I don't have words tonight,Not adequate words, anyway.I have cautioned words.Quiet words.Words that peek out of my heart,Look around to make sure no one is reading, thenTip-toe quickly onto the page.Words that don't chassé, rather,That glide forth, slow,Measured and unbiddenLike a silent tear that escapes,Unnoticed by everyone but youIn a moment everyone else isOverjoyed, yet… Continue reading This Poet’s Angst
Broken No longer Whole, and What once was fractured is now Scattered, but Love left me I was picking up the pieces from when You walked out the door I thought my life was over when you Said you loved someone else I found my life wasn't over when you left My life was just… Continue reading Redemption – A Reverse Poem
Not all words are meant for publication. Words like these that come at the urging of melatonin and a cup of chamomile tea usually find their way into my journal, but not onto my blog screen. Maybe these will. Who knows. Who knows how to navigate this long, strange corridor of a queen bed for… Continue reading I’m not the only one thinking this…
I was asked today during a phone interview how long I've been writing. I said that I've been writing since I was ordering womb-service. Seriously though, I've always loved writing. Before age 10 I would make up skits complete with scripts and perform them with my sister. (James Moorer would have been so proud). I… Continue reading Love at First Write
I am buried deep in the darkness of the earth. The ground and all the creatures in it are my home. Rain water washes in and around and beneath me causing me to spit and choke. I am lonely, bitter, and afraid. The rain has bloated and swollen me. I feel pain. I feel like… Continue reading Beauty. Growth. Enjoyment.
I am a writer. More precisely, I am a poet. I always have been. 11-year-old me would stay up well past lights-out hiding under a blanket with a flashlight, paper, and pen to write. My friends were all reading Tiger Beat Magazine, the Babysitter's Club series and anything by Judy Blume. I was reading Chaucer's… Continue reading Vulnerable. Poetic.
'T'were the night a'fore Christmas, when throughout the ranch, Not an oak tree was stirring, not even a branch; Our workboots were set by the fireplace with care, In hopes that Ole Santy Claus soon would appear; The kiddos were bunked-in all snug in their beds, While pictures of candy-canes two-stepped in their heads; This… Continue reading Night Before Christmas, Texas Style
I imagine King David, writing instrument in hand, scroll on one knee, writing furiously - trying to beat the dusk. This is when poets live - as the world falls asleep, poetic minds wake - Imagery marches down the page. Poetic hearts beat iambic pentameter, Thoughts come faster than hands can write... da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM… Continue reading King David and Stuttering Metrical Dactyls (just read)
When I was alone or felt I was alone as a child, I couldn’t stand it. The minute the door shut and the lights went out I felt like the walls came alive and a living, retching monster might come forth at any given moment and find in me a tasty snack. Often when I… Continue reading Oh, Turn Your…
Tonight I stared into a mix of Yellowed, redded, oranged hues that Danced before the horizon And wondered, "where do they go?" What happens to the light when it Stumbles out of reach, And leaves me standing, wondering Whispering to the dark - Come back... Does it lose its light or simply Remain intact, yet… Continue reading It’s Beyond Me