Composed 8/24/17
Description: n/a

Life is a sandstorm that
has settled on my mind
Dust rests, heavy and thick, it
filters into cracks and spaces
where magic used to spawn and spread like a spring
But my head just feels so heavy now
it’s hard to shake
loose, to let
words lift like a paintbrush on canvas, instead
everything is gray

But soon I must retaliate or this
slow, progressive dementia will
steal my joy away
I must break free and
brush my hand against the dust
so beauty might be seen


The Throne

Composed 4/11/17
Description: While I work on a few more serious pieces, have a bit of random inspiration. Where do you find yourself working on your creative pursuits? For NaPoWriMo.

The only time I have to be alone
Is on this throne
So leave me be
As I write sweet toilet poetry

A Writer’s Prayer

Composed 1/4/17
Description: For me and (maybe) for you too.

Give me peace tonight
So the words may start
Give me peace tonight
To make a fresh start

Let calm descend like the fresh falling snow
So that all the worlds and realms may know
That an artist breathes within these bones
And that she lives and that she grows

Let the outside voices quiver and shake
And stop at the lips of those who hate
While the voice within speaks and flies
Beyond the heights and beyond time

Give me peace tonight
So the words may start
Give me peace tonight
To show the fire in my heart

From Within

Composed 1/2/16
Description: I like having prompts sometimes, especially when they speak to me. But other times I feel like this only just gets me writing. The things I really love I practically throw onto the page… I just wish I knew how to force up those strong emotions and thoughts at will!

Words can be snatched at random
From the air like fireflies
Put them in a jar
And they swim around in
A glowing paragraph

But what is a jar
Full of pretty words?

The subtext only speaks of death
The lights fade and fizzle
Ashes fall to the bottom
They are gone
Soon forgotten

Show me a field of fireflies
I am frozen
I want them to roam free
And explore the things that speak to me
Don’t force me with a net
To snatch at empty words
I will huddle away
And write of my own heart


Composed 5/3/15
Description: n/a

It’s somewhere just beyond the curtain
Whispered in the lyrics of a favorite song
It’s the cool breath on my neck at night
The stars placed boldly in the sky
A message
A thousand tiny clues hidden in your eyes
My fingertips grasp the sensation
An impression humming in memory
But words fail me

This Precious Day

Composed 4/5/15
Description: My poem for Day 5 of NaPoWriMo! This year, even though I had to work and ultimately miss a lot of Easter-y things, Easter hit me pretty hard. The joy of the holiday was contagious.

You are my ultimate perspective
Revealing the power of love in truest form
A fresh breath to take each morning
A reason to dance today
To rise with the sun
And sing with the birds
To grace each being with a gentle word
A gentle hand
And a smile to spread
To brighten eyes so we all may rejoice
As does the very earth this precious day
You are the love that inspires
Inspire me, inspire us
To love enough
So it touches each soul
As did yours
This precious day

Just Words

Composed 1/8/15
Description: Hello, world! How’s the new year treating you so far? For me it’s been pretty quiet, though the year is packed with possibilities… One of those possibilities is writing more; I am officially setting the goal of posting one piece a week — so expect more from me! 

What’s with me and starting the year with rather unhappy pieces? Maybe it’s just purging myself of the stress of the year… But anyway, something that came to me last night. 

I try to pretty my voice with flow’ry metaphors
And catch your attention with clever rhymes
But I can’t hear the music playing
And without that I’m lost

So many people hear songs in life
The mixed up rhythms of day to day
While I’m trapped in words roboticized
Stretched beyond sincerity
Where not everyone can reach

I long for the life of a lyricist
Who can capture a life in a minute or two
And send it out to the masses
Who think themselves the writer

It’s one thing to study the masters
Another to live your life and capture it
Bottle it and send it off
To loved ones and strangers

How can I succeed when others tell my story
Better than I?

And tell it so prettily –
In syllables like waves
Both predictable and unexpected
In their undulating flow

Oh, if only I heard the music
If only you could touch my soul
Would you
Could you
Teach me your music?
I need it to feel whole

New Old Days

Composed 6/29/14
Description: After I moved back home after completing my last semester of college, I began to have a hard time writing. I feel like this has something to do with the change in atmosphere. All the things that inspired me as I truly began writing poetry are now gone. I’m much more isolated here in my small town than I was in a larger city amidst a college campus (obviously), and everything is just so… routine. So quiet. So familiar.  And yet I don’t belong in it like I’m supposed to.  And somehow this has robbed me of my words. Even this poem came out with a lot more work than my poems usually do.

My muse let go on the ribbon road
And clings to pink leaves and iced cotton snow
It hides in phantom walks and rains
Sleeping in joys and old heart pains

Now vibrant colors halt at my eyes
While silence surrounds these small town country skies
And even as storms blow gray and wild
My voice shrivels up as a weak frightened child’s

I cannot speak in this peaceful calm
In the lull of unknowing I write no songs
There’s nothing to see, nothing to say
I’m alone and muted in these new old days

In solitude I think myself blind
And meaning hides in the shadows’ bind
It’s all too familiar and a tad amiss
Like a soon ex-lover’s first sweetly forced kiss

This place drains life from my body and words
So I sit, a stunned and silenced bird
And like the red leaves that showered me
So too my words have been crushed to seed

I cannot speak in this peaceful calm
In the lull of unknowing I write no songs
There’s nothing to see, nothing to say
I’m alone and muted in these new old days

It’s a Compliment, Really

Composed 1/6/14
Description: In response to today’s Daily Prompt Simply the Best, which asked: “When and where do you do your best thinking?”

For me, my best thinking is actually done when I am WITH people. People — what they do, what they say — kick my thought processes into gear. Oftentimes, it later (or quickly) emerges as a story or poem; other times, it just gives me something to chew on for awhile. Thus the necessity for a notebook or phone to make notes on at any given moment.  However, I realize this is also a bad habit, because it often seems like I’m not paying attention…

Please don’t be offended
When I glance away
And carefully note the space above your shoulder

Please don’t be offended
When my eyes cross
And my replies are monotone murmurs

Please don’t be offended
When I whisk out a pen
Or my phone to type

Please don’t be offended
You’ve inspired me
And I focus on things I like