Category Archives: writing

No Redemption

In a word without redemption
I seek to hide my pain
I scream into the silence
I fight, but all in vain

I owned the world once, long ago
A thief came in the night
And in this way, I lost my way
I’m trapped outside the light

(not sure of the date, but I wrote this from the POV of a character in a novel I wrote when I was in my last years of high school and first years of college)


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Poem of a Pen

My pen is an extension of my hand
this poem is about the meaning of life
I write, when I can, words of beauty
I just wanted to make sure you knew
I want to write words of truth
not everyone might get it
the ink flows steadily
after all, not everyone is as enlightened as I
Sometimes blue
or as smart
Sometimes black
so I thought I’d clarify
And, every once in awhile, purple
hope you got it.

(I’d guess this was written either in high school or college as a reaction to someone explaining to me what their (or a) poem meant)

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I Am Woman

I am woman
as I have been for centuries
Sitting quietly, I wait for my turn to speak
only to be laughed at, ridiculed and
dismissed when I do.

I am tired of waiting
I will be heard
And if you laugh too long and too loud
You will miss the truth
In what I am saying.

spring 1999

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A season of passing
I pretend not to care
And era is ending
and I’m not even there.
It was part of my life
no matter what I deny
a part I have left
but I’m part of a lie.

They hurt me
it hurts me
I hurt me
I’m hurt

I hate them
I hate it
I hate me
I’m hurt

The show is now over
and I’m moving on
now just in my heart
will I hear the song

The bells have stopped ringing
I pretend not to care
a huge chunk of my life
now I’m not even there

They hurt me
it hurt me
I hurt me
I’m hurt

I hate them
I hate it
I hate me
I’m hurt

That life is now over
and a new one’s begun
It’s time for the song
that’s my heart to be sung

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Three poems

I really need to remember to queue up posts so I post when I say I will, even when I’m busy. But, since I didn’t here’s the poems for April 8, 9, and 10th.


I go through my day

in a sea of solitude

I am alone

as I want to be alone

Loneliness rarely touches me

for I am a creature

who belongs to herself


sometimes, as I make my way

an island in a sea of people

I long for one to reach out

touch me

know I’m there

and appreciate that fact.

(fall/winter 1999)

Jumping at Shadows

Once on a moonbeam I sat

  alone, cold, alone

I reached for the stars and gained


I grabbed for a comet’s tail and got


Then, I tried jumping at shadows and

there you were

My childhood friend all grown up

arms open wide

Waiting for me on our warm


(1993; this was written about Luke Skywalker from the POV of my OC.  I was in eight grade.)

The Edge of the World

All logic aside

it’s like you are standing at

the edge of the world

The air smells of

stinging salt

And a breeze

messes your hair

Behind you lies

“Real Life”

Before you


It stretched out there

noisy, beautiful, mysterious

And although you know


SOMETHING must lie out there

Logic fails and you face it

feeling as if you are at

the edge of the world

(sometime in the 2000s)

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Emancipation of She

At a young age she learns the futility
of speaking out loud.
No one will notice
no one will care unless
He repeats her
claiming the thought for his own.

So she sits in the corner and watches
almost too afraid to dream
dreams, she has realized, rarely come true
Happy Endings do not exist
And she has ceased to dream of The Prince

What is a woman? she often wonders
is it the constant ache she feels
is it the enforced silences and the
false smiles
do her thoughts–
her Dreams–
really not matter
or have people just Forgotten they matter

And did she ever really want The Prince?
Not that she doesn’t want a companion
a friend
a lover, but
does she want The Prince?

The Prince is romantic and dashing
He implies danger and rescue
does she need to be rescued?
yes, she’s shy and timid but
won’t The Prince, with his overwhelming presence
just silence her anyway?

Silent and reserved.
Alone, but herself
she waits for rescue yet
is afraid to be rescued
and something is building inside her
something loud, and big, and scary

It builds with every put down
It builds with every insult
It grows louder every time
belittles her
dismisses her
Until the Something will not
be ignored.

It becomes deafening.

And she hears
And she knows
And she understands that
her emancipation must start from within
it won’t count if she doesn’t
Save herself.
the first step is the hardest
she must open her mouth and
She must


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Two on a theme

Another two poems since I missed yesterday. Both poems were written sometimes in college.


Sometimes I feel like a
Sleek and sophisticated and

And sometimes I feel like a
Rough and confident and

Sometimes I feel like a
Mature and beautiful and

And sometimes I feel like a
Happy and messy and

Rarely I feel like
I don’t know what she’s to

Always I feel like
creative and imaginative and

(spring 1999; the goddess/warrior thing popped up a lot during these years.)

Fallen Angel

I am a crowd all by myself
Too busy with all
those very different parts of
To sometimes deal with
salesmen selling lies
women with made up eyes
and guys who walk around the mall
Angels waiting for the fall

I’ve already fallen
I can’t be saved
both all innocence
and none at all
trusting and not
confident and scared
passion filled and passion less
Too complex for even me

It’s why I am one
me alone
I am too many, too different, too strange
for another to want to take
a chance
And it’s okay
most of the time
except when my lonely soul
what no one wishes to


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I Wish

That I could be wild
That I could be free
That I might drink deep of life
That I could live for then
That I could live for now
That I could live for always and forever
That I could die
That I did not worry
That I could care
That I could love
That I could rely on them
That I could rely only on me
That I could be
That I could live
That I could gain
That I could lose
That I could have
That I could keep
That I could fly on fantasy
That I might be grounded
That I was visible
That I could not be seen
That I was nowhere
That I was everywhere
That I could die
That I could live
That I could be
That I was me.

I wish…

(I wrote this maybe in 1997 or 1998.)

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One Chance

After only one chance
they say you have failed,
when you know there are more chances to come.
After only one chance
they say to get out
instead of cheering you on.
They don’t understand the feelings inside
and the way you have to hang on.
And you know if you try,
you can prove it too
all you need is more time.
But they throw you out
and give some excuse
for not letting you succeed
And you know all the time
they are guilty of
giving you only
one chance.

(fall 1993; I suspect this was written after failing my first biology test. I later passed the class, but it was a shocking time)

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National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month, and, in honor, I’ve decided to post a poem a day for the month.  I’ve been writing poetry since I was a wee tyke, so I’ll have enough for each day and more.  I won’t post the in order of being written, but I am going to start with my earliest known poem.


Also, since I didn’t get around to it yesterday, today I’ll do two.


According by the note my mother wrote on this poem, I wrote it in January of 1986.  I would have been six.



Let bubbles go free.

They are sweet.  They

glide in the sky.

They look like rainbows.

And they are fun to blow.



Monday mornings I want

to stay in bed as long as I can

buried beneath the warm blankets

ignoring my alarm.

Somehow, though, as I stand

waiting for my water to boil

I begin to feel a glimmer of excitement

as I think of all the things

I might accomplish this week

only to have it killed in class by


February 22, 1999

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