Monday, November 30, 2009

Numbers Poem

Two years we've been together,
two years, almost three.
Two years we've loved and fought,
two years, we've lived happily.
Two years we've been together,
two years- the best of my life.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Thankful Poem

Dark days surround us all,
as we all struggle in ways
many of us aren't used to.
Yet many of us often forget
about what we already have.
I have health, hearth and
home. I have family, friends,
and work. My books, my
movies, my yarn, my writings.
I struggle, I yearn, and yet I
am comfortable. I am
thankful for that.

Temperature Poem

The temperature is dropping outside,
but here inside the temperature is
rising steadily as we wrap
ourselves around each other and
fold into ourselves under
soft blankets.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Invention Poem

To the person who invented
the story, and the person who
first wrote that story down,
thank you. Your inventions
have not only transported
me through time and across
the globe, but they have
helped me see life through
the eyes of others. The book
has helped me grow and
learn, and become the
woman I am today, as
well as thoroughly
entertained me. I'm not
sure exactly who
invented the book, or
how many there were, but
I know I owe them (or him
or her) a great debt
of thanks.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Attachment Poem

My attachment to you grows stronger
every day that I'm with you. Words
and acts of love and kindness, your
compassion and understanding
bind me to you tighter and tighter
with my every breath. I fear
the day when this bond, this
tie breaks and shatters my
heart-and world-right
along with it. Yet this
attachment steadily increases
every season, and I am powerless
to stop it.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Clouds Poem

Clouds backstroke across
the sky, changing from pure white
to blackened pillows.

Lines poem

Some lines just shouldn't be crossed,
and he crossed it. He fell in love.
With me. That wasn't part of the
plan. That wasn't supposed to
happen. Now we stand face to face
in confrontation, acting out a scene
from a bad romance movie. It seems
I must choose my candidates
more carefully in the future.
But for now, punishment
is in store for this one. Maybe
in the future he'll stay
on the right side of the line.

Renewable Poem

When the sickness was at its worst,
and I was closest to death,
a stranger cloaked in scarlet
pushed a foul concoction into
my mouth. It burned its way
down my throat, bleeding into
my veins. My strength regained,
my color returned, my life renewed.
The stranger merely smiled and
left the room. He spoke nothing
of payment, but I do not doubt
that I will see him again. He
always has a price, which
differs from soul to soul.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

If Only Poem

If only I had enough
money to buy us a house,
so that we didn't have
to make special plans.
I want to wake up next
to you every morning,
not just twice a week.
If only I had enough
money to take careo
f the both of us.
I would do everything
in my power to care
for you and
If only.

Two for Tuesdays

Love Poem:
When you're in love, it shouldn't be
so difficult to write a simple love
poem. But there are so many
expectations and so much pressure to
be romantic and brilliant, especially
if you're writing for or about
someone in particular. Well, I'm
neither brilliant nor poetic, but
I do love you. I just don't have
a creative way to say it. I don't
know if love is worth all of the
trouble, but I am glad that
I have you. I love you.

Anti-Love Poem:
I've been up all night long
crying my eyes out. He
stood me up, then dumped
me for being too demanding.
What is the point of all
of this? It clearly isn't
worth it. I'm just
exhausted, and my time
has been wasted.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Plant Poem

No one was supposed to find out
who you really are. You were a
plant, a spy, meant to keep
tabs on my daughter. Now you
lie on a cold metal table in
a morgue. I don't have to
ask how you ended up here-
no doubt you fell preyto
my daughter's charms and
she sniffed you out. Shame.
But I can't look back. No,
I need a new plant.
Something more...robust.

Fedor vs. Rogers

The blood from the Russian
spills from his nose,
into his mouth, down his
chin and chest, onto the
bare torso of his opponent.
He is visibly tiring, but
he keeps throwing punches.
He never stops fighting.
He breathes heavily through
his mouth- his nose broken.
From nowhere, one punch
drops his foe to the mat,
and in a matter of movements,
the Russian defeats
the American.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Two for Tuesdays

(write a negative and/or a positive poem)

Negative Poem:
So much is wrong with
today, I don't even need
to write a poem.

Positive Poem:
Life is hard and tough,
it's road is long and rough,
but I'll have no reason to cry
as long as I have you by my side.
You give me the strength to carry on,
you are my joy, my sun.
You never cease to make me smile,
you make this life worthwhile.

Different Angle

So, I'm hanging from this tree branch,
admiring my shiny red skin,
when this girl comes up and pulls me
off my perch! Yanks me just as hard
as you please and drops me into a bag
with all my neighbors. It's dark,
and we keep bumping into each other.
We see light again,and I'm pulled
out of the bag. I'm being skinned alive!
Oh god! What is this?
"What are you making? a deep voice
"Apple pie."
I die, so these monsters may live.

Entering Something New

The sun rises slowly in the east.
I stretch and get out of my chair.
The streets are coated in deep fog-
I can barely make out the cars below.
A figure stirs in my bed,
tangled up in the sheets.
We enter into a new day.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Writing Month

So, this month is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel. Beginning, middle, and end. I have an idea. Maybe two. Maybe I'll just write a collection of stories that total up to 50,000 words. There's an idea. Anyways, it's also the November Poem-A-Day challenge over at I'm also behind on my ficlet prompts. Guess what I'll be doing this month? If you're lucky, I'll keep you posted with my progress.

What I'm reading: Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
What I'm listening to: Just Dance by Lady Gaga
Quote of the day: "You're sweet. I almost wish you were dead." ~Odd Thomas, Dean Koontz

Friday, October 16, 2009


I'm just ordinary.
Nothing spectacular,
I don't stand out in a crowd,
nothing about me
would get your attention.
I'm just as plain as your
But I'm a person.
I feel, I think, I speak, I breathe.
I live, I know.
I am a good person, and
although you wouldn't
look at me twice, I'm here.
I'm just the girl next to you
on a bus, in line for coffee,
eating food.
My heart aches from your apathy.
I'm here, I exist,
but because I am nothing
extraordinary, I don't even
register on your radar.
I am invisible.
Nothing to write home about.
I'm just ordinary.
I'm just me.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Finding Something Where it doesn't Belong

Look here, kitty. My
cashmere sweater is not where
you will be sleeping.

Discovery Poem

What do you do when you discover
you're not so special after all,
that you're just like everyone else?
Everything about you is average
and mediocre-you don't stand
out in a crowd.
How do you move on when you learn
that you're not unique, that you
aren't doing, saying, or even thinking
anything that hasn't been done, said,
or thought before you, or that isn't
even occuring right now?
Do you accept this life of mediocrity
that has been handed to you,
or do you dare strive for more, for
the world, the moon, the stars?
There's nothing extraordinary
about you at all.
What do you do now?
You sit around and hope that
one day, someone will come along
and prove you wrong.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Disaster Poem

In the blink of an eye,
in the briefest of moments,
everything changes.
Houses are toppled,
glass shattered,
people injured, homeless,
some even dead.
Mother Nature vents
her anger-
we must bear
the brunt of it.

Grad School

I've decided to apply for graduate school at UMSL (University of Missouri St. Louis for you playing along outside of Missouri). I am going to try for an M.F.A in poetry. The deadline for application is February 1, 2010. I need to submit a collection of 15-20 poems, so I need to start going through my work and picking out my best ones. Luckily, I still have my collection from the independent writing project I did during my final semester, as well as the collection of poems I write for Richie. (he has his own little book of poems I've written for him throughout the course of our relationship) Let's just hope my poems are up to the university's standards. I'll keep you updated throughout the process.

What I'm reading: From the Corner of His Eye by Dean Koontz
Quote of the day: "The gods of the Mojave don't know the meaning of the word moderation." ~Odd Thomas, Dean Koontz

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Start Over Poem

I'm back to a place I never thought
I would be back to. I'm back in
the dating game- I've lost my love.I
'm gone from the comfort zone, I've
lost the knowledge of a whole other
person, the security blanket, the love.
I've fallen from the highest peak.
I must now pick myself up, dust
myself off, and start over. I must
go back out into that awful,
strange, maddening world of
dating. I wasn't supposed to
be back here. I was supposed
to have found that one. I thought
I was set for life. Now I'm back
at the beginning. Now I must
start over.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Numbers Poem

(for Brad and Catherine)

150 guests spread out among
dozens of chairs to watch
these two good, kind people
join as one in holy matrimony.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Write write write...BLOCK

So, I was doing really well for the month of August. I had set myself a goal to write three paegs everyday, and I did. It was awesome. I was even able to write poems and those little ficlet prompts that I'm still trying to get caught up on. But, I went to write yesterday on a new story, and I couldn't do all three pages. It's as if I ran out of things to say. I don't know what this means. Should I take a break and give my mind time to think and outline? Or should I just keep plugging on ahead?

What I'm reading: Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser
Quote of the Day: "Call me simple-minded. Others do." ~ Odd Thomas, Dean Koontz

Friday, August 28, 2009

8.26.2009 Prompt

Write a scene about this man-perhaps a pivotal moment in his life - in the dunking booth, or elsewhere.*

It had been a rather cloudy day. Maybe that was why there weren't many people at the fair that day. A chill arose suddenly, and stroked Bozo's bones. As quickly as the chill came it vanished, and that's when he saw her. She had a wad of bills, and she was going to use them at Bozo's dunk booth. Bill looked pleased. Why shouldn't he? The day had been slow, and this girl seemed content to give Bill her money. How could Bill possibly misinterpret that glint in her eye? He saw excitement; Bozo saw hatred. Why not? He had walked out on her mother ten years ago, then turned his back on her when she found him two years ago. His daughter, his own flesh and blood. He'd wanted nothing to do with her, with the responsibility of being a dad. He didn't want the restrictions and burdens of being a suburban man. That wasn't his American dream. He wanted the freedom of an open road and to be able to ramble wherever his feet took him.She dunked him on the first try. She had a good arm. She didn't look any more muscular than when he saw her last. She picked out a small blue dog, and handed Bill three more singles. She dunked him again."Well done!" Bill yelled out. She threw two more balls, dunking him each time. Bozo was barely able to catch his breath before she sent him back into the water."My God," he thought, climbing back into his seat. "She's trying to drown me!" The chill picked up, and a small crowd gathered. "Bill," Bozo wheezed. "Don't give her anymore baseballs. She's trying to kill me!""You should have thought of that before you abandoned your family!" Bill replied. Bozo went under again. When he pulled himself back onto his seat, the wind had picked up. The crowd had dispersed, and Bill was chatting with Bozo's daughter. He ran his fingers through her hair, and she smiled."Hey!" Bozo called out, but the wind carried off his words. The rains came. Bill pulled Bozo's daughter into a passionate kiss, running his hands across her back, buttocks, and sides."Hey!" Bozo yelled out again, but he was drowned out by the rain, and now thunder. Bill walked off with Bozo's daughter. They were heading back to the trailers where the workers lived. Bozo tried to climb out of the booth, but he kept slipping. He wanted to call out his daughter's name, but he couldn't remember it."Oh God. How can I not remember my own daughter's name?" Bozo tried the doors of the booth, but they were padlocked. He tried to climb out yet again, but kept slipping."Bill!" he screamed out. "Bill!" But Bill had taken the girl into his trailer and slammed the door. The wind blew harder. The fairgrounds were empty except for Bozo. There was a scream- a high-pitched woman's scream that came from Bill's trailer. The wind carried the screams, a horrible disembodied sound. The rain and thunder stopped. The screaming stopped. The wind slowed, but never stopped. The door to Bill's trailer slammed open, and Bill stepped out. He was covered in blood. Bozo began to scream and bang on the booth as Bill laughed.

* The photo is of a man at a dunk booth. It can be found at . Look under the 8.26.09 blog

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Mistake Poem

It was only a
kiss. One month later, she says
the baby is mine.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Better Safe than in Love

Better to be safe than in love,
better than allowing someone to
break down your walls and leave you
naked and exposed. Better to keep
the best parts of you so they aren't used
and then dumped in the trash. Better
than having your life sucked out of you,
your heart trampled on,
your life turned inside out,
then told you're no longer worth it,
no longer good enough.
Better safe than in love.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Return Poem

He drinks with you, smokes
with you, parties with you- BUT
he returns to ME.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

7.15.2009 Prompt

He was going to make them right with a couple of pills or an injection, and people took him by the arm on his way to the sickroom. Flattering, but dangerous.

I knew what those pills and injections did, and I wanted no part of them. The doc and his nurses claimed they were meds, to make you feel better and act in a way that was acceptable to society. Hogwash, I say. Those pills did nothing but turn your mind into mush. They calmed your outbursts and turned you docile and easier to handle. Easier to control. Especially when good old Dr. Hogarth took you into that back room, the room behind the red door. No one knew what went on behind that door, because anyone who came out of there never spoke about it. They just sat on the couch, arms wrapped around themselves, staring vacantly out of the window. No one knew what was behind that red door, and no one wanted to find out. Jimmy wanted to find out once, wanted to find out without going back there with the doc. He went up to the door, and tried it. It was locked. This made Jimmy angry. He kicked and cursed at the door until Nurse James took little Jimmy away. The next day, Jimmy went through the red door with Dr. Hogarth and his assistants, Dr. Brannaugh and Nurse Long-Legs Anne. When Jimmy came out, he was just like the others: silent and vacant. We couldn't get a word out of him. We even sent Izzy to him. Little Dizzy Izzy, who could get Jimmy to say or do anything. He came back with nothing, crying at his failure. Izzy hung himself that night with the scarf his grandmother made for him just before she died. The powers that be were furious, of course. Dr. Hogarth had been in charge for four years and there had been no deaths under his watchful gaze. Under the previous rulers, deaths happened at least two or three times a year. Dr. Hogarth demanded to know who was responsible for Izzy's death. A pretty silly question, since he hung himself. I didn't realize I had said this out loud until Dr. Hogarth glared at me."Maybe it was you." he sneered. "Maybe you wanted little, innocent Izzy all for yourself.""No way man," I answered. "Izzy had always belonged to Jimmy. Everyone knows that. Besides, I like girls. Right baby?" I blew a kiss to Nurse Long-Legs Anne."Why you little...." Dr. Hogarht began, but was interrupted by Harry."Maybe he just didn't like what you did to Jimmy." he said."What's that?" demanded Hogarth."Well, after Jimmy came out, he just wasn't the same. He didnt seem to want anything to do with Izzy. Maybe Izzy couldn't handle the rejection and bit the Big One."Dr. Hogarth nodded, and walked off with Anne, whispering. After lunch, Harry went behind the door. This time it was different. This time we heard the screams. Anne hadn't gone with them this time. I followed her to the bathroom. When she came out of her stall, she was shocked to see me. Maybe a little scared? She tried to hide it."What are you doing? This is the women's room. You need to leave."I stepped closer to her. "What's behind the red door?""You know I can't tell you that." Anne brushed past me to the sink. I spun her around and shoved her against the mirror. She winced as her head connected. I unzipped my pants and showed myself."Please don't." she whispered."What's behind the red door?" I repeated. She whimpered, not answering. I lifted up her dress, feeling along her body. So warm."Again. What's behind the red door?""I can't tell you! You know that!"I began to pull down her stockings and underwear. "Last chance.""Electroshock! It's electroshock therapy." She was crying now. I looked at her with disgust and let go of her. She began to straighten herself as I tucked myself back in. I put both hands on her face and kissed her. When I pulled back, I smashed her head against the mirror. Over and over, until the mirror cracked and pieces fell on the floor and I was sure she was dead. I let her drop. Dr. Hogarth and Dr. Brannaugh busrt in."Too late." I said.Dr. Hogarth held his hand out to me. "Come along. It's your turn to see what's behind the red door."I shook my head. "I don't feel like electroshock today, Dr." I said, picking up a large shard of glass.

Monday, August 3, 2009

New Prompts

So, for those keeping track, I get a weekly poetry prompt from the Poetic Asides blog at Writer's Digest. There is a new blog, Promptly, that will be providing three fiction prompts a week of 500 words. So, hopefully, I'll get out of this block. It's been helping me a little. Hopefully I will break free of the block for good.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Sunday Afternoon

Making love on a Sunday afternoon
A warm breeze sails through the windows
City life bustles down below.
Is this what they meant by
afternoon delight?
Thoughts of Kerouac, Ginsberg,
and New York City fill my mind,
but I'm not sure why.
All I can think is the bliss of
this moment, the peace of my soul,
my love of you.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009


Ok, even though no posts any comments, I did change the setup so that anonymous users can comments as well. Maybe now people will start commenting. Of course, people have to read the blog, first. But, if there is a reader who has always wanted to comment anonymously, now you can.


Well, it's certainly been a while, hasn't it? Of course, I don't even know how many people, if any at all, read this, so there is probably no one keeping track. I'm still doing my weekly poetry prompts, but lately my writing has been seeming to me to be... I don't really know what the word is. Not as good as I would like. It's been a while since I've written a poem I'm proud of, that I really like.
My fiction kind of bounces around. I still haven't really hit my writing stride. I basically just write until I get stuck on everything I'm working on, then I just stop. I don't know what to do next. Do I edit? Do I try to work on something new? I did manage to eke out a short, short horror story inspired by my friend Anita. She really liked it. It's the first horror I've ever attempted. I think I'm going to submit it. I had another idea pop into my head, and I wrote out as much as I could before writer's block forced me to stop.
Some writers say that there is no writer's block, you just have to keep writing. Just push through it. Yeah, that doesn't work for me. I can't write something that isn't there. And I'm not just going to write random stuff, even if it is just a rough draft. So, I'm just not writing much right now. My muse has abandoned me. He needs to be replaced. I used to write two pages a day, five days a week with no problem. Three pages a day five days a week was a little harder. Four pages a day ground everything to a halt. I have so many little blurbs of a dialogue, or little scences, that are all homeless. I'm having a hard time building homes for them. Boo.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Day 30: Farewell Poem

Well, it's that time,
time for you to leave out
on tour. I can't come
with you- I've obligations
of my own. I'll miss you
desperately, and cling to
your shirts, breathing in
your scent. I'll cry
the first few nights,
and write you a letter
everyday you're away.
I'll hold your pillow,
the same way I hold you.
Days before you come
home will drag on so
slowly. I'll wait for
you to come home
safely to me. I believe
in your talent, and
I trust you'll be
faithful. I'll wear
your dog tags everyday.
You smile and kiss me,
hugging so tight. As
you turn to the van,
I whisper: Farewell.

Day 28: Two for Tuesdays

Poem 1: Thoughts on Sestinas

Oh, you sestina
Why must you torment me so,
Causing writer's block?

Poem 2: Sestina

Sitting on my porch underneath the rain,
Navigating the mazes of my soul,
Searching for some kind of peace;
My heart runs faster in my chest.
The storm beats against the window
But the birds continue their song.

I'm trying to find my own song,
To raise my voice above the rain.
I want to open a window,
To the depths of my soul.
Buried way down beneath my chest
Screaming for the arrival of peace.

All I need is a small piece,
A fragment of a song,
To fill the emptiness in my chest.
I need my voice to reign
Above all in my soul,
To open up that window-

Drops trail down the window.
I'm still searching for that peace
To soothe my soul.
I'm still searching for that song.
I listen to the beating rain,
So like the beating in my chest.

In my room by my bed is a chest,
Underneath the window
Covered by shadows of the rain.
I've searched inside for a piece,
A fragment of a song,
To ease the suffering of my soul.

There is a crying in my soul
Far below my chest
That only wants to sing a song.
As I sit below this window,
Longing for peace,
Sheltered from the rain.

The rain falls deep into my soul,
Bearing peace into my chest,
Breaking the window with its song.

Day 26: Miscommunication Poem

It seems to be a theme in our relationship-
miscommunication. We seem to always
misunderstand each other- read too much
between the lines, hearing things that just
aren't there. We have such different ways
of revealing our innermost selves, yet at
the end of the day we always end up
on the same page.

Day 25: Event Poem

CD Release Party:

All of their friends, fans, and fellow
musicians are present. Their cd
flows from the speakers and
envelopes the revelers. He exits
his crowd of adorers and seeks
me out. Everything fades as we meet-
head to head, hand to hand,
hips to hips and heart to heart.

Day 23: Regret Poem

I'm sorry we cannot be friends.
You seem cool, and everyone seems
to love you, especially him.
But, you have no respect for me
in his life, and this is how we
always shall be.
El tango no es de tres.

Day 21: Two for Tuesday

Poem 1: Haiku

Stronger than ever,
I rise from this bed, living
to see another day.

Poem 2: About Haiku
I love haikus-
they are simple,
yet elegant, but
not always a
quick and easy write.

Day 20: Rebirth Poem

Winter has released his hold,
heading back to sleep. The sun
has come out, flowers are pulling
themselves out of the mud. Trees
are shaking off snow and sprouting
green leaves and pink blossoms.
It is the rebirth of Spring.

Day 18: Interaction Poem

I woke in the sun and stretched.
A long piece of red catches my eye.
It wriggles around, tempting me.
I lick my chops and creep along
on my belly. Closer, closer, closer-
then I pounce on it! Hm, it's soft
and wriggling away. I crouch down
again, completely undetected. I'm
getting close enough to pounce! It's
moving away again. Hey, I know those
hips. I paw the red carefully- my
mistress looks down and smiles.
I jump in her lap to follow
the red-it's another scarf.
Hey- what's that out the window?

Day 17: All I Want Is---- Poem

All I want is to know myself,
to know who I am, to know my place-
Where do I belong? Why am I here?
All I want is some answers,
for this emptinessto go away.
All I want is peace of mind-
and peace of soul.

Day 16: Color Poem

Green- the color of the grass
as it begins to grow back after
its long winter slumber;
the leaves that clothe once
naked trees; the stalks that
raise flowers and vegetables
from the mud to be put
on my kitchen table.

Day 14: Two for Tuesday

Poem 1: Love Poem
Love is what gives me
that burning feeling inside.
It's what makes me glow.

Poem 2: Anti-Love Poem
Love can drive you mad,
Break your heart and break you down-
You can die inside.

Day 12: So We Decided to--- Poem

He had that look in his eye,
I had that fire in my belly.
But his parents were on their way,
So we decided to wait a while.

Day 11: Object Poem

Bound in leather,
covered in black type,
my books take me
all over the world,
turn me into
different people
in different times,
all living with that
condition we all
suffer from:
the human condition.

Day 10: Friday Poem

Good old Friday,
end of the week.
Kick off your shoes,
Let down your hair.
Take the kids
someplace fun.
Have yourself
drink or two.
Enjoy the start
of your weekend.
Two days of
rest and fun.

Day 9: Memory Poem

I've always loved remembering,
walking down memory lane.
Alas, I'm growing older now,
Remembering in vain.

I get my memories mixed up,
facts mixing with fiction,
I still tell childhood tales with gusto,
but without conviction.

My children will laugh
and correct me, telling
the right version, but just between
us, my stories are much more compelling.

Day 7: Two for Tuesdays

Poem 1: Clean Poem

"Too long, too long, too long in the shower!
You take too long in the shower!"
In my defense, I have a lot to do:
Shampoo, condition, shave, and bathe.
I'm a dirty girl. It takes me a while
to get clean.

Poem 2: Dirty Poem

First, I go to the bathroom
by my favorite tree. Then I pluck
my ball out of a puddle and
chew on that for a while.
Then I rub along the fence,
trying to scratch that itch.
Then, it's off for a roll
in the garden, just for fun.
Uh-oh: Bath time!

Day 3: The Problem With Staying Young

The problem with staying young
is that it's too much work.
Injecting alien substances
to keep your skin smooth;
trying to stay cool and up-to-
date on the newest parts of culture
while trying to maintain your dignity.
Wearing clothes too small and
swearing that you respect yourself
while spending time with people
who don't; speaking
superficially while maintaining
your intelligence. You try to
be someone you aren't despite
promising to stay true
to yourself.

Poem a Day Challenge, April 2009

So, April is over and so is the Poem-A-Day Challenge at . I have completed the challenge, minus one poem. I even wrote a sestina, my first ever! I'm so proud. That was a good day. I'm picking out my favorites and will be posting them here. Are you excited? I know- me too. Here's a poem from Day 2- the Outsider Poem:

Their hair is thick, shiny, done just right.
Mine is thin, straggly, loaded down with static.
They are dressed to the nines;
My clothes barely fit.
Their bodies are curvy and strong-
Mine is slender and week.
Their faces are clean and clear-
Mine is kept hidden from view.
Their purses hold money, makeup, and phone numbers-
Mine houses my diary, and pens.
Their heads hold only the artificial;
Mine holds art, history, and literature.
I don't belong-
and they let me know it.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

3.18.2009 Poetry Prompt: What Doesn't Belong Poem

What doesn't belong in this family
is the quiet one, the reader and
knitter, the one who can clear
a room mere moments after
entering it. The one who still
lives at home, who isn't
much of a partier, and whose
boyfriend comes around so
infrequently he practically
doesn't exist. The one who
comes from a broken home,
the bastard, who should
have been aborted. What
doesn't belong in this family...
is me.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

I was standing in the shower
the steam wrapping around me
like a lover, the pounding
water massaging my back.
My eyes were closed, so I
didn't see you step in
behind me. I felt no fear
when you touched my face,
then slit my throat,
only shock. I looked up
at you, then down to my
blood running down my
chest and stomach. I
put your hand on my
womb before I slid
down the wall. Your
eyes widen in understanding,
and I see nothing anymore.
It's early on a Saturday morning
the sun is still wiping the clouds
from its eye before shining boldly.
I'm sitting on my terrace, wrapped
in a blanket, the same spot I've
been all night. I'm finishing
the last cigarette of my last
pack. A night spent with my
favorite city, and the only
conclusion I can come to is
I have no answer. I stand up
and stretch, flicking the butt
in a can by my feet. As I
get dressed, I accept the fact
that I have to just come
to terms that I just can't
have a conscience. That's
why I got into this business
in the first place.
I grab my leather jacket
and pistol, and head out
into the city that's just

Looking for Ginsberg

I'm looking for Ginsberg
to Howl over the Fall of America.
I'm looking for Abbie, Jerry, and Bobby
and the other historians of
this nation. I'm looking
for those who once cared
so much for this country-
they protested, marched,
stormed buildings, held
press conferences, and festivals.
They gave interviews, wore costumes,
and organized speeches.
What happened toDellenger,
Weiner, and Froines, those
men who weren't afraid of
our government or the law,
who would take a stand?
I'm searching for those
people to shake off our
apathy, to stir my
generation into action,
into making a difference.
The gas falls on all of us.
We're up against the wall, Mother.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Writing Questions

On the Writer's Digest Website, I found an exercise about finding your writing juice. There were different questions about your writing style and what you like about writing, etc. I answered the questions as if I were answering questions in an interview. I encourage other writers to answer these as well. If not in a public forum like this, then at least for themselves.

1) What are you passionate about?
Not much, not really. My boyfriend, I guess. Reading. Knitting, maybe. I get
really into something for a while, then it just kind of fades. Hard to distinguish
hobbies from passions.

2) What do you care about so deeply or get so excited about that you talk about it to anyone who will listen?
- Besides my boyfriend? Sometimes whatever I'm knitting at the moment, or

3) Do you love the process of writing itself?
- Yeah, I'd say so. I like the idea of getting whatever is in my head down on
paper. Sometimes outlining can be fun, too. Amazingly enough.

4) Who has encouraged your writing?
- Who hasn't, really? My mom doesn't really say much about it, but I don't
really tell her much about it.

5) Who would be proved wrong if you wrote and succeeded with your writing?
- Anyone who doesn't think writing is a real career.

6) Who has criticized, cursed, or discouraged you to the extent that it makes you want to prove them wrong?
- I'm lucky that no one has said anything negative about my writing. There was
one snarky girl in a Short Story Writing class a few years ago, but her writing
wasn't that great either, and I can't even remember her name.

7) What upsets you so much that you are compelled to write about it or include the theme in your work?
- To quote Elizabeth Bennet in the 1995 film version of Pride and Prejudice:
"The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it." I usually just
write about whatever pops into my head. Relationships are usually the theme.
Not because I'm in a bad one right now, but I guess because I'm in a great
one and yet I'm still really insecure about it. I don't really write about anything
intentionally. Like I said, it usually just happens to be whatever pops into my

8) When have you or someone you cared about been disrespected in a way that makes you want to write?
- Well, sometimes at work I can have rude or dense customers that make me
blog about their behaviors. Nothing worth including in a story, at least not yet.
They wouldn't even really be worth mentioning. I have kinks in my relationship
I've tried working out in my writing, but to no avail. All it got me was a nasty
headache. My friends have been treated lousy by guys, which is probably also
another subconcious reason for writing about relationships.

9) Where have you been luck enough to be in the right place at the right time regarding your writing?
- Any time I'm in a writing class, I get crazy inspired.

10) What could you do to increase the odds of being lucky in respect to finding inspiration?
- Read more, write more, find a writing group, and multi-task. Oh, and
actually stick to my creativity schedule.

11) What are you afraid to write but know is a deep truth?
- I'm not afraid to write anything. If I have a good idea, I'll put it on paper.

12) Who are you afraid will disapprove of your writing or be upset by it?
- My grandma might be upset by the language and some situations. But I
write for myself.

13) What are you afraid will happen if you write?
- I think I'm afraid of success, because then there is all of this pressure to
keep producing the same kind of successful, marketable material, and I
worry about being a one-trick pony.

14) What fears could you write and perhaps work through by writing?
- A lot of my stories are about relationships. I'm in a happy, healthy, and
stable relationship with my dream man, but I still have insecurities. I think
those stories allow me the chance to work out my issues, but I have yet to
come to any resolution.