Tag: writing
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Rain Buzz
Originally published on Morality Park There will have been a night that sat on a house with no fence where the stars came in A night made of lightning, like a flash that tore from between two legs, switched off the lights, and crowded the walls with neighbors like a speakeasy, a room with a…
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Slo Mo
Let’s make love suddenly with all the lights on and everyone home Cross-legged, sprigged thick like a leaf skirting the horned edges of that cracked flower pot in the garden where everyone else is brunching on Prosecco with tongues ready for deep gossip while they work the runny eggs off their chins slo mo sizzle…
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Matchstick
last night between two dreams i had a little chat with god who was also getting a glass of water and asked him why he makes some of us uncool on purpose why couldn’t i be dope like Ezra Pound or a fly cat like Kerouac or better yet a love poet on Pinterest with…
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B-Sides
This post is formatted to reflect an original journal entry. 8/21/18 I find that I am prone to more frequent bouts of spontaneous creative activity lately. This thrills me. Makes me feel soulful. What does that mean, anyway–soulful? Integrated? Aligned? Deeply and holistically expressive? Yes. Back to alignment. Makes me think of the Peterson book.…
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Patchwork
I don’t contemplate trees or the latticework of a banana peel like a tulip lined fence under the bark of a dogwood preparing to burst its flowering buds in the wake of a blue bird’s wing I don’t like structure or formalism or heavy expostulations or connect-the-dots 1-2-3 like academics and paper hangers do abab…
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Morning Chill
I’ve recently taken up the practice of journaling every morning. Inspired, perhaps, by my concurrent readings of the journals of Anaïs Nin and Abraham Maslow, two incredibly insightful, creative, and remarkably self-aware influences on my own self-development. It is for that reason that I decided to play around with the form of this post and…
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Barefoot
Half of my soul is a hippie A Fleetwood Mac loving, Allman Brothers singing, pretty gypsy tattoo slinging, I can’t remember if I cried when I left on that midnight train to Georgia kind of girl All free verse Living fast out of a suitcase (One of the best times of my life) I went…
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Flinch.
For as long as I can remember, my relationship to my creative endeavors has been marked by a strong desire to recoil. This is especially true of writing projects, past and present, and very well may include this blog post, which I might never look at again after I hit “Publish” (although, truthfully, this type…
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When You Have Too Much Life…
I don’t know that I believe there is such a thing as having too much life within you. I tend to think that some of us are simply more adept than others at using our energies and our intelligence harmoniously. When you are creative, or when you are a person of many interests who feels…
The Used Life 