Posts tagged ‘writing’

January 7, 2016

Missing and Reminiscing

*sigh* I miss this. This place, I mean. I miss the poems… reading and writing here. I’ve been writing… Just not here…and not really for me.  Life has been… relentless…  as usual. Not all bad. There’s plenty of good mixed in.  So, I’m not complaining. Well… maybe a little… but that’s not why I’m here.

I am just missing this place again… And this part of me that goes with it. I guess it has been put on the back-burner once again.  Par for the course. I go in spurts, as usual,  and lately I haven’t been reading any poetry, let alone writing any.  Shame. 

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April 1, 2014

Shadow Talk

I’m not ready
to talk about you just yet
or the fact that your gone
but not really gone.

I can’t summon words,
dark or remorseful enough,
that express this, or allow
undeserved escape

from questions suppressed
in fear of answers that may be
too difficult to face.
Like fabled sea monsters
that might lurk below
in shadows, they grow.

~ smj

Collective Soul – In Between

March 23, 2014

Back in Season

Now you see me
Now you don’t
Today I’m writing
Tomorrow I won’t

But, sooner or later
I’ll come crawling back
Not a threat or a promise
Just a hard fact

Same old story
Same old song
Not a question of “if”
But rather, “how long?”

No real rhyme
No known reasons
To explain why I write
As if I’m a season

~ smj

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November 20, 2013

Poetic Destiny

I am writing a poem. Not this one.
No, it is much better than this one.

It came to me like an epiphany,
all insistent on being realized.

It begged to be recorded, manifested,
like Pinocchio, it longed to be real.

Words sprang into lines, sprawling out
everywhere. Making themselves right

at home. Using me, flowing through me
until they stopped. Leaving me

to wonder, just where did they think
they were going? Leaving me

holding the bag of unfortunate,
unfinished, poetic destiny.

How fitting.

~ smj

Undone, by Haley Reinhart

February 26, 2013

Well-traveled Poets

If only I could travel the world,
like so many of the great poets do,
maybe then I’d have something
worth writing, and reading. But then,

I’ve been to hell and back
a couple different times.
You would think that should count
for something, no? Yes, and

on a good day, I managed
to abandon all sanity, journeyed
all the way to crazy, and escaped
with barely a scratch. Even now,

I can look up on any night, into the eyes
of our constellations, while inhaling
the same black sky that you,
and ancient Romans, breathe.  So please,

don’t be surprised, at least no more than I,
should you look into your soul
and somehow find me there –  smiling,
beside some well-traveled poets.

~ smj

Every Day is a Winding Road, by Sheryl Crow