All of the things I did

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toes in the water

I am not here to just put my toes in the water.

I am here to cannonball off a spring-board,

fully plunging into the deep end.

I am not here to simply smell the flowers.

I am here to roll through the meadow,

to give in to careless abandon,

and to saturate myself in their fragrance.

I am not here to be a guest in my own life.

I am here to live purposely,

to breathe deeply the essence of this life,

because I know, all too well, that life is short.

And at the end of my journey through this lifetime,

all of the things I did,

and all of the life I inhaled,

will hopefully served to remind me,

that I lived a deliberate life and that I made a difference.

(image credit)

fiction249

2 Kisses I shall give you

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sunrise-18a

In the wee hours of the morning,

her visits often happen then,

the charge in the air is palpable

and sleep is still in my head.

Her message hangs heavily in the air,

the words are always the same.

“Two kisses I will give you,

to help get you through your day.

 One kiss is to give you courage,

to help you save the world.

The other kiss is to help protect you

from the curve balls that life will hurl”.

Her words soothe me and give me peace

in the last moments of my sleep.

And on my cheeks, as I face the world,

two kisses I shall keep.

(image credit: santabanta)

~~

This was originally posted in 2014, but I swear I could feel them on my cheeks this morning.

By hook or by crook, I’ll create a chapbook

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My dear blogging friend, Mike Allegra, made a particularly interesting comment after reading one of my blog posts.  I had published a poem that day and he recommended that I get working on a chapbook.  I was humbled by his comment and embarrassed that I had never heard of a chapbook.  (Thank you to the kind people at Google for making me slightly more knowledgeable!)

chapbook

(image credit)

I rolled the thought around in my head for a while and then that thought, like all the other unrecorded ideas, escaped the confines of my brain.  Much to my delight, the idea had not completely exited my cranium.  The word chapbook popped up again on my radar and made me ponder the thought once again.

I began to go back through my previous posts to reacquaint myself with my poetic entries on this blog.  I was actually surprised at how many poems I have published and I enjoyed reading some of the poems I had completely forgotten.

When I began my writing journey I was a slightly awkward sixth-grader who really knew nothing about stanzas or rhymes.  Words just seemed to come from somewhere and I gravitated more to poetry than I did to storytelling.  Thankfully I have since embraced both but there is always a draw to poetry when I feel the need to express more emotion.

Poetry allows me to tell tales of love and loss.   It gives me permission to dream.  It lets me hope that the world will be a better place.  And it lets me believe in my desires.   By clicking on those links, you’ll see how much I enjoy poetic expression.

I think a chapbook is just the project I need to begin 2016 on the right foot.  Any thoughts or advice in the comments section would be very welcome.

Happy New Year to all and may 2016 bring you all the things you desire!

 

When I saw the tree

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She left before I was ready.

Perhaps her smile veiled her true emotion,

shrouding me from the reality

that she had been ready for a while.

Maybe she heard him calling to her,

soft whispers as she slept,

telling her it was okay to let go.

Conspicuous reminders of her appear,

like songs long forgotten

playing on a broken radio.

Repressed smells tickle my senses,

transporting me to another time,

and they render me paralyzed.

She came to me in a dream.

She embraced me as I slept

and whispered words she knew I needed to hear.

 When I saw the tree, I knew.

She was here,

in this place,

in the way she would have wanted to be,

in the form she loved so much.

Her sentinels lay in wait,

their wings ready at a moment’s notice,

to be at my side if I needed them.

~~

(image credit)

 ~~

fiction245

The Christmas Poem – 2015 Edition

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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the blogs
Edward Hotspur had his bacon, Angie’s Grapevine had her dogs.
The synonyms were used by Idioglossia with care,
And Conscious Cacophony, her feelings she would share.

Short Stories was nestled, all snug amongst his words,
While Susie Lindau had artistic visions taking pictures of the birds.
Graceful Press was getting poetic, authoring memorable scenes,
And Drinking Tips was creating while snacking on Poutine.

JannaTWrites newest blog had created such a clatter,
And Carrie Rubin’s comments only added to the chatter.
Away to the keyboard YeahWrite flew on its quest,
Tore open the gates of creativity posting its newest contest.

The Modern Philosopher, his brilliance did show,
And masterful words from Dianne Gray, were shared from below. (well, Down Under, but it didn’t rhyme)
When, what to YarnSpinner’s eyes should appear,
Ned’s Blog, in all its glory, showing no WordPress fear.

With a well-versed writer, so lively in blog,
I knew in a moment it must be Trudging Through Fog.
More majestic than eagles the stanzas were put,
And I knew in a heartbeat, Campari & Sofa was afoot.

“Now Grammar Ghoul! now Wordy! now Moi and Leigh!
On, Margie! On, Harlon! On, Bad Guy! on, Wine and Cheese!
To the top of the Fresh Press! to the top of the wall!
Now write away! Write away! Write away all!”

As Rarasaur roars before the wild hurricanes fly,
When they meet with Two Sentences, and mount to the sky.
So up to the Matticus Kingdom they flew,
With Yadadarcyyada and a Writer Fellow too.

I didn’t have my glasses on but I thought I still had heard,
Nicole Marie and Candice Curry happily sharing their words.
As I closed my keyboard, and was winding it down,
The Silver Leaf Journal was making a sound.

Jill Weatherholt spoke with a great deal of fervor,
And words were carefully crafted by The Mercenary Researcher.
A bundle of phrases HastyWords took from her stack,
And Shouts from the Abyss, the words he attacked.

With their keyboards they created with zest and with zeal,
They wrote just as passionately as brunch for every meal!
It was Apoplectic Apostrophes, the words she did reap,
And, in between writing, they read shrinksarentcheap.

They wrote from their hearts, like it was their favorite job,
And inside of them all lurked a Geeky Book Snob.
The Cutter rambled and wrote to make you think,
While a little Fish of Gold was readied with paper and ink.

On The Homefront took a few precious moments to reflect,
While somewhere during Red’s Rants and Raves their writing they did perfect!
JoeTwo spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Blending a symphony of phrases, responsibilities they did shirk.

The Lonely Author pounded endlessly on the keys,
While Scraps of Paper were tossed at the typewriter with ease.
 You’ve been Hooked had amused us, EagleAye surely did see,
And we quickly lost H.E. Ellis to the feeling of writer’s glee.

Inspiration sprang to its feet, to its words gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a high powered missile.
But I heard it exclaim, as our brains turned to fog,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good blog!”

 typewriter

(image credit: lhj.com)

 ~~

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and happy holidays.  All of the links should take you to a large number of the blogs I follow, so if you are looking for new things to read, they are just a click of a mouse away!!

The sense of sensibility

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The Reverie posted an interesting challenge in honor of Jane Austen.  We are given 11 words (in true Austen style) and asked to write a poem with at least 7 of them.  It got in 10.   Check out the challenge and give it a try.

Prayers-for-world-peace

To acknowledge a want,

to trust in a wish,

evokes a certain wonder.

What good fortune it would be,

to wear our pride without prejudice,

to yearn, not for possessions

but for the good in man.

A single hope,

a solemn wish

to bring peace

to the world.

~~

(image credit)

Ridges and swirls

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IMG_1431[1]

Angels leave their fingerprints,

on morning skies while I snooze.

Reminders that, though bodies have gone,

connections to souls we never lose.

And while I sit and ponder those,

who were taken in their prime,

my heart is filled with silent sadness

and a yearning to turn back time.

But their hands gently hold my heart

mending the chronic ache,

and they leave their fingerprints upon the sky

for me to gaze upon when I wake.

Jeans and bare feet

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bare feet

Wooden walls around a big kitchen,

a man in jeans and bare feet,

dinner is cooking and the wine is poured.

This is where I want to exist.

The room is my refuge,

the food is my sustenance,

but he is my home.

His fingers slowly graze my arm

and he reaches for my hand.

We sip our wine,

the conversation dwells on nothing

but never seems to stop.

The world outside of this moment

may continue to exist,

but my world is here,

in this moment,

with a man in jeans

and bare feet.

(image credit)

It was too late to even ask

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He asked for my forgiveness

and in my continuing silence

I found an abundance of long-buried strength.

~

Daunted by the conviction of my strength,

and with no more interest in asking for my forgiveness,

he returned my stare with his silence.

~

 There was nothing golden about our silence.

But in that quiet, there was no weakness in my strength.

And because of that, never will he receive my forgiveness.

~

 Forgiveness should never be assumed.  His feeble request was met by deserved silence and fueled by my inner strength.

 

moonshine

My first ever attempt at a Tritina for YeahWrite.Me

I almost slipped away

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cropped-Hands-touching

The pull was strong.

Celestial light enveloped me,

suspending me.

But I couldn’t leave.

As much as we promised,

and wanted to be together forever,

our unborn child deserved life.

I inhaled,

my hand slipped from yours

and the light was gone.

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