share my writing

I created an account on deviantart.com and share my attempts at poetry, along with some photography. Getting feedback and favorites really motivates me!

so as if from a dream i awake midstride
not sure where I’m going
not sure where I’ve been
simply aware of the fact
that I don’t recognize my face
in the reflection of the shop window
looking forward I press on
and fall asleep again
lulled by the predictable rythme of this life

felt right. More right, in fact, than it has in a long time. Maybe it was that, at long last, there were fifteen enthusistic people gathered around the table of the Mermaid Room. Granted, half of them were newcomers, with so many of the formative members now gone on to other pursuits. But that translates into sheer potential. Possibility. New writer’s blood is good, and necessary, new perspectives and ideas are what move forward the work, the thinking. Two or three writers stood out as beacons of literary strength and insight, strong, accomplished readers who let challenging literature drive their writing. Real lovers of language and craft, with talent and drive and perspective. Afterward, I stood on the sidewalk of College Street with one of them discussing non-linear narrative and poetry. The air was cool, and slightly reminiscent of an earlier time.

One lesson I have learned rather painfully over the past year is that writing is a solitary act. Others cannot be relied on to inspire or bolster one’s creative drive or process. However, the process can be supported and nurtured, and a well-assembled group of writers makes all the difference.

I am not a shy person about anything. Modesty and secrecy was beaten out of me long ago by my many aunts and cousins. I am not sure why I can’t just let go of this part of myself. Hmmm….

It’s such a little thing, but it brought a smile to my face.

I opened my e-mail this morning to find a lovely note from a young woman doing outreach work in India. She had recently read my story in Quay, and wrote to thank me for my work.

I love it that my passion and perspective can touch the life of another, even if in some small way. It’s a nice reminder that what we put out there in the world can make a difference, one person at a time.

in the latest (online) issue of Quay.

Title: “Comfort Food”

I haven’t seen the print version yet, but I will soon, when my copy gets mailed.

^{or you can visit Truckee Book and Bean in Truckee, CA, or BookPeople of Moscow (Idaho) to check out the print journal, and send me one. LOL}

This is a nice way to start a vacation. :)

that was one of my old poetry pieces that i found while cleaning out my closet the other day…

when i was going through a rough time i turned towards poetry and journaling…i don’t know where i would be today if i hadn’t…i used it as a way to express myself the way i couldn’t express myself openly to the world…i used it to cope…to keep from attempting suicide even when thoughts constantly reappeared…

and so when i found a whole bunch of my old poems i begin to think…when i was going through all of this pain, i felt so alone…i suffered inside for the longest time because i felt like i had no one to turn to…that no one would listen or understand…and i was thinking that maybe if i do reveal what i went through…that it might give someone else courage to speak out or at least know that someone is out there that went through the same thing and that i’m willing to lend an ear or whatever it is that they need…

but yeah…that’s all…

Woke up in a world where a person close to me felt like a stranger.

I had to be dreaming-my stepdad laid down the drinks, I no longer feared his abusive behavior.

Couldn’t imagine it really happening to me,

As I realized these twisted thoughts of nightmares were indeed realities.

Remembering school nights I’d beg my sisters not to fall asleep.

Queasy feeling in my stomach knowing where the late nights would lead.

Thrusting himself inside, figuring the pleasure drained out my pleads,

Because when my teary eyes looked upon his I saw nothing but greed.

Feeling unvalued like an empty soul,

I would beg God to not let me feel this hurt anymore.

Bruises made inside but outside only my eyes were swollen.

Left lying naked at the age of twelve with all my innocence stolen.

God…give me a reason-what did I do to deserve this?

How did I end up in hell when all my life I tried all I could to live perfect?

.....

Now, no longer did I care about the physical pain,

When it’s nothing compared to the shit that starts up in the brain.

Things began to change, I automatically fell silent and pushed people away,

It never mattered when no one wants to hear of this kind of pain.

All of this shit made it hard to trust anyone.

Even brainwashed myself to thinking I would never love nor be loved.

With no direction to turn,

Since ‘everybody goes through their own problems’

Tired of comparing my life with others,

Is all that supposed to take away my troubles and dissolve them?

Don’t ask me to apoligize
for the seagulls cries
upon a vagrant wind and wave beaten shore
there just comes a time when the planets align
and that which you thought was yours
becomes mine.

I have a blog! OK, so it’s a meager little space with no subscribers (yet), and I’m not quite sure how to use it, but I have created one, and that’s something. I probably won’t post much until after the holidays, but feel free to check in as the mood strikes.