On Writing... (Fibonacci Exercise)

Anywhere really.
Where you begin,
is irrelevant, as long as
you begin. Long hand, short hand, typing hand
whatever tool you choose. long as you get those words down on paper….
The paper can be a screen, it can be a bar napkin for all I care: just write.
I don’t know how to be clearer, any more direct than to tell you what I’m saying right now, just write.
It sounds hard but if it’s something you are passionate about, a topic that gets a hold of you, and under your skin, the words will just flow like a butterfly in your vein.
The biggest challenge for writers is keeping the faith. There are so many people out there, hustling, self-publishing, making money from formulaic plots to plagiarizing one-hit wonders. Keep your eye on the prize: the satisfaction that you get from the discipline of putting pen to paper, fingertips to keys. It’s all about the writing, man.
Hey now, it’s easy to give up the fight before you’ve even prepared for battle, but we’re talking about your livelihood, the essence of you. Certainly that’s worth the effort, the time, isn’t it?
Go on, grab your laptop, iPod, ear buds, whatever. Don’t forget some pen and paper, for mindmapping a storyline or two.
Settle in, get yourself comfortable, and just start writing. Everything else will flow.
Don’t be discouraged, forge ahead type it out.
You won’t have any regrets.
Keep your focus,
on writing...


Songbirds Calling

There are birds, everywhere.
And not just any birds but beautifully colored songbirds.
I don’t remember there ever being more than
a blue jay or a cardinal perched on those clotheslines.

This morning there was a sparrow, and tonight,
dare I say a mockingbird.
Flying toward the telephone wires
from a hidden place in the overgrown bush in the yard.  

It’s not quite there silhouette
almost magical in the twilight, nearing dusk.

They are whispering languages in white noise
blocking out the honks of the passing cars,
ambient sounds of commuters arriving home,
the ice cream truck with its unfamiliar grinding tune.  

Singing in time with the crickets,
with hollow chirps and airy chimes
that call to mind a country landscape:
Weeping willow trees, their branches grazing the earth
rose petals barely awake reaching in the summer sky
a swirl of lightning bugs playing hide and seek.

All for an apiary serenade.  


Life's Siren

Life is capricious
moving with the grace and speed of a ballerina.

Each moment is a choreographed pirouette,
some planned by us, some by the universe.

The timing of life is another thing all together,
it has no boundaries, takes no requests, it just unfurls:

A sail pulled apart by human hands, billowed out by a gale force of wind;
taking shape with every passing turn.

"Full speed ahead" it seems to call out:
If you listen closely you can hear its echo.



Excerpt from Before & After : A Character Study

Disclaimer: The below is a work of fiction, a character profile in-progress. 

Is it possible to go insane from thinking about someone whom you haven’t seen in a year? Is it possible to have dormant feelings about someone without even realizing that you do? I feel like a delusional teenager suffering from an infliction of infatuation. As I remember the time we spent together I could kick myself in the head for not being more brave and jumping with both feet into the abyss of a potential romance. I would be a different altogether person by now, as I’m sure would he. And hell I could even have a dog.

So instead of doing something I am lost in a sea of emotional variables, biding my time until I hear from him…torture on email, his cell phone missing from my mind, with 13 days to go until we are physically standing side by side, across from one another.

He is obviously annoyed with me, not so annoyed to not want to clear the air over dinner. But still. I hurt him, touched a nerve with unfortunate comments and outright sarcasm. I am unused to people taking everything I say to heart.  Those words, spoken without much thought, for consequences unforeseen, etching out the bare bones of an emotion.

He is in a bad place, not texting me his arrival at a second party; not willing to share his phone # (one that I should already have ). Lying about his health, not forthcoming with any personal information really. I wonder why he has not friend'd the others.  It’s an interesting notion…and as much as I want to know that side of things at this moment I don’t want to know at all ….

I just want to kiss him I want to feel all 6’3” of him flush against my body. I want to lean into him our tongues entwined. I want to wrap my fingertips around the back of his neck, thumbs grazing the short hairs of a crew cut. Ideally his response would be mutual but I could live with one taste, knowing that it wasn’t meant for anything else than a conversation over dinner. In my heart, or is it in my groin, I want to fuck him, ride him like bull. I want to feel and know the essence of what he is, with not a care for anyone else in my thoughts, just him.

I want to caress his face and feel the stubble against my cheek.  Whisper air into his neighboring ear. I want to straddle him and rub my hands over his chest and back, kneading my fingers into his taut skin…work out the tension of his day as a trader and mine from the sea. I want him to kiss me unexpectedly where my heart is racing. I want his hand to graze my skin, brush up against my breast. I want to feel wet enough, that I might burst save for the Kegel exercises that might calm my hormones down.

I want to read a book with my back nestled against his chest. I want to grab his thigh in the middle of a horror movie while closing my eyes in fright and I want him to laugh, reaching for my hand. I want to rub his cock in a dark movie, licking his fingers, sitting side by side, only able to make it through with the knowledge of what will come when we leave. I want to awaken my sexuality and his in a way that we never knew could be. I want. I want. I want.

I want to fall in love, and I know that when I do I’ll fall harder than I’ve ever done before. And I’ll cherish whatever time I get without expectations or fear of what I might not have one day. 

I want us to argue over preferences and learn to tolerate each others nuances. I want each of us to connect, to text one another when we’re away, to remember who has our heart when the other is not near. I want to meet his dogs and I want them to fall in love with me first, to bridge the gap of time and space that is there of my own doing.


Stop and smell the mistletoe…

Stop and smell the mistletoe…
A lot can happen in a year, 
and this one is no different.

Moving at the speed of light, 
in the midst of a mid-decade spin  
a year’s worth of resolutions
no doubt forgotten by February

I wish for a year of dream fulfillment
and so far there have been mini wins of delight
one being less snow than anyone had interest in shoveling

Take stock and measure your lives
Celebrate life and all that is worth living
Love your family unconditionally 
And hold them close to your hearts.

 (found words in an old notebook, 6.26.12)

he is the ocean

he led me through the projects circa 1960.
low hi-rises with a view of the bleak, sunless sky.
the layout reminded me of Queens,
a road, a street, a boulevard
all numbered the same.

i had an address in my pocket,
and asked someone for directions.
Kios and his friend offered assistance,
any other time I would have said no.

flashback to the subway ride:
red and grey brick buildings,
blurry white letters on a sign.

we turn a corner, Kios turns to me.
Deep blue eyes, serious, honest.
He'll take you the rest of the way.
Then he is gone, like a ghost.

the wind and the surf stir my senses
there, a window.
Is that the ocean?
He holds out his arm,
and leads me through.


Dreamscape: fire

I dreamt of fire.
Silent movie screams,
the hissing of flames,
in a two room house.

I wasn't alone.
There were children, 2 maybe three.
Arms wrapped around for protection,
numb to everything but the fear.

White fire, red sparks.
The flames seemed almost human,
childlike in play.

There was a wall between us.
Smoke seeping in like ether.
We huddled in the quiet, patient and anxious.
A startling bell breaks through the barriers between here and there
And like an explosion I am awake,
gasping for breath.



This is me, who are you

I don't claim to be super woman
Mother of all, refuser to none
I am just me,
Dreamer of dreams,
Sorceress of light.
I wear my intelligence
cloaked in street smart savvy.

Boastfulness is unbecoming,
I claim nothing more than who I am--
perhaps that has hurt me.
I have no regrets, only faith.
In others, to see beyond the smoke and mirrors
In myself, to pursue my passions
For both of us to be strong
To carry on in the face of diversity.

With the toolbelt God has gifted
However things change as I change,
phenomenal in my own right.



miracle drive

We parted just before nine, each of us turning at the road closest to where we  parked. I walked on Butler Street, toward Court Street and my car—cocking my head. It wasn’t there. And I nearly had a heart attack thinking it had been stolen when I realized I was on the wrong street. 

Earlier in the evening, I felt the stirring of a migraine and popped an Aleve hoping it would alleviate and diffuse the pain. It never fails really, the one time I think I've made it through a good season, I fail to take my pills with me. And in a moment of misjudgment and pause over one of the locally sourced beverages at 61 Local--an Allagash White, my mind took a turn onto the dark side. Of course it didn't help that I stopped for groceries on the way home, for staples like paper towels and turkey for Tigger.  

 On the highway I drove the speed limit, and nearby cars opted to go around me, changing lanes. It seemed odd but nothing out of sorts. I drove over a metal plate and the crunch of the tire on steel startled me. I made it home at 9.38 – it felt as if the clock was moving backwards. And as I pulled into the driveway, without the reflection of my headlights on the garage I realized I had never turned them on!  I locked the car, gathered the groceries and started for the house, when something made me look at the car. The front passenger windows were rolled open. After all that I'd say Mom was an angel in wait tonight. 

I made it inside, feeding the cat, stowing my purchases, glancing through my DVR’d season finale of fairly legal and the beginnings of season 1 of downton abbey streamed from Netflix to the Apple TV (still trying to adopt to this newfangled technology and the erratic behavior of my Wifi). The exhaustion is creeping, the ache of the migraine behind my right eye, the uncomfortable acid in my stomach, the sleepy quality of a Zen masterpiece.  Tigger spoons to my right, and the REM beckons from the bedroom…