Fallow Field

I have not been writing.
I feel as though all of my words will say one thing
that they will continue to gaze back longingly
at days that have already happened.
All of my life I have focused on
what-would-have-beens
instead of seeking
what-might-bes.
And so I have not been writing.
I will not give myself permission to look back.
Instead I pass my days as they come
living in them
each as a treasured piece of who I am
and of who I have become.

getting through a dry spell

it appears that writing every day for a month wore me out. i am dry as a desert. wordless.

that’s not entirely true, of course. but it’s been hard for me lately, with my rapidly fluctuating work schedule and other things going on in my personal life to sit down and shut everything else out and just write. for a month and a half, while it’s felt odd to me that i haven’t written, i haven’t felt it important enough to shut out the world and do it. this is coupled by a problem with my laptop’s keyboard … that problem being that my left shift, tab, and caps lock keys don’t work. it’s the shift key that gets me, because it’s how i capitalize. if you’ll notice, nothing in this post is capitalized, because it’s too outside my typing method to properly capitalize things using the right shift key.

with all this said, i miss writing. i’ve recently begun using 750-words again, and am using it to work on a story i started some time back. i’m reworking it, because it’s hard for me to get back into that moment once it’s passed, and i don’t feel i made the right choices for the story anyway. i need to write from a place that i know and understand for now, not something well outside my realm.

with things sort-of settled down here – work is behaving a bit better, and nerd wars well on its way and i don’t need to babysit it quite so much, though i do need to spend some time knitting and spinning – i will have more time for the other things that occupy my mind. those things are writing, and my obod studies, and i hope to be back in the habit of both by july. perhaps not as prolific as i was in april, but i want to write. i need to write. i will write.

“Maybe It’s Time”

I don’t want this hell
but maybe I need it.
I don’t want to sit and think of the might’ve been’s
of the what-if’s
but maybe, just maybe, it will turn this mind-numbing fog
crystal clear.
I don’t love feeling alone
but maybe it’s time I learn to be that way
to rely first on myself before I lean on someone else.
I have my words
I have my teddy bear
I have my tears
I have my unshakable faith that the Universe is there
waiting for me to open my tear-filled eyes
and take my first steps
into being.

“Spring Afternoon”

cloudless skies
against which puffs of white stand stark
reminders of a past lost to me
a flash of brilliant scarlet darts past
a sudden cry threatens to draw a smile to my lips
shadows slowly lengthen
drawing a curtain over another day

one more day closer to life alone


Looking outside, at Mama Zen’s behest, and turning a sunny spring day into a daunting, scarey thing. Written for today’s Words Count prompt.

“In Which She Steps Forward”

a happy coincidence found us together
built a budding friendship
then blooming love
and fiery passion

but intensity cannot feed upon itself
it must devour to live
it takes (our) strength
and (hinders) concentration

we are lucky to have had these times
fortunate to know one another
to have shared
to have learned
to have experienced moments of wonder
and passion
and pure delight.

the future is yet to be written
what it holds cannot
(though I would wish it otherwise)
be known

it is terrifying to step forward
blind
feeling as though I am without succor
without relief
from the unknown

yet I set one foot ahead of the other
a hesitant heart
an anxious soul
a willing participant in my own revival


Part of my healing process, and written for this week’s Trifecta challenge, which gives us the word ‘lucky’ with the meaning ‘producing or resulting in good by chance : favorable’

“Somewhere Along the Way”

Somewhere along the way
I lost the power to make myself happy.

I don’t know how it came to be
or how long it’s been that way.
I only know that it has left me sinking
flailing wildly
reaching for a hand to hold.

Somewhere along the way
I stopped taking control of my own destiny.

Now I’m afraid I don’t know how
to continue living.
I only know how to exist
how to reflect the glow of someone else
not how to shine with my own brilliant light.

“Conversations With Death: Midnight”

I last spoke with Death at Midnight.
There was no moon to light his way
only starlight
and the dim glow of a single fading streetlamp.
I felt the room grow cold as he walked in
all swagger and confidence
his hood drawn up to shadow his face.
He paused at the end of my bed
and looked at me
and once more he smiled.
You are not yet ready for me.
My words startled him and he cocked his head
peering into the darkness.
What do you mean? asked Death
wringing his hands uneasily.
I paused
long enough to let him wonder
how it could be
that I continue to resist him.
Then I smiled, and pointed to the open window
to the starlit sky
framed by the branches of winter-barren trees.
He followed my gaze and frowned
before turning back to question me.
What does the sky have to do with it?
I sat up then
set my feet on the floor
and I walked to stand before him.
Everything.
I replied, passing by him to stand before the window.
Death visited me again
but I refused to go with him
preferring to live.
And I knew he understood.

“Come Alive”

there are things that need to be said
things that make the heart sing
or ache
words unspoken that yearn for the air
that once breathed into being
become like feathers
floating away
leaving in their wake
a sense of freedom and fulfillment

there are things that must be said
hopes and dreams require fuel
without voice they cannot emerge into the light
without the light they cannot be seen
and shared

there are things which we fear to speak
words that clutch and claw at our hearts
threatening to tear us open
leave us raw and bleeding
these too must be spoken
must be exposed and examined
for they are impediments to our true selves
to our happiness
our wholeness

set pen to paper, hold a brush in your hand
make music and art and poetry
and give breath to your fears
to your hopes
your dreams and beliefs
your wondering and your pain
allow it to live
and then to be free