Thursday, September 14, 2023

Storm, Ink, Love

I tasted the storm
feeding your tongue and my ink
(pure tinder and flint),
screaming, “Let’s spark words of love
so hot, they curl hatred’s toes.”

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #94: Storm, Ink, Love.

Saturday, August 26, 2023

Must Taste the Thorns

not-quite Journaling, 58

8/8/2023: I ran outside today. All right, I ran/walked. My muscles are weak and my endurance is crap, but I ran on dirt for the first time in… forever. And it was glorious. I kept laughing--rather loudly--and people kept giving me funny looks, which made me laugh louder. I ran/walked for 24 minutes ([run 1 min, walk 2 min] x 8); not very long, I know, but a good beginning. The goal is to get back to running 30 minutes, 3 times a week, by the end of October.

“Baobab: Tree of Life” by Tijay Mohammed. The tree that inspired the sculpture is a symbol of life,
so… starting my run/walk there felt just right.


from every angle,
my passion
flowers can enchant
in sunlight and rain.

8/15/2023: My passiflora has finally bloomed. I got to enjoy her striking curls for about 5 minutes, before rain showered them closed. Now she’s impersonating a fairy skirt--yep, she’s gifted like that.


8/22/2023: A 19-year-old (who might or might not be related to me) told me that “a healthy relationship isn’t supposed to be hard”. I didn’t think laughing hysterically would be constructive, so I didn’t laugh. I felt like yelling in their face, “Are you 5?” wouldn’t help either, so sent them this poem.


I dreamed of a life without pain,
and reality laughed.

8/26/2023: Well, maybe I haven’t truly had this dream in a while. Not that I can remember. But I still enjoyed stitching the thought. 😁

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Wrings #91: Muscle Memory.

Thursday, August 10, 2023

Cackling Into the Storm

I refuse to fear might-be horrors. Fretting over what’s yet to kick me in the jaw, in the gut, in the breast… is losing half the battle (perhaps the war). Yes, I care. No, I’m not pretending or hoping it will go away--my monsters and I sip honesty from the same clear cup. We slow dance brow-to-brow, mouth-to-mouth, our hearts bleeding into each other’s ribs. When misery threatens to kiss me, I show teeth, mount my muse, and devour those cruel lips (ink at the ready). 

holding my passion
by horn and halo, I ride
cackling into the storm

photo by Nicolas Thomas, on Unsplash

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #89: You Laughed, You Cried, Now You Write.

Friday, July 28, 2023

Glimmers and Such

not-quite Journaling, 57

In a New York garden, she roars (or yawns) her feelings into the world.

7/17/2023: My red amaryllis is blooming rather expressively. This is the first year this one flowers in summer. I think that after weeks of coughing, crappy sleep, headaches, and back pain, Nature decided to brighten my day with a bit of unseasonal magic.


a glimmer:
bees and ladybugs
kissing blooms

7/21/2023: According to my dearest and sweetest, Rommy, “a glimmer is the exact opposite of a trigger—it is some kind of cue, either internal or external, that brings one back to a sense of joy or safety.” Pollinators soothe my soul, naturally. Care to share one (or 2, or 3…) of your glimmers?


Be you; regret be damned.

7/25/2023: If it makes me happy and hurts none, I do it--no guilt. My relationship with that particular emotion doesn’t go beyond this thought, by Voltaire: “Every (wo)man is guilty of all the good (s)he did not do.” Especially the good which might’ve improved her life.


pure delight:
tomatoes I’ve grown
to snack on

7/28/2023: Every time I walk out to my balcony to pick (and taste) a tomato (or 15), my tummy grins. Of course, my tummy can grin! Can’t yours?

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #87: What Pleases You? I am pleased by growth, by reciprocal love, by small magics, by hope that spreads, by words that uplift, by determination, by self-reliance, by things I’ve grown from seed to yum…