...The bus swerved and caught the corner of the red car and rolled on its side, skidded in the wet, right into the telegraph post. It cru…
Fiction story
The moon silhouettes the twisted trees, / the branches spike to the sky / like crooked fingers, / but to whom are they pointing? The m…
MEMORIES OF WHAT USED TO SCARE US
THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FEAR ITSELF
Suffering long my friend, / too long for most / too short for a lifetime / invisible, i am / torent raging in my head / i see the backs of fr…
Read it…let me know what you think…
We live in the rural area adjacent to OklahomaCity. Our little 10 acres provides an endless supply of photo ops… One of our favorites …
A journal of the Ruby Throated Hummingbird that visti each year
A dark day
I am waiting for the dawn, / The casting of crisp light over the frosted grass. / The winter is long and harsh, / The mornings bitter. / Dark…
I am a wound. I am my pen that bleeds.
Once upon a time I took a pretty intense writing class. One of the exercises was to write about a powerful childhood memory. The thinking being, that once you began to write about the memory, adhering to the class code of applying vivid imagery, that eventually you’d move down into a deeper voice of writing, and the story would open up and morph into some kind of poetry written in a more authentic voice. Feeling as if I was going to crawl out of my skin today, I assigned myself this very same exercise. The piece of rambling turpentine to your left is what came out. I feel as if I’ve lost my voice, my muse, even my sense of humor. I await only for the the thing to come knocking at my door that will set forth the pirate in me. And on a beautiful treasure hunt I will go.
Poem about loss
Thoughts on the emptiness left by death
trembling in pockets
it’s windy and wild and woolly today. / my muse gets all riled up when the weather’s like this…
will you meet me in the spaces / between our fingers become tiny / atom-like indivisible, but one (and all the smaller pieces / th…
[these are many little mini poems that were all written one after the other] free-flow-fall thoughts catchcatch
28.04.03 @ 6:49AM
All torn up and broken / Naught left to piece together / Time has come to be erased / The line to life will sever
can you look past it? / ...do you want to see the zombie’s harsh, cold, and stark reality / that is hidden, burried deep within? / the dark …
uummm….my life. keep that skilfully crafted mask tight on your face girl so they can’t see behind it.
Under the spring house, buried in a small stone casket, is where I discovered …
A fictional story created for a series of paintings. This will eventually be a book!
Tall holes, deep shadows / Silent whispers of malcontent.
Shadows and Ghosts
When you run for the door but, it has been locked / You try all the windows but, they’re barred and blocked
A scary Halloween poem/short story, I wrote for my niece. It was to be told during a sleepover with a flashlight on my face in a scary voice. I made it rhyme so it would seem more fun then scary. / She’s out grown it now :)
Eyes blacken or did they a long time ago / I cant tell / What is real?
Ill most likely change it but that is how i feel right now! Thats what came when i put my mind to it :)
Visit Rock Hollow Lodge Hummers...
between sleeping and waking
between sleeping and waking
In silence they flow for the what if’s / of the maybe’s
Can you hear the tears in my words? / I’ve tasted pain with all it’s bitterness. / Every line on my face I’ve earned, with every / ragged b…
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