Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Category: Uncategorized

“If Joanna Had A Man”

If I had a man

I could have a Barbeque


If I had a man

I could have an extra shelf

in my linen closet


I could have the baseboard


in my Ex’s old library


and if I had a man

I would have a pickup truck

“There Is Nothing Lost”

On the night

Eye painted M(eye) Bomb

the wind picked up

and Eye made for the deck

where M(eye) salvaged pieces lay

laminated together

on a glass table top —

just as Eye approached

M(eye) kitchen door

a gust had the nerve

to lift M(eye) work

and sent it flying

down to Destruction

Over Peanut Butter Pie


of The Devil proffered but

fiercely rejected


By Timely Construction

There Exists

One Room

in M(eye) House

for The Undernourished

The Devastated

The Sublime —

held in port

for The Outcome

of Disaster

and Love

First Open Window of Spring

Eye went to sleep

with the sound of peepers

and when I woke

the morning’s keepers

sweetly tweeted through

the fog —

For All Existance

Eye Thanked God



He used to say:

“I love Your Toes –”

and didn’t know why

so nobody knows


He once wrote:

“I love You to distraction –”

It came at a time

when I was a fraction

of My Former Self

at His Behest

when We were installed

as His Daughter’s Guests


Her voice rang clear

the morning We left:

“You don’t give a fuck

about your grandchildren — ”

and so goes My Quest

for compensation regarding My Past

twenty years of seclusion by Him —

He Who assured Me

He never would fail

to deliver support

if I fell off The Rail

which I did once or twice

(but not into His Arms)

though I stayed as His Wife

and buttered His Charms


It’s over now —

I’m cutting My Loss

of One Child’s Silence

I am willing to toss

to remain in My Stead

I ask to be free

of The Bonds of This Marriage

strung on The Cross


Sun Worshipping

I sat and sat

to catch The Rise

fulfilling My Daily View

Eye turned to let a cat


and beheld

My Sun-struck Pew

“Wifely Persecution”

Three little roof lines

laced along the trees

silhouetted against the seas

adjacent to the skies —

I love to look out

this way to the Eastward

view of My Own —

I wake up here every day

when the dawn presents

Itself to Home


The Kiss of Death

Is on his head

And who has placed it there?

A needle pokes

Through his clay locks

To slay his silver hair —

He says to all who dare

To hear

“She is mad l’m afraid –”

To me he says

“No you are fine

And will always be

My Dear”

“Flat-ass Calm”

This morning’s line

of stupendous spark

was cast behind

the glittering arc

of a lobster man

tending his float

and stringing out

a tail to quote:

“dipping stars”

along his mark

and all around

His Glorious Boat