write ’til your fingers bleed
write ’til your eyes close
’til your mind quiets
let the confusion sort itself
on the page
let anger sorrow and anxiety
fall down and break open
for when everything is out
nothing is in, and then
sleep can take you away
This poem was inspired by a picture posted on the #dimpleverse hashtag and poetry account on Twitter.
I didn’t want this to be a dark poem, I wanted it to be about hope. If you found hope in this poem, please leave me a comment below, after all, it is International Blog Delurking Week.
red sun, black moon
sun gazing for the first time
8- 21- 2017
I started writing again the day of the Full Solar Eclipse. I started writing poetry, but I have had trouble typing up blog posts. Side note, there are people out there who are “sun gazers” who stare at the sun. Don’t do that. But do leave me a like and a comment!
birds from the Graphics Fairy
I grasp at warm air
unable to hold it
gray bird wings
This was written for a #haikuchallenge prompt on Twitter. It is easier to post every day of the week when I don’t try to add a story or thought to my posts. Leave me a comment and tell me if you like blogs that add stories to their poems, or if you like it when just the poem is posted. All of the statistics say that our posts should be over 500 words long and have at least 1 image if not 3. As a reader, what are your thoughts?
My mind is like the flowers in the ditch
beautiful and trying to grow
but impeded by the dust covering it
trucks drive by spewing gravel and dust
leaving before you see the dust settle
before you see the aftermath clobber me
the haze of dust chokes me, makes it hard to take in the sun
you don’t even know you’ve stunted my growth
here I am standing, yet swaying under the weight
I look green and in my prime however
I can’t exchange air or sunlight for life
I need rain to pour down and wash away
the breadcrumbs of being rushed and angry
the marks of your leaving for paved road
coats every leaf of my existence
every petal questions the energy being used to untwist
if I’ll be smothered by indifference
forgotten by a line of trucks able to roam
why give you my colors, my display of brilliance
ignoring the pattern of my dress left me
feeling like unwanted blades of grass
If a coyote would only brush past
and knock some of the dirt off of me
so that I could breathe and shine and grow again
blooming down in the ditch is troublesome
you think I’m a weed to be forgotten
when really I was a seed spilled at the wrong moment
I was meant for a garden, I was meant to be loved
by a grandmother, herself forgotten by a husband
but I never got where I was going
I got left in the wrong dirt and now I bloom for strangers
I hope you’ve all enjoyed your week and your summer. I hope you’ve managed to shake off the dust and bloom where you are. This is the long poem I promised you. It is my newest poem.
Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are allowed to use the photo in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations, although I do often read Rochelle’s post before I write mine since it is right under the photo of the week. This week’s story is 102-words long.
PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter
Malorie watched the snow fall in despair. If she ran away tonight it would be easy to follow her. She would leave her duffel bag hidden and try again in a few days.
Her plan was to live at the homeless shelter on 40th street until she finished school. Snooty Gloria would never dare to step foot inside that place. Dumb Todd told her he would search all of the buses if she ever ran away, so Malorie decided not to leave the city, but to hide in plain sight. Her aunt and uncle could have the money, but not her.
So this year, WordPress decided to not help us make a blog post that reviewed our year. See my Twitter feed for details. Well, that’s about par for the course. 2016 has been a difficult and odd year. So I decided to whip one up myself. Do you look forward to reading “in review” posts from bloggers? I would love to hear your answer in the comments.
Also, I promise to try to be more hopeful and upbeat in 2017. This next year will be good if we all try really hard to make it be good together.
Top 5 posts by views
FF | Third Wheel
FF | Good Memories
FF | First Holiday Together
Halfway Through 2016 and I’m Back
Top 5 posts by likes
Escaping the King 23
The Kind Baker 24
Good Memories 25
Dark Nights 26
The Last Resort 26
(These are also my top Liked Friday Fictioneer posts.)
I did not get as many views as last year, but I did take 30 days off in June, in which I did not post or promote my blog. But the difference wasn’t that much, 870 fewer views this year than 2015. If I can get 900 more views in 2017 I’ll be a happy writer.
Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo prompt posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. It is not a closed group; you can join in! We are allowed to use the photo (taken by another writer) in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations. This week’s story is 99-words long.
Also, I have been using the hashtag #FridayFictioneers when I tweet a link to one of my Friday Fictioneer stories on Twitter. There are others using that hashtag too. If you have Twitter you should do the same on Fridays, maybe we could get the hashtag trending.
PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma
Tickets to Anguish
Joey stood outside, rain pouring down his back. What a fool he had been. He had trusted her to stay faithful once they were married.
“Ya gotta put a ring on it!” she had teased. “In today’s world, you can’t expect me to ignore other guys until you prove that you only want me.”
So Joey worked double shifts and saved to buy a ring. After a quick wedding he put her name on everything he owned.
Six months later she bought movie tickets and forgot to tell him. When he arrived she was walking inside with another man.
the smell of pork roast
first time always turns out
victory is what is hard
more than a flash in the pan
Thank you all so much! I am now at 705 followers! I asked more of you to follow this blog two weeks ago on Monday, October 24th and you did. By the next day, I was at 700 followers and the number has stayed up!
Thank you for reading my work. Thank you for seeking me out. Thank you for following me on Twitter and on Facebook. Thank you for leaving me comments. I appreciate every Follow and every Like I get. I appreciate the retweets and all of the other shares as well.
Thank you for staying with me as this blog changes. Thank you for joining me as this blog is in the midst of change. I posted my last quote on Monday of this week. While I love quotes, those have never been the most loved posts by my readers. My short stories have quickly become my most liked type of post on this blog. While I will try to write a short story and post it by Friday night, my heart is in poetry. I plan to share a haiku that you have never read before, every Monday, as always.
This tanka was inspired by a #fieryverse prompt.
Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The photos are taken by other Friday Fictioneers. It is not a closed group, you can join in by adding your link to the blue frog linkup on Rochelle’s page. We are allowed to use the photo in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations, although I do often read Rochelle’s post before I write mine since it is right under the photo of the week. This week’s story is 100 words long. It is also a happy story. I decided to really push myself and write about something happy.
PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays
“We’re getting close, don’t fall asleep.”
“How close?” Jerri was anxious to see their new home.
“50 miles. This is the part of the country we’re going to live in.”
Officer Tony was excited. He had traveled out here by plane and bought a two-story home for his new bride.
“These little towns are so quaint. I really like the atmosphere though. Everyone is so nice.”
“I promise you’ll enjoy living here. My grandmother always wanted to return, she said it was like living in Mayberry.”
“As long as you don’t widow me like Aunt Bee, we’ll be just fine.”
Since I have written over 900 poems I thought that I would post some my poems here just for fun. Here are some of my poems that I have written on my 17-year journey. I have been writing since 1999. I wrote my first poem (The Run) when I was 11 so keep that in mind as you read through these. I meant to write this post in my 15th year of writing, but being a mom and getting a serious job has re-arranged my world.
Now, for those of you who would like to walk through my work, here you go:
#1 The Run
I am wheelchair bound until he says good riddance. This cast I say is a lot of pain
I don’t regret the pain for now my troubles are slain. Now I can run wild and free.
I used to walk high, now I walk with pride. I am loved by all. Now I can run like all.
They left me behind, but now they are blind, by the dust in their eyes.
Though I may moan I have backbone. Now I can walk out the door before they lock the door.
My mind says “No” but my heart says, “Go!” So watch now as I flow, run, skip, hop, jump, prance, and walk perfectly.
#100 Making the World Right
Sneaky fingers reaching out for my mind
Gut emotions squeezing my sides
Blindfolded people swinging out with clubs
Hateful words stinging the ears
Tears soaking my face, hiding truth
Hands gripping, holding on to the only clear thing
Love breaks through in the form of lips
Honeysweet words dance across skin
Flowing into ears sorting out truth
Love conquers all chasing away evil and hate
And at the end of the night, my world is just right
#200 Panic in the Forest (published on Poet Daily)
Like a wounded deer struggling in the snow,
I fear I’ll never rise again.
The fear makes it hard to breathe
makes the world seem so cold.
I see the blood dripping on the snow
and the panic chokes me.
Everything spins and I get dizzy.
I can’t get my legs under me.
The ground so solid comes rushing up
I am still…
#300 Thanksgiving at Grandma’s
We wipe the wet leaves off of our feet
and step into the warm house to look around,
thankful for several things including heat.
I put the food on the table
and go to the freezer to check out the desserts.
They’re all old favorites, none need a label.
I make my way back to the front of the house
an aunt grabs me and talks about how the kids have grown.
Someone makes a nice comment about my blouse.
We notice who has cut their hair and who has let it grow.
Some admit to dyeing their grays as we talk about age.
A baby toddles over, what a cute bow!
As we wait for the turkey to be carved,
we can smell the corn, stuffing, and gravy,
and we talk about how we’re starved.
After the Blessing is said, we line up,
and dip out food onto Styrofoam plates
walking in a circle, holding our cup.
Most find a place to sit, but some stand.
Someone mentions the cousin we wish was here
and not fighting in a strange land.
Later we talk about the kids and arrange
what kid got who this year,
we draw for the exchange.
We give long hugs and decide what to bring
next month when we get together for Christmas,
once again the doorbell will ring.
#400 Silent Battlefield
The battlefield at Carthage is silent now.
As silent as it was 150 years ago
before the people there grew angry
and a small creek ran red with blood.
It was a part of The Civil War
but there was nothing civil about it.
Brothers stabbed brothers
in the land of the free.
Guerillas bushwhacked soldiers
in the home of the brave.
More concerned with state’s rights than men’s
they shed blood on ground that did not care
about the color of the hand that tilled it.
Today that small wood is still
except for the singing of the birds.
The only dark place is the small cave.
Giggling children fail to realize the horror
that once stomped through these fields.
Some people still smell the powder burning
but they are relics soon to be stored
like the guns and uniforms at the museum.
It is a peaceful park now, with gentle shadows
and only signs to remind us of the war.
©Symanntha Renn 6-10-12
traveling the road to work
same hawk in the tree
is he bored by me
my mouth can barely
contain the anger rising
#700 Soft Like Velvet
They were red
soft like velvet
and smelled great.
But I didn’t know
it was the end
I didn’t know they
were graveyard roses.
porcelain blue frog
doesn’t eat the red wasps
he is a fake
I have always liked the classics
my latest: #
old hopes and dreams
erasing pins and deleting links
flowers that didn’t bloom
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 5,400 times in 2015. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 5 trips to carry that many people.
Click here to see the complete report.
I got visitors from 63 countries! And I appreciate all of you!
Click the name of the post below to explore what it is about if you don’t remember. I hope you all have a fun and safe New Year’s Eve.
My Top 5 Posts by Views:
1 A quote about experience.
2 Spanish Proverb about Mom
3 The true worth of a man.
4 Soft Like Velvet
5 My Shade of Purple
My Top 5 Posts by Likes:
Tanka Dust 17 likes
The Taste of Words 16 likes
The definition of success by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 15 Likes
What Art does for the soul. 14 Likes
My Shade of Purple 13 Likes
Here are my updated statistics. I am sorry that I did not get them posted in July. This summer was very busy for us and I made some huge changes to my life, and my family’s life in July. You can read about them here.
In 16 years of writing poetry I have written:
867 poems total,
411 Japanese poems( haiku , senryu, or tanka)
I have written 155 poems since January of this year.