Kiowa Song


Kiowa Song

I was taught to hold my tongue,
not show my emotions.
My wife is a Queen
to treasure and protect,
at all cost to keep happy.
Shower her with love and gifts
no matter what it is.
Sorry sweetheart that’s a Kiowa man
Now let me say this….
When your man asks what you like,
you’re supposed to say what you like.
It is an insult to him when you don’t.
Its part of the taking care,
making her happy.
Part of the relationship.
The husband agreement.

I will never fall away from you.
I will love you until I die.
You will be what I see and think of when I take my last breath.

I saw you in a dream,
I did not touch you.
I felt your heartbeat and we were one.
You are what makes me live.
My heart, the blood that flows through my veins,
the air I breathe.
You are so beautiful.

That’s what I am going to say now….
I promise to cherish and worship you first.
Then I will love you forever ever and ever and ever
until infinity stops. Infinity doesn’t stop.
That’s going to be my love for you.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved

This is most closely a translation from the original. It is also a compilation from personal letters.


(an Osage song)

I will forget
The sound of your voice
As you read to me,
The tightness and the way it catches
When you laugh hard.
That thick slur on your tongue when you drink,
Telling me you will love me forever.
Making me tell you again and again
That I am your wife.
That I would have your babies.

I cut my hair off in mourning.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved

Featured in “The Critic Writes Poems”

My Painting 'Roses'

My Painting ‘Roses’

Galatea Resurrects has featured me in their section “The Critic Writes Poems” here. They also published the book review I wrote on my friend Susana Case’s book, ‘Elvis Presley’s Hips & Mick Jagger’s Lips’here.

‘I Do Not Know This Swelling’ was published at The Glass Coin here.

Pretty good week I would say. I’m especially grateful and super lucky.


Madness Swirls

This spiral of madness swirls about me.
Wind winds through
Paper thin walls and windows.
Floor boards stand rotting around.
This is home and there is no other.
I have that bottle of 80 year old scotch
Cradled in the cupboard.
You wouldn’t find a crumb to eat,
Minus the commodity canned meat
That i’m still not sure about.

There is no savior here.
My heroes are all dead and gone.
The last thing I believed in was your
Whiskey fueled whispered seductions.
Water passed mouth to mouth
between the dead who remain thirsty.
Promise in its abstractness carries multiple meanings.

To seduce a spirit and make it yours
You must sing to it.
Mockingbird imitates crow.
The way we are nothing and everything,
With as much incendiary power.
We are as terrifying as we are healing
And even more trenchant.
We live in an equation of anger
Where survival plus acceptance
Will equal your defiance,
After everything has been taken from you.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved

I have been sitting on a secret ……..


I was recently offered the MOST AMAZING opportunity. Everyone knows how much I love Yareah Magazine, with Isabel and Martin. They offered me a regular column there!! Of course, i’m there anyway. lol I waited until now to break the news, today is the first time it is running!!! Super excited!! Super happy. You may check it out here.

Almost – D.G.J.



“ Our little envelope of time we share during the hustle and bustle of these green country days in Oklahoma like constellations of yore or some intergalactic planetary Z world. Sometimes two meet in harmony, come together and orbit around each other. At first a tender orbit that starts in a moment & leads to clasping, gripping, kissing, licking, holding into a thrust & release. Release back from each other and their orbit ….back to their worlds …back to their separateness….for a moment until the arc begins again. “ (he said)

What you didn’t do was sing to me one more time before said release.
There was no rain to save me from the drought cracking away at my spirit.
What you didn’t do was even ask before you ran. (again)
You assumed he would mean more than you,
or hold some sacred place he had never touched or known.
You didn’t see my world crumbling and falling around me.
You never really stepped inside.
I have spent the last 1097 nights alone.
With some days more bleak than this longing since your absence.
I recite you every moment like a prayer or poem.
How can I forget the sudden ferocity of our commingling
Here where more than flesh remembers,
in faint drawn out sounds.
I am but a ghost walking empty streets
draped in great stars of white hoarfrost,
in time that thickens and closes around me.
This is written with brushes
made from the bones of what could have been.
You folded my heart like it was paper and crushed it beneath your shoe.
(she said)

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved


Endings Begin Thus Quietly

The fortune cookie at dinner read,
“ You will make many changes before settling down happily”.
In that moment, I knew there was more to love than you.
Strange the way something so simple can speak in signs, significations.
The way omens are visions and we will suddenly see what is sitting before us.
I knew the road behind had not led me to you, so much as to this place.
Where I would awaken within and see that there was another thing
I was meant to be doing this entire time.
Years wasted and gone in what was never anything more
than pictures we painted for those watching.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved