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 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.


Spring mosquito

There’s a mosquito in my basement

And I wish it would get out –

It’s buzzing round my bitten neck,

The dreadful demon lout.


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 Favorites 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 uncertain souls.