Amherst Writing Workshop 4

Originally posted on my old blog on May 29, 201

I have this blind spot

I have this blind spot. It has to do with my writing. It seems I can help others with their writing more than I can help myself with mine. I see perfect images of my potential stories, yet when everything is written, there are gaps. The words are always on the periphery.

Never in focus.

Like a dream you remember having, but can’t remember anything else about.

This blind spot taunts me, reminds me of pieces unfinished, of worlds begging to be created yet left on an empty page with ink trapped in a pen. I struggle to see them. The problems, the images, not realized. I turn in circles making myself dizzy to see – to illuminate the ideas. Yet, the spot is adept at staying just over my left shoulder; always hidden. Perpetually out of sight.

I chase it down dark hallways and alleys trying to run through to see what is on the other side. I only find mist and regret.

The words don’t come.

The images stay dark.

And I stay blind.


Amherst Writing Workshop 3

Originally posted on my old writing blog on June 5, 2019

For a short time, you were a stranger

For a short time, you were a stranger. Squishy face, blue eyes, pink lips. Barely able to fit into a shoe box. You looked so small in the hospital bassinet. Blankets covered in little footprints wrapped around and around you. I held you in my arms and I marveled at how you are a part of me, yet very separate from me. Your father’s nose, my cheeks. You will become my world and me, yours.

I wonder if I will do better than those before me.

Fourteen years will pass and once again you will be a stranger. The little boy that had to sleep in my bed is gone. Now you like music I have never heard of. You dream of building habitats on the moon. You have a whole life that, once was only me, but now I only play a small part; relegated to personal grocery shopper, chef, and chauffeur.

I have to wonder, am I a stranger to you?


Writing Workshop 1

Originally posted on an old blog on July 10, 2019

This was written in a workshop and the prompt was the first line from Rudy Francisco’s poem “Petal” from his book Helium


The tongue has a jagged beauty

Some of the words you say are beautiful enough enough for the flower garden, bright and happy in the sun. Some of your words are like shattered glass that I have to tip toe around. I miss the days of dandelion words shining yellow in dark days when all is thought to be lost. You would bring me so many yellow flowers they would burst like fireworks from your pockets, the words you spoke were unconditional and reverent. Small words, child words full of love and hope that you now you wield like a broken bottle in a bar fight. Not always because of me, but always directed at me. I am no longer the sun around which your little planet revolved but the annoyance. The cop, the judge, the one who restrains, the one who controls. You don’t see my pain as you cut me. I try to hide it when I can. You are learning life. You know I will never leave. You don’t know that I understand. I have been there. I have hurt with my words. It is my penance to accept the scars you give me as punishment for the scars I have given. You don’t know what one day you will have scars to match mine. I hope you accept them with grace. I hope you are patient as they are created. I hope you will be able to see the beauty in them as I have.


Amherst Writing Workshop 1

From the Amherst Writing Workshop I participated in in 2019. Originally published on my old blog on July 3, 2019.

What matters, then…

What matters, then

is the words on the paper.

The ink from the pen.

The white spaces between the dark lines.

What matters is the meaning.

The good. The bad.

The unconsciousness calling out to be heard.

What matters, then is the sound

of your own voice

reading the words inside your head.

The ambiguity of the ideas

that spring forth.

What matters then, is the idea.

The thought.

The feeling.

The words imbued in yourself.

In your knowing of life

and God and the Universe.

You move through the spaces

of the world like words

on a page

Ink in the pen

flowing out of the tip to mark

the worldpage and let it know

you were here.

Your breath stirs the winds of change

when you speak of injustice, of hope, of fear

or love

Your feet move like planets

around a sun, a path that consists of

light and dark

hope and heartbreak

Hate and regret

Like a fish out of water

you gasp for air

for validation

for company to ease the loneliness

What matters, then is that

are not alone

Your loneliness is of your own making

You can validate yourself

No one can do that for you

Just breathe

What matters, then is that heartbreak

is just as important as hope

Hate is just as important as love

injustice is as important as justice

There can be no light without dark

What matters, then is everything.