These are a bit melodramatic, but they were the first ones from that period, so in a rather uncharacteristic desire to be chronological, here goes:

untitled, Oct, 2001

My life is curtained black.

I thought to make a puppet show,
perhaps a tragedy, full of sorrow.
But now I've lost the knack.

I know not how to take it back.
I'd like to pull these curtains down,
to see the sun.

Oh, how do I erase my frown,
and set the stage for fun?

PINS, Oct 30th, 2001

I pin my hopes on you
and you deflate.
Bleeding hearts without soul's mate.

I walk across the gravel
of resentment,
wondering where our river of love went.

Inside, I'm yearning,
frantic churning,
swallowed in angry burning.

Bile of rage rises, bitter learning.
I dig through ashes and litter.

Find what I've hidden,
buried deep.
Gleaming in dust, secrets to keep.

Sifting for straws of kindness,
love and protection.
Finding heaps of ashes and rejection.

Sinking,
spinning,
hoping,
pinning.

Landing naked and bruised on gravel again, I rise.
I walk, leaving a trail of deflated men, ash and lies.

Under my feet a bridge appears.
Frail and shakey with sorrow and fears.
I set out across it, feeling my way.
Blind but sure-footed, I step lightly and sway.

Here, the bridge zigzags. Another man stands,
offering love with his eyes, poems in his hands.

Again I feel the desire, the yearning.
I touch him lightly and sigh, turning.
His voice echoes behind me...

Spinning, stopping,
pins dropping.

I walk on.

I like to end that one there, although I had written an ending to follow 'I walk on':

Now the bridge is long, straight and true,
spanning the vast blue sea.
My own two legs will carry me through,
To Avalon.

Which is kind of courageous and romantic, but I think the poem better without it. I sort of like poems to end in a continuing journey towards the unknown, just like life.