A Writer's Life

Living Creatively

Category Archives: Poetry


It will not be alright. It will not be OK.
We may not survive this reality
when the glass is broken, not half empty or full.
Wide awake consequences tear my heart out,
whittled down as shame covers me in a shroud,
head bent low, lower to avoid the sight of those
dreaming of power at the expense of others
who tell the truth about a life lived
fully conscious, today, and stand to face
the powerful who would be king.
Some will fight again, but me, I am a statue –
a stone forged by optimism and hope
now melted away. No, it will not be OK.



Dumbing It Down






It takes courage to use the right word, not the simplest,
The three syllable one with a twelfth grade readability
Referenced in a dusty old dictionary or new Thesaurus
Captured outside the familiarity box with nuanced meaning
Because, truth be known, compromise is not possible
When writing inside strict young adult guidelines
Created by publishers to prove shorter attention spans
Matter more than increased vocabulary or just the right word
Used in just the right context in a layered, subtle tome
No one trusts to give to young adults who read more than
Adventure comics, avatar profiles and celebrity obits.


Perched on my fence drawn by food
City backyards provide, predator with wing span
So large, so unnecessary within urban sprawl,
It dares to navigate one hop at a time
Fearful sky roadblocks and free fall hazards
Only to question: belly full or solitary freedom?

What does it mean to be unfettered
If cages are built to hold inside
Wings unused, original flight plans
Unrealized when praise is the main course
Feeding body, not unformed spirit
Trying to fly higher, always higher.

A story unread but proudly written
Faces the trap of accessibility;
Write to publish or right to maintain
Dense, though unfathomable, style
Regardless of reader understanding.
If no one reads it, are you an author?


Holiday Guilt

Holiday alone?Alone
Shame on you,
Society whispers
Must be your fault
Volunteer, potluck it,
Spend holidays in
A room full of strangers
Because you should
Heart-tearing guilt
Your fault isn’t it?
No family, few friends,
Society-driven guilt
When, in reality,
It’s one single day
Go out, play,
Do what you need
Not what society says
You should do.


photographerI gave it all up:
my job, beloved home
and friends;
being without people
the greatest sacrifice
to spirit.
Alone in a foreign place,
self-talk to do what
I must do
without diversion,
I write down words
into stories –
a warning to avoid
detour activities the
inside voice,
loudspeaker cries to
leave me alone  –

Make’Em Fly


Close proximity
Denies timidity;
One photo click
A time bomb tick.

Halloween Clown


Intrude upon true meaningClowning
And my torturous gleaning
Of letters on a page, weaning
Away thoughts and feelings
And well-fought healings

A Silly Writer’s Life


Putting on the clown!

No luck at Starbuck
Trying to write tonight
My attempt is unkempt
I write long, but wrong
Perceive a story as glory
With illusion and confusion
Proving I’ve spent all talent
My creativity a sad fad
But wait, don’t hate
Nor chastise my tries
To portray sage on page
Or complex life in strife
My worth is re birth,
To live I must forgive.

Senior Take Out

lillies2There is a circular drive, but no order window

Or neon sign pointing the way through

Double doors opened automatically

As you enter and the newest order leaves

Wrapped in black plastic, the cotton and silk

Condiment tastefully styled, not spread;

No added salt or MSG preserves this

Senior Discount, waiting, waiting

For black-suited driver and seat belt gurney.

The Calling Light

Ding, ding, dingdistortwheelchair
Heralds slow pace of
Yellow parchment skin
Pushing black rubber wheels
Down long red carpet

Ding, ding, ding

Tip-toing forward non-stop
Inside silver metal prison
Without a passing horn
Or attached turning signal

Ding, ding, ding

Too quick for heartbeat
Slowed by Maestro’s hand
So near, so close His
Breath cleans call lights’

Ding, ding, ding

Above each closed door
While helpers laugh and talk
Social blind-sided need to
Turn away from muffled

Ding, ding, ding

Push button calls for help
Ignored as hoped-for
Skeletal fingers mistake
Buttons for antique comb

Ding, ding, ding

Echoes long forgotten
Take me home, I want to go home.
Floats up newly painted ceiling
Minus glow-in-the-dark stars

Ding, ding, ding

Hallway traffic jam
As three abreast block
Lunch time interlude
In their need for table space

Ding, ding, ding

How are we today?
Cheerful serenade
To the tune of
Call light staccato

Ding, ding, ding.