Creative Writing

The cameo girl with a chip diamond heart

Is a Renaissance woman, possessed by art –

Devoted to life, in the tiniest sparks,

In the voice of haunted children, in lakes that house the stars

That swim in the glinting eyes of fish

That swim in the shallows of the spirit,

Which slosh and float ticklingly under my skin,

Which glows an ember, blood crimson in my fingertips

Aglow from the flashlight of a phone.


Boxes and bags, a story time

I was at Costco with dad, and he was paying for the parking

When a stranger ambled by, wondering aloud,

Boxes? What’s up with these boxes? Does Target only have boxes too?

Without transition, he directed the question at me (apparently),

Don’t they give you bags at Target?

Poor man, guess he’ll never know!

‘Cause I just stood and stared in silence, guarding my cart, wondering why on earth he was talking to me

And reflexively refused to converse with this think-alouder.

I was woozy and just wanted to eat my pizza.

How dare you ask me whether they have bags at Target.


There’s some barbed needle making its way through my chest.

It throbs, but I can only let it sink deeper.

For, if I grasp tight and pull, it will only resist,

And swiftly put me out of my

Precious misery.

Creative Writing Poetry


By living this way, I am killed, every day.

Mirage after mirage, my hands pass only through thin air, and I’ve come to loathe the sight of shimmering water.

It’s funny, how invention is most visceral to me;

My mind and spirit swell with its overpowering resonance –

I, who would long to love truth more than anything.

From the beginning, so much is full of contrivance…

No soul may ever really honor the right to know another.

Creative Writing Poetry


If you can’t win at cards while playing fair

Try your hand at solitaire!

But even then, you’ll still get stuck –

That’s right – what a bunch of rotten luck.

What cards I’ve dealt are all face down;

What I do I’ve hardly known.

By choice I’ve made the game this way

And it isn’t one smidge more easy to play.

Creative Writing Poetry

Taken, granted

Beholding the embodiments of words that I’ve written is a peculiarity, and I know even more firmly

That it is, but isn’t up to me.

It really isn’t, and yet I’m given free rein

To make sacred spaces, in places like my heart

Or in the garden of an old house with withering birch trees obscuring its front.

A herald on the wind, lilacs by the walk –

See the light as you enter in, under the arbor,

Into an abode I was given, to make it my own and His –

For nothing other than the holy reasons of love and goodness.

Creative Writing Poetry Thoughts and Entries

Some things are too immensely and intensely true

To interrupt the mechanisms of mundanity, of necessity.

In the sound of the dishwasher, I hear the clanging of a railroad crossing bell

And I reluctantly go to sleep – already, again.


I’d like to learn so many things

I’d like to be content with what I have, with what I know,

But that doesn’t sit right with me, or even seem pleasant to me anymore.

I am the student, and you are too – so teach me, and I’ll teach you –

The Teacher lives in both of us, we clueless and certain souls.

Creative Writing Stories Thoughts and Entries

I tried flying away but dissolved into static

Wandering the streets, I paused to ask a bystander a question. It must have been a stupid one, because I was turned away feeling ridiculed.

I don’t belong here, I realized – I don’t belong here, because it’s a dream.

If I am the dreamer, why am I out of place?

Somehow, the world that I’ve fashioned for myself does not welcome me.

Creative Writing Poetry


Half the earth at a time forgets the sun doesn’t sleep,

But moon gazers and planet watchers know it hasn’t stopped

Scattering beams in every direction, expelling flares,

Hooks of flame glaring into cold nothingness.

There, there is no night – endless cycle of dark spots – it is all the same, hurtling through space,

Anchor in a whirlpool of stars.

Glancing past Mercury, Venus, it reflects off

blue and green

and smiles.

No body can boast a life like mine.

Over its coldness

A kiss

Aurora borealis