Creative Writing Favorites 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.


A Bird in the Park

I’m swimming in earth and can’t move. The trees and grass are overpoweringly green, the stones in the ground golden and blue, depending on where the sun is in the sky. In this noonday light, my skin looks more radiant than it really is, and my cheeks are warmer than in the average given moment.

I am confused, like some roots that unexpectedly exit the ground, assume they will become a tree, then become increasingly bewildered as they only form into what is known as a lump, as a sore thumb.

God, get me out of here.

A golden-crowned kinglet hops over, pecking the earth as it goes; every leaf or root with a meal, it kisses. I can move now, and step closer.

It does not run; it even comes closer, as if I have something to offer. Really, I have nothing but admiration and awe, to observe how this sphere of feathers and flight moves alongside me, and how easily it flies, yet not fleeing from me.

Do I? I do. I reach in order to tentatively touch, and with the back of my index finger, stroke the down between its wings. I have done nothing, yet everything, and I am happy.

I eventually leave, as is necessary, but I am still in the park in my mind.

It was not wrong to reach out, nor was it reproachable to touch a willing creature, but do others think the same? Do they know what I’ve seen? As far as I could tell, the bird was well, and could not have harmed me, nor I it.

Oh, how I long for things to be right and to be won.



I feel…

No, think!

I think…

No, know!

I want…

No, need!

I can’t…

Don’t whine!

Don’t feel, don’t think, don’t want, nor whine. None of it can be helped, the fault is all thine.

If the fault lies on me, what is left to be done?

Pray to the Father, the Spirit, and Son.

If I do so, just when will I know? What thing I should do and what way I should go?

It’s already clear, you’ve been shown the path. You’re subjecting your heart to your own mind’s wrath.

I see what you mean, but all my strength is taken, the wrong mind has free reign, and my heart is shaken.

Someday will I leave? Am I all that I feel? I suppose a reply that’s not meant for the present is one that I never can steal.


Artless Art

Artless art

Heartless heart

This is far too much for me to take.

Think when I sleep

Sleep when I wake

Blind as a sheep

Sharp as a snake

Finding a path,

Never been trodden

My feet feel clean

But my socks are sodden.

Favorites Poetry


As cities are sacked,

Our clothing is packed,

As well as most of our earthly assets.

How many caskets

Are soon to be built?

How many bear guilt when cold blood is spilt?

None firsthand I’ve seen;

The info I glean

Doesn’t help me know what’s quite happening.

A slingshot I bring,

Strange brownstones in dreams –

These days, nothing is what it seems.