Ingrid Bruck is wild flower gardener and a poet inspired by nature. She lives in Amish country in Pennsylvania. This site shocases selected works by her.

THREE POEMS - Published by:  Communicators League

The Great Disconnect

After Eileen R. Tabios – I Do <know English>

I do know English.

You shout words at me as if I’m deaf. I would force you to hear

me if I could.

I do know English hunger.

My stomach leads to my ass and out a shit hole just like yours.

I do know English love.

My pussy is hungry for passion, not just an ornament for you to

buy or steal.

I do know English tree.

My feet, rooted. My womb, roomy. My heart connects to my chi.

I bloom springtime and pheromones.

I do know English bird.

My wings whir, blink and I’m gone, look and our eyes connect.

I do know English color.

My night, your day. My fall, your spring. We, two face Janus.

Volcano romance erupts, ash blocks both our suns.

I do know English possession.

Empire America builds your pipeline, icepicks in living flesh.

Winter protest in Montana.

I do know English McMansion.

A one room apartment for six. Piles of unfolded clean laundry

on futon, dirty garments on floor, cat piss smell. No time to


I do know English sun.

I wake and come home in dark, work three jobs to pay rent,

food and clothes. Mis nines know warm sun on face and

in belly. For me, sun a good memory.

I do know English read-and-write.

I take English class at library, my children translate to

teacher and doctor. No write Mayan. I read Spanish book and

English spell: “green card”, “citizen”, “dream”.




racial profiling : skinny

people of color kill white police, fear and hate










hate, white police fear and kill people of color




The Shooting

at Fort Lauderale Airport

weighs more than black cloud pillars,

those storms that come out of season,

and dump rain for weeks and months

but never reach the drought stricken.

Desolation. Over shooters.

And victims randomly killed ~

police, sikhs, gays,

government workers, elected officials,

racers and bystanders at marathons,

theater and church goers,

school and college students,

mall shoppers,

people at senior centers ~

no one is safe anywhere.

The violence unravels sunshine,

leaves families wailing.

It’s the pain of dry oats

stuffed in a belly

that swells and bursts.

It’s not black paint,

humans are pooled and splattered

on ceilings and floors.

Whether skin be black, white or yellow,

whether the religion be Muslim, Jew or Christian,

all spilled blood spells senseless carnage.



Three Poems by| Ingrid Bruck 


Date Published: January 12, 2017

THREE HAIKU - Published by:  Undertow Tanka Review, Issue 10

First & Last - Published by:  The Unbroken Journal