Monthly Archives: December 2014

Ode to Winter

An Ode to Winter
a clash of seasons meeting
seasons greetings
and heartbreak’s lonely cheer.
Cover my face with lotion
cover our souls with blankets
and hide,
everybody hides.
Out all night,
champagne stars and high heeled sidewalks
leading to some crazy one night
that fills your soul for three seconds
then poof it’s gone.
Shining lights and sweet, cold goodnights
standing close, boots touching, cheeks warm and cold
both at once.
Family hugs turtlenecks and warm rustic soup
cookies pies exchanging pleasantries
and sugary goodbyes.
Stark moonlight nights that seem empty in their silent cold.

Go inside to fireplaces and hot chocolate
warm your fingers around mugs
and curl up close your eyes
and dream of warm snow.

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We fall

In quiet slumbers we lie
pretending not to see the truth
we won’t admit what’s coming down
we don’t admit what’s on the ground.
In quiet slumbers we wake
to dirty recollected thoughts
to happiness so long ago
a stranger now.

The world shakes around us
we do not move
steadfast in our stubbornness
harnessed by our hate.
The world shakes me more than you –
or you more than I –
someone clinging on for survival
and the other dismally letting go.

We sleep,
we wake,
we are shaken,
we fall.

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Commitment to Writing

A few weeks ago I spent what was about the last $18 dollars in my bank account to renew my website domain name. And it felt good. It was a silent commitment to keeping going, to trudging through the mud of winter writing, to become more with my words and books and thoughts and imagination.

I am committing to writing more in 2015. My dreams haven’t changed. I still feel slightly, silently and strongly pulled toward making becoming a writer a reality. Let me correct myself. I already AM a writer. But I want to become a better writer.


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Steady praises

Golden roses floating down steady praises rising up. We are born to make choices, we are born to go to heaven, we are just human. My Old Navy overalls that I wore in 5th grade had these yellowgreen grass stains on the knee caps, rolled at the cuffs above my dirty Keds with buttons tarnished. There’s this picture of me when I was much younger than that standing on top of a huge dirt pile in my father’s driveway, three times as big as me and I was queen.

I was never afraid of rolling in the dirt, climbing trees, or pretending back then. Back then our lives revolved around make believe. Princesses and kings, polar bear adventures, fortresses of our imagination. We were never who we were then but now, now we are only who we are.

With heartbreak and responsibility, with time and pain, we grow. We can’t climb up those jungles any more. We can’t live at the top of forests or galaxies far far away we can’t be animals in story books with blonde haired best friends who have since disappeared. We’ve become who we are.

Warm rustic cabbage soup for dinner, parmesan sprinkles on top. Piles of smelly dishes pilled up in the sink from a life that lives too fast. Piles of clothes on the closet floor. Messy sheets, dust bunny floors. This is the symphony of a life being lived, the skin of our days, the twinkle of passing time, the single notes that make up the cacophony of our lives. Golden roses floating down steady praises rising up.

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