Melinda Foshat

Poetry, Prose, Photography


Throwback Thursday: Happy Thanksgiving!

Today, as family’s gather and devote a few small hours to celebrating the greatest things in life, I will also think on my thankfulness and how I am grateful to have a muse who graces me with the gift of creativity, so many followers who leave kind comments and advice, and professors, family, and friends who are more than supportive of my dreams.

Although we see the horror of life’s tragedies on the nightly news, we rarely experience these hardships face to face or on a daily basis. Today, not only will I think of my blessings, but I’ll think on the loss of others and remember how so many go without families not only on Thanksgiving, but on each and every day of their entire lives.

Where Do Orphans Go to Burn?

The children, awake as they shake
Stillness from their wooden cots
Hide remnants of their ignorance
Beneath the tangled threads of a shagged sheet

Through the holes of what once a stranger’s robe
Unfamiliar, yet the only family they’ve ever known
Their eyes fixate on the twinkling sky
The only time their heads held high

And the stars catch their disillusioned gaze
As they reminisce a light that once was

The roof, heavy with miseries
Stretches its arms to embrace them
Falling into the blackness of their eyes
It falls forever

In their beds, warm for the first time, they burn

Their only comfort; teddy bears with broken arms
And at last the pain of internal wounds cease their pounding

© Copyright – All rights reserved – – November 27, 2014




She was never any good at sitting
Restlessness came
When no one did
Refusing to let her forget
The ruin in their eyes

She knew best
How to walk, stumble
From bucket to can
As the wind cut by, wickedly
Unable to lift her strain

When breathing took its toll
She swallowed a penny
It went down smoother
Than the last ounce of hope

Now she sits
And waits
For a quarter

As they toss glances
And tip
Her heavy heart

© Copyright – All rights reserved – – November 25, 2014


Words Afloat


When empty bottles float
I’ll burn
I’ll drown
Ash to ash
Dust to flames

© Copyright – All rights reserved – – October 10, 2014


In Love

In her heavy stupor
Could finally wrap the heat
For curling into a ball
Small shudders

Full of nothing
But consciousness

In love–

© Copyright – All rights reserved – – October 07, 2014



The universe spoke today
It was crisp and sound
I lost it almost in the thunder

There was no death
Nor any sight of a thousand herons passing by
Only the fleeting of anticipation

And for the first time, I listened
To the ant drown out the rain

© Copyright – All rights reserved – – September 29, 2014


Songs From The Edge

It was fortunate
The way his voice floated through the cracks on the second story
How could a voice so full of feeling glide so effortlessly on air?

She knew the weight of sorrow
She had carried it through the slums
As they watched in windows with discontent

Even the rain knows misery
Who else breaks rain’s fall?

It pours
As she picks up the violin
She knew once how to play
Before she lost all sensation
In the tips of her being

His voice rises
As it carries her to the open window

For a moment she feels light
For a moment she hears the music
From long ago

And the rain, it beats to a tune
As it strums her blood through the streets

(Dedicated to C, and his voice, which carried me to wonderful places.)
© Copyright – All rights reserved – – September 26, 2014


The Prodigal’s Plight

He was born, only once
His one want, to want not

He learned sorrow in the faces
Hung lopsided on his wall
Of friends and family
And a stranger he knew once

When he died
They threw out his leftovers
With the crystal fragments
Of a chandelier
Which fell from the
Chateau de la Grange

And when his soul
Which had fled long ago
Glanced in passing
It stopped to admire
The picture of a stranger
Lying in a bed of bones

(Dedicated to Jobina, a stranger, who in just a few passing words, inspired me to write.)
© Copyright – All rights reserved – – September 26, 2014


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