Look What I Dug Up

wp-1451899969848.jpegLast Summer I made it a point to write on my blog every single day and I did.

I did it when I was tired and distracted, when I felt creative and when I did not feel so creative and I learned something in those forced marches.

I write poetry.

Who would have thought?

Not me.

I had all of these ideas about Poets and what they did and the ‘image’ sort of put me off.

But then I decided if I stick with what I know, it should work out okay. What I found was that it’s like playing the guitar- you can use these riffs to add something to the music- poetry is a riff, another way for me to express myself.

I was worried if I wrote poetry it would be all about ‘what touched my soul’ and deep and meaningful thoughts- no that I don’t have those, but you know I’m not exactly a deep thinker so I wasn’t sure how that would work out for me.

Then I discovered I could write poetry about monsters and nightmares and twisted sprits and ghosts and cemeteries and what haunts us and I was in.

Next thing I did was to come back to this blog and just put my thoughts down and get back to the challenges at the Soul Food Café because they work- plus I’d rather come here and talk as opposed to Facebooking it.

So, here I am at the Crossroads again- and unlike last time I think I know which direction to take.


How My Light Is Spent


When I write, I reach into every part of my brain for images and words, ideas and moments I can use to color my work.

I don’t really think about the cost of opening all of those closed doors, digging up those bodies and bones, waking those demons from their sleep.

Once I visit them they’re free to wander around in my head and sooner or later they pop out of my mouth during conversations, in nightmares and dreams and I’m not so sure that is a bad thing.

Sometimes I hear my writer’s voice over riding the voice I use and have used for many years.

It’s voice that never really said what I was thinking, it was a voice that never took chances or belonged to a brain that wanted to go in one direction while common sense and the life belonging to a blue collar suburbanite wanted to go in another.

Sometimes that Voice that belongs to the Writer in me curls her lip up Elvis style and paints a picture in words that sucks the oxygen out of the room- and instead of hoping I didn’t offend anyone I want to do a victory lap around the room.

How’s that going for me you ask?

Swimmingly well, I’d reply.

Do you know how many years I’ve spent measuring each and every word that fell out of my mouth because I didn’t want to offend or upset anybody. Too many.

And if I had not started to write again and opened those doors and rattled those bones I doubt if I would have changed.

I’m willing to speak up for one reason- if it makes me a better writer I will speak up, I will treat my own ideas and thoughts with the same respect I have given to other people.

I have always wanted to be a Writer- and I am learning that is who I am- its not what i do.



Soul Food Cafe Prompt: Milton and the Muse


Garden of Abaddon



Your bones are graceless

the light has gone from your eyes

your soul has since fled

the rotting husk you live in


Let me free you

from your tomb here on Earth

I’ll craft you a new one


where you belong

I’ll bury you deep

I’ll leave you to sleep



and scream



The Garden of  Abaddon.



 Is for Descent into the Under World