Fuzzy-headed

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
speak
brush my hand against the dust
so beauty might be seen

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

Speechless

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

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

The Thief

Composed 7/30/13
Description: Multiple things this could refer to. But they’re all situations writers fear…

He stole her inspiration
Cut out her tongue
Paralyzed her fingers
He left emptiness where there was life
Fear where there had been love
But worse
He invaded her heart and mind
And all without permission

She’d run a thousand miles
To save the innocents he’d taken
So she chased him down
To a house uptown
And knocked him off his block
And she got her inspiration back
All one hundred pages