I tell loved ones 


and try not to cry 

as my heart breaks 

in one more way, 

but I still have today. 


Is this what it takes 

to appreciate 

every flower I see, 

every new budding tree? 

My last glimpse of the sea? 


So much left undone, 

if I'd known all along 

would I have lived 


Doesn't matter now. 

I can't change it now. 


I'm just glad for each day 

I have breath to say 

all I know is 

I don't want to go.

Checkbook Balance - By Louise Minch 

I faced a pile of bills and 

A sadly lacking 

Checkbook balance. 

Tears welled up as I caught 

A glimpse of sunshine. 


Emerald green grass 

And crystal blue skies 

Captured my attention. 

Yellow buttercups waved 

in a gentle breeze. 

I picked one for my love. 

Then I heard his voice and turned. 

Smiling, I held the flower out 

Surprised it was a pen. 

He looked puzzled, 

Gently tugged my ear 

And kissed my cheek. 


Soon he left and I returned 

To the checks, 


Life cannot be measured 

By a checkbook. 

The Magnolia Tree 

By Louise Minch

The long neglected 

Magnolia tree 

bravely struggled 

for her dignity, 

but the weight 

of neglect 

pulled her down 

till her branches 

dragged the ground. 

Though she flowered 

faithfully each year, 

in her drooping limbs 

the truth was clear: 

She stood ashamed 

of her sagging shape 

but could do nothing 

about her state. 

Then you came along 

and understood 

her need to be free 

of her scraggly wood 

and trimmed 

and pruned so lovingly, 

that she reclaimed 

lost dignity. 

Now I can feel 

surging energy 

as she impatiently 

awaits the Spring 

so she can share 

her magnificent 


for your love and care.