Tag Archives: Writing

Weapons of Mass Distraction

Shiny object, laundry pile, random pic to make her smile. Running squirrel or wayward breeze, playin’ puppy, ruffled trees. Dirty dishes, diapers, kids; Tupperware…can’t find the lids. Kitten purr and yummy snacks, legos loose in stacks and stacks. Online news … Continue reading

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An Unsuitable Sky for Anger

  It’s indigo deep with crimson edged promise, dusked edges steeped in longing, belonging to no distant star. I ask questions of wayward clouds; they know essential {breathing} things but do not share. I stare at a fat moon rising, … Continue reading

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{of Wrinkles}

.. (Never forget): Crinkle paper smile skin (just right,) and wisdom laughter love tuck right in. .. Awesome photo and fun prompt from over at Toads.   

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The Year of Writing Dangerously

Give her an audacious heart. A quiet spot for noisy bones. A stone to throw softly or un ………-throw. Give her the sting of her own salt, a stum -bled place to start, …a slant of sun a nook of … Continue reading

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joy jalopy

… climb aboard and sing yourself sane, feel the wind in your hair and stare at the scattered spaces of the sky. the day is new and these yellow lines just might help you find your smile.   … Written … Continue reading

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Writ, You All

.. Summoned we are, summed up in syllables and symbols of our various selves. We stock our shelves with coffee, tea, words. We rise early, stay up late, breathe ink into the in betweens. We find the notion of being … Continue reading

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Unpacking Childhood

..  I would dabble with dolls, sure. Dress them in the morning as if I had woken my child and gotten her ready for the day. Feed them breakfast and put them down for their nap, and then prompt -ly … Continue reading

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paper dreams

Photo: Daniel Murtagh . if you lie on just the right side, squinch your eyes and wish, some times the words will come to slip between these white sheets.   . prompted by mag#291.       

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Forget Why We Write

;; Forget that each bright morning dawns in indigo ink and bids us spill our former selves, offers a fresh petaled page for the (loves me, loves me not) aching. Forget that words are keys and bandages and nails, songs … Continue reading

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First, Communion

.. Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Here is the girl, haunted and wondering why she is ………………………………here. Here is the baptism by trial rain fire. Here is the desire to grow beyond these fledgling wings. Here is … Continue reading

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