Creative Writing Poetry

My sadness rises like a mist

And thoughts toll like a bell through fog,

Resounding from a place I fear

And I find no one there to hold.

Only holy, invisible things to weep for,

My shoulders rising and falling

With the air in my lungs,

My tears falling onto my father’s coat.

Creative Writing

Coming home in layers of wool, I feel more like an itchy sweater than a person. I don’t feel like a person, I feel like a hole in the wall – I feel like shrinking into a ball the size of a field mouse, forgetting who I am and staring at the stars, who tell me that I am something, everything, and nothing all at once.

Creative Writing Poetry

Withdrawn, drawn up

If I were in the sylvan glade, I would be stretched out on the grass

Engulfing me with its green sweetness, the warm earth pulsing at my back.

Iridescent clouds melt across a periwinkle sky,

Shimmering pools lap against black sands, bubbling from essence that falls from eternal heights.

I would reach out my arms and feel the tender tendrils and blossoms kiss me with joy –

I’d kiss them back and then I’d raise myself up off the ground

And go where my eyes take me always, up above the molten clouds.

Higher I tumble, and up I glide, the green land beneath me growing,

Stretching as far as every horizon – a golden circlet for the earth, wide.

I rise like a dove on the sweet orange winds until I reach the place that’s beckoned to me all this time, unknowing.

Glassy crystal waves and shines so that I can scarcely see through – I place my palm against it and nearly feel pierced through

With its icy burn and sweet sting.

Beyond, golden creatures flow in and through and all throughout, their faces of prism scarce peer out.

If they do, it splits my heart into a thousand minnows

Swimming in the warm shallows of the sea.

Then one celeste rests a gaze on me and does not take it off

My mind cannot utter a sound and my heart is reduced to ash ~

I am grasped my heaven’s hands and

Searingly, blindingly, euphorically, helplessly,

I am pulled up in a flash.

Creative Writing

Though I cannot fathom you, nor your love,

I have both within me

And I know you are working to bring something to light, to bring yourself to my eyes, to show me your Spirit, and not my might.

I wonder at the world you’ve created,

And what you’ve created me to do –

And I’ve become impatient to do what I need to,

To find what I truly long for.

Creative Writing Poetry


As the artist is taught to see beauty, and to seek out wisdom,

The spirit of truth seizes him, and doesn’t let go-

Breath catches as the transcendent unfolds,

Any shell of false disdain falling away.

Before his eyes the face of the Creator appears,

And he sees that his Lord has a face not different from his.

Meek and mighty, the Artist of all

Loves all, saves all, sees all.

Creative Writing

Words in the dust

I stumble across writing in the dust,

And in my foolishness I wish it was a message from You.

You know my heart, and know my sin

Of looking for a sign in emptiness,

So I am humbled, but still wish most of all

That You’d speak to me, and tell me

That You are near.

You inscribed on stone and my people strayed,

You traced words in the dust, and drove men away.

I want to be engraved on your palms,

For us to walk by each other’s side,

Bound more than a body to soul.

Creative Writing Poetry

At the birth of autumn, the moon and Jupiter and the porch light

Pierce the night, uncovering the thievery of raccoons in the grapevines.

I, too have been given my daily bread and been given what is good –

In these things, I know that I am loved, and feel that I am home.

Creative Writing

I dreamed I held a wounded swan,

And it fell asleep in my arms.

I awoke to find blood

Still fresh from its wing

Staining my soft white shirt.

Creative Writing

Glass cogs in an iron machine

Are all my efforts could ever be.

All the things I need

I grieve –

The cycle goes on without me.

Swinging low from a high-strung tree,

I know this won’t go easily.

Nowhere to go from here

But down,

As far as I can see.

No ignorance nor naivety,

Innocence, nor novelty

Can bring any lasting reprieve –

I’d somehow rather bleed

Than do the right thing.

Creative Writing Poetry

I’ve got an uncomfortable feeling,

Like a toddler’s heels digging into my thighs,

Or like a dream where all of me is moving through molasses.

I just want to close my eyes and sleep, since nothing calms me.

I wonder what it’d be like to have agnosia,

Or aphasia, to see brightness and not call it anything,

To just listen to someone’s voice for the beauty of it.

It’s terrible of me to say, but it oddly sounds nicer than anything.