I hate the way,

I feel I have naught to say.

I want to report today’s events 

But it wasn’t exciting, no suspense 

I miss the mountains and woodsy air

And struggle with feeling so lost from where

(I want to be)

‘Tis a time of change, these autumn days

Present-minded in them, may I stay

Excuse Me While I Get A Tissue

I’m not a poetry person, usually, but I heard a story on NPR about a Seattle Arab-American author who wrote about places like Syria, where it becomes difficult to remember the individual human lives that are shrouded by the dirty cloud of war and violence.

The best writing, in my opinion, is simple and straightforward, yet pierces directly to your heart.

“Running Orders”

They call us now.
Before they drop the bombs.

Continue reading “Excuse Me While I Get A Tissue”

Until Next Time

Time slows

In the dewy-promised morning of a welcome unfolding, my limbs and words reach out to those long unseen.

In a hot afternoon of mid-day revelry, hearing delighted cheers from the joust over the hill, playing tag with the sunlight to not burn my skin,

In the smell of the blacksmith’s fire as it stings the back of my throat and the soft fragrance of honey from the slowly melted wax,

Time slows.

Around the soft wool plaid-covered dining table and softly falling ash from the open fire, eating freshly simmered stew off  oversize wooden spoons, next to elders and the younger, all helping cast off, understand, and slow down the mundane dragging of life,

Reclining in swirling pipe smoke, calling out insults and verbal barbs with kinsmen, wrapping my tongue around thick pronunciation and enjoying their faces as they consider a comeback, reveling in their creativity,

Oh, how time slows.

Watching nature wake up, a rain of inchworms becoming a cloud of butterflies, verdant leaves, flowers, and a wee hidden sheep cushioning the visual space.

Air thickens with humidity until the tantalizing promise of rain finally blows through the glen, where nothing can thwart the pulse of life and joy that moves through.

A final exhausted circle of dusty day-worn bodies teasing, jovial and affectionate. Hands passing flasks and bottles around, each one carefully and considerately conserving a sip to share and make room for the next,

Time slows.

Alas, it does not stop, and so, until next time…

*Inspired by Day 1, Writing 101

Inspiration Engine 17 – Poetry

This is a weekly post I do to highlight blogs or bloggers who have inspired me in some way during this week – another car on my imagination train!


1. I’m not normally a poetry kind of girl, but as I was writing this week, I felt like I wanted to.  I found, on this post from Writer’s Digest, a list of different styles of poetry, explaining thme and giving me examples.  As I was looking, I was inspired to try it a few times on different topics.  Stay tuned for future efforts. 🙂