Category Archives: Writing

There isn’t any poetry in here. My brain is ranging wide – creatively I should be flush, with all my cells in gear – emotions popping so the path should be as obvious as marijuana’s dear. I lied: that little … Continue reading →

Commitment isn’t burned in me by vow, and ritual will hardly stir a breeze within my windy self. These lines say how I start to work and bear its stress with ease: I do and do and then I work … Continue reading →

I used to wait for inspiration’s nudge. The spirit moved me now and then to write, and what emerged was hard for me to judge because my type so rarely saw the light. Then I’d produce a poem or two … Continue reading →

I thought a story had to have a plot – I jotted sex or drugs disturbing peace, but had to crank it up cause I forgot sensation is like porn; it needs increase. So character development was next, but that … Continue reading →

I want to wed a word to word, to mount a phrase that I can nurture to a line, and build from that a quatrain of account, and pen it to display a thought of mine. And then I’ll set … Continue reading →

You used to tell me, halfway serious, that I should take the measure of our years, and write a book of them and love and us. Remember that? I do, but it appears that there was either nothing there at … Continue reading →

I sent a sonnet in an envelope, with reading fee, to some address back East, and with it in the mail I hosted hope for praise, encouragement, or at the least a helpful phrase or usable advice. Instead, I got … Continue reading →