Showing posts from April, 2018

Blurring the Lines: Poetry and Prose

Recently I've been writing poetry.

A shock, I know. You never would have guessed, right? It's not like I've put up three poems since restarting this blog and declared my absolute and adoring love for National Poetry Month.

Assuming I've been writing poetry would be preposterous. Mind readers, I salute you.

In all honesty, I never used to write poetry. And if you do happen to stumble across a poem from my childhood, there is a 99.999% chance I will shriek and cry and maybe throw it into the nearest ocean because I hate it and just thinking about it makes me want to crawl under a table.

I stand the other .0007% for nostalgia's sake and .0003% because I maybe possibly actually stumbled across something good (???)

But the interesting thing I've noticed recently is that even when I was writing novels, I was never that far off from poetry before.

Cue research because I'm a nerd.

In professional terminology, my style of writing falls under the label of "lyri…

Weather Report


Time is like a cat
Bad tempered
Moody like the swing of the summer wind
It rips and tears and weeps and shelters
And I soar on its drifts
Up drafts
Down drafts
As I draft
Poetry inspired by the howling gales

The muse is also like a cat
It loves to be stroked and petted
Rubbed behind the ears
But whether or not
It decides you are worthy
To touch its head
Run your fingers across its fur
Whether it grants you
A sandpaper lick on your fingers
Or curls its tail around your wrist
Or, heaven bless you, purrs
Is the challenge

And a story is like a kitten
Mewing for attention
Too small
Wobbling on tiny paws
Not yet having mastered the grace of the Tail
Too small to fend for itself
So you do
You feed it and pet it and care for it
And it eats and purrs
And suddenly
There is a Cat where before you had a Kitten
And it looks at you with soulful eyes
Flicks its tail
Maybe leaves the room when you enter
Maybe stays
And that's the beautiful thing
If it leaves, it will come back
If i…

7:24 a.m.

(It's a poetry kind of day, so here's one I wrote a couple months ago)

7:24 a.m.

The grass is dead

Frozen solid

It is hard and brittle like shale

Cracking beneath my feet

Lumps and dips and valleys

petrified under me

I am alive

But even my breath turns granite grey

Heavy in the marble air

And I think


The whole world

By unanimous decision

Is stone today

And I overslept


Missed the memo

Cosmic sticky note

etched in the corner of my eye

A Reminder

That Today

We are Collectively Asleep

But the Words bubble up inside of me

big words

With the space of galaxies between them

Like continents

Each word


An island

I'm tapped into the spring of the universe

Drawing from the wealth of our

million words unsaid


Stone is dead

I hear

I see

I breathe

I feel

I am

too much to be stone

So on I walk

The only living thing in a mausoleum

With a burning heart

To stave off the welcoming void


It's been a long two years.

I stare at the screen, and my eyes are full of empty space, and my ears are ringing with the stillness of the words I want to say.



It's me.

I know it's been a long time.

I don't even know how to encapsulate all that the past two years have been. They've been rough. They've been bad.

But they've been so important. And that's really good.

And to squeeze all that into a page... yikes.

In June of 2016 I moved over to wordpress. I had a blog called One Sparrow's Song.

I put up 15 posts.

I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know what I wanted to do.

I had fought the battle of chronic Lyme, and it had destroyed me. This was my attempt to rebuild.

I wasn't ready yet, and quickly that blog died.

2016 was a big year. I was sick, really sick. I started and ended my first relationship. I almost failed my first classes. I wrote. I didn't write. I tried to do too much, and didn't do any of it wel…