Poem: 3-Some

This poem is one of my favorites.


Uncle P loves to play with me
Uncle H loves feeding me cake
Both make me smile
Then we laugh for a while
And see what a 3-some we make!

One Uncle tickles my belly
While one tickles under my chin
And both Uncles tickle my fancy
Then we do it all over again
Oh what a 3-some we make, we 3
Yes what a 3-some we make!

My Uncles are dark and lovely
Both handsome as pure gold
Both are so fine
And both are all mine
So see what a 3-some we make, my boys
Yes what a 3-some we make!

W. Spencer


Poem: Bringing the Dawn

Not all my poetry is darksome and about pain, demons, or addiction. Here’s one recently written about staying awake all night,  something I love to do, even without meth.


Bringing the Dawn

At early dusk she laughs with painted glee:
“I’ll stay up all night,  myself awake the dawn! ”
A midnight stroke and what is it that we see?
Eyes wide open, narry the slightest yawn.

” A lovely night, so fair, so fair, ” says she.
” A cup o’ Joe to help me stay awake. ”
Two hours pass, what is it that we see?
Alive and pert, a beautiful breath to take.

At half past four, the morning hours wee
Creep closer, our sweet sun to soon arise.
Another glance to find now what we see,
A healthy yawn to play with half-mast eyes.

Now seven a.m. we peek again to see
A weary face and lowly drooping head.
” The sun is up, the time is right, ” says she,
“The perfect time for me to go to bed!”

W. Spencer

Poem: Pull Me Back

Pull Me Back

You entrap me here with your sweet smile
You enslave me with your voice
Your eyes they pierce my soul to its core
Was loving you ever my choice?

Who can withstand your seductive gaze?
Who can resist your touch?
How will I ever break free from your grasp?
Why do I love you so much?

Your voice so sultry, whispering love
Your promises all are a lie
My faceless lover, you ravish my soul,
Then bite me, making me cry.

Why cry for you?
Why lie for you?
I pray I never
Die for you.

My mind is breaking, I need to leave
My heart is blackened by sin
Just as I begin to walk out that door
Your devil eyes pull me back in.

W.  Spencer

Untitled Snippets

Sometimes little bits of poetry come to me and I write them down. Sometimes they turn into longer poems, and sometimes they stay just bits. Here’s some from 2012:


Untitled Snippets

I am yours
In a way that I am no one else’s
I give you me
I’ve given myself fully to you
Shall you take
Everything to you that I offer?
It’s my heart
Pumping with life I present.

Delicate, like a rose
I behold your exquisite beauty
The dark lines of grace
Run through your delicate frame
Your mind, vastly unexplored
Shines out like a radiant star
Your light is a beacon
Which beckons me come.

Love and acceptance
Not necessarily in that order
Each point to the other
Leading it forth.

You fill me with joy
Between us, our
Silent gestures of love
A hand to the wrist
Assuring me of your presence
A hand to my breast
Signals to you my devotion
I blink my assent
When you ask for my heart.

Can you see it?
That light shining up from the bottom
Peeking around in my heart
Illuminating all the dark corners.
It brightens up
All the secret nooks
   and hidden crannies
Radiates out
Pouring forth sun on us all.

W. Spencer
January 2012

Poem: Broken

Reality Broken

Spirit, broken
Soul, broken
Beyond repair?
Don’t know.
Promises, broken
Hearts, when
Did all this
Madness start?
Glances, broken
Bones, broken
All alone.
Mirrors, broken
She dies,
Why did I
Believe the lies?
Vision, broken
Mind, broken
Young, broken

W. Spencer


Written after I had been drinking and using for a couple years, after I left my second husband, was in the process of divorcing him, and was beginning to feel my brain crack due to prolonged exposure to drugs and alcohol. I was broken, yet still alive…

Poem: Eclipsed By Madness

Written in State Hospital South,  Blackfoot, Idaho. One of my favorites.


Eclipsed By Madness

As the sun rises
Ascending the sky
My paranoia and
Hateful fear growing
Peaking and reaching
Its zenith on high
As the noon with its
Brightful light glowing
Glowing and growing
Its frightful seeds sowing
As it reaches its zenith on high.

And like the seed planted
Breaks forth from its shell
Pushes up and
Releases its hold
So grows my fright
Of the demons from hell
That curse me
Reviling my soul
Reviling while smiling
My soul slowly dying
For it’s cursed by the demons from hell.

And all those who love me
My family and friends
Even those who just
Know me by name
See the destruction
That’s taking its toll
How the devil is
Playing his game
He’s flaying and playing
While I’m desperately praying
As destruction is taking its toll.

So thus passes on
The best years of my life
While my spirit
So painfully dies
And when ends the torment
There’s no one who knows
Is there anyone
Hearing my cries?
Eyes tearing I’m fearing
The demons are leering
Of my torment there’s no one that knows.

I’m in institutions
In locked down psych units
For fear my madness complete
And when I’ll go home
Is unsure and unknown
Or if ever this illness I’ll beat.
I’m fighting yet trying
Ignoring their lying
That never this illness I’ll beat.

W. Spencer
SHS Blackfoot, Idaho


I was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 2001, and this stay in SHS was my first–the “culmination”, if you will, of many years of being in and out of the local psychiatric hospital.

While being in any hospital can be an unpleasant occurance, this stay did produce a few good poems.

Poem: Insane Asylum

I was hospitalized in Idaho State Hospital South, in Blackfoot,  in 2009, for about three months. That resulted in a few poems,  one of which I will share with you now.


Insane Asylum

I’m walking down the hall
in the Admissions Unit of
State Hospital South
in Blackfoot.
There’s some fucken loon
in the dayroom
Just running his mouth–
God help me.
So I came into my room
Where it’s quiet and safe
Picked up my pen and began to write.
Then I thanked the good Lord
my door is closed
cuz someone down my hallway
lets rip a good one and sighs.
O God help me.

I can’t wait to get the hell out
And go back home where
I’ll sleep on my own bed
And when I wake up
I can make a pot of coffee,
Smoke a ciggy if I want,
Turn on the computer and
Check my email if I want.
I can shower
In the privacy of my own bathroom
And walk into my bedroom
Naked if I want.
I can eat breakfast
When I want
And eat
What I want
On my own plates and my
Own silverware
With real butter and white toast
if I want–
And I’m really looking forward to the
Pot of real coffee.

I can drive my car
Wherever I want to go
And all my picture frames
Will have glass in them.

No nurses station
No cafeteria
No long hallways.
No strange crazy people farting
No watchful nurses who are checking on me
Every half hour.
No treatment plan
No goal group —
No, nothing like that.

I’ve been institutionalized so long
I almost forgot what freedom is like.
But now I remember and I
Can’t wait to go home.

W. Spencer
July 2009
SHS Blackfoot,  Idaho


I’m in the mood for posting so I’ll post another one written in the same time period.  It’s very different than this one.

Thank you for reading.