Inspiration: I wrote this recently while struggling with the sadness that settles over me at times. I didn’t have a reason to be anything other than content, which is why this recurring ‘darkness’ gets to me. I don’t understand it, can’t explain it, and never know how long it will last, which is why I fear it. I wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to find a monster in the closet, but at least I can comprehend that… and would have a chance to beat it into submission :)
I hope you have a beautiful Monday. I’m glad you stopped by today!
Inspiration: Death has a way of making me pause and ponder life. I found out Saturday that within the span of a week, a baby was born and died. To me, this is especially sad because I expected the child to have a long life – because many of us do have the opportunity to grow old.
That’s how this poem came about. The phrase “expected life” made me think about my own life and expectations. In this poem, I chastise myself for all the things I don’t do today. It doesn’t often cross my mind that my tomorrows are limited.
I chose the photo because I always pause when I see a cactus growing on a rock. It looks like nothing should be able to grow on rock. But, as I discovered during some recent reading for a story I wrote, the lichen that grow on rocks can indeed provide nutrients for plant life. Interesting, that I have killed a cactus or two in my life. Go figure. They can grow in inhospitable conditions, but they can’t survive my inept care.
This may be my only post this week, as Thursday is Thanksgiving here in the U.S. and in-laws will be at our house. The fiction story I hinted about last week will have to wait another week. Um, that is, if I’m blessed with another week here!
Have a beautiful week, and I hope you embrace today :)
Inspiration: For those who look to this part of the post to explain what on earth I was writing about, I won’t leave you hanging. This poem has dual meaning. It was written to/about a person consumed by drugs. He looks like the person you’ve known all along, but inside, he is gone. His good heart belongs to his addiction. It is also written to/about his parents; the people who have struggled to accept their only child is no longer the boy they raised. How do you come to terms with that? Not very easily. That’s all I know. Sometimes I can’t believe these are the same people I remember fondly from my childhood. They are so different now; so sad and broken.
Unfortunately, this is about my family. Just in time for the holidays, relationships have been severed and only time will tell if they can be repaired. Right now, I’m sort of in the middle and will walk the line as best I can. In the meantime, all I can do is offer prayers for peace, strength and forgiving hearts.
I realize I’ve neglected my fiction here lately. I’ve written a couple of stories I plan to submit for publication, so I can’t post them here, but I do have a couple ideas. I hope to post some fiction soon (either this week or next.)
I’ll sign off with this… if we look closely enough, we can find even the tiniest blessings in times of trouble. I hope you have a beautiful week!
Inspiration: This poem is written to whatever has been making itself at home in our attic. For months, I’ve complained of noises in the walls only to have my husband tell me it was squirrels on the roof. Whenever I called him to hear the clawing sounds for himself, it would stop. He’d pass me a I-think-you’ve-lost-your-mind look and head back downstairs. (I don’t know for sure, but writing poetry to attic-dwelling animals could be a solid sign of insanity!)
Well, crazy must be contagious because the kids heard the noises, too. And the cats began pouncing at walls (chasing noises that up until that point, the crafty creature made me suspect were only in my head.)
Finally, last weekend, my husband heard scratching/scampering and asked me, “Did you hear that?”
A small part of me wanted to say, “no” and play it off like he was nuts. Instead, I replied, “I told you something is in the attic!”
Inspiration: Though written in first person, the poem is not autobiographical this time. For some reason the phrase, “you complete me” came to mind today. I’m not so sure someone else can complete us. I think we have to be whole and comfortable in our “self” before we can commit to love. However, I’m not a total pessimist- I do believe we can find someone who compliments us by bringing out our better qualities.
In this poem, the broken person realizes that no matter how much the other person gives, it’s not enough. Looking back on the relationship, with the perspective of the time invested, he/she sees an uncertain future. The person has grown to be cynical from the realization they were duped by the idea someone else could make them whole. “My cup runs over, but still, I’m empty” – this acknowledges that although life has bestowed numerous blessings, the person still feels hollow inside.
Of course, if you saw something entirely different in these words, you’re right, too!
Thanks for reading and contemplating my words. Have a wonderful rest of the week :)