Poet. Poem. Poetry. Prose.

I didn’t realize this, but April is National Poetry Month.

Poetry: the topic is not so much as important, as the freedom to bend and shape it.

For me, writing poetry is an outlet. I go there when I cannot sleep, when my soul is restless and weary, reverent and grateful, or simply inspired to say something that refuses to reveal itself within conventional understanding.

Unlike writing commercial fiction, poetry affords liberties and gratuitous indulgences, allowing the writer to spread those wings hidden beneath the plumage of her everyday attire. The restrictions and confinements are only those the author arbitrates. And in my poetry — whether I be reading or writing it — there no restrictions. All is fair, just so long as what is written is done so with integrity and behooves the reader/writer, alike.

With that said, and lest I shock a few of you, I should tell you that the writing you’ll find below isn’t the norm; though I am the woman who sing praises to the One who loves me Divinely, equally, I am the woman who writes of the one she calls husband. Passion takes many forms; it is impartial, favoring neither the provocateur, nor the christian. I believe there is a misconception that passion cannot share a bed with morality. It can, and I do. There is lust and there is love, and passion fuels them both. I, however, choose to funnel mine through love.

This poem was written for a contest judged by the Poet Laureate himself, Billy Collins. The only precept was that it must start with the sentence “I want to play in a band.”

It received the honor of third place, and I am very proud to share it with you.

Have a wonderful day, everyone.

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Tutorial Tuesday! Rustic Centerpiece

For Christmas last year, I wanted to give my mother-in-law something she would really love. (I’m weird about gifts, and am unable to buy things just for the sake of having a present to give.) It has to fit, you know? A well thought out gift is very much like offering someone a piece of their reflection; they see all the best parts of themselves in it, without all the blemishes and flaws normally so apparent.

Before I go into the tutorial, a bit of background. I believe I have yet to mention our living situation, yes? Well, I used to think of it as unique, but more and more it seems to become quotidian with each and every passing month our economy stays rooted in debt. My husband and I — for the time being — are living with his mother. For years we paid exorbitant rent prices, and in return had a lovely space with which to entertain. Our town-home was 1400 sq. ft. and stunning, let me tell you! We poured much time and energy into painting and decorating, and enjoyed every minute of it. However . . .  it also cost over $2,000 a month. Yowsa! When I stopped working as a nanny, and decided to take this Providential moment in my life — however long it may last — to finish my first novel, we also decided that we would give up a portion of our autonomy in exchange for some much needed financial relief. Michael’s mother, Susan, graciously accepted us into her home. Susan is incredible. I love my my mother. I also love my father and step-mother; however, I know that we couldn’t live with either of them — mostly because of me. I intuit and perceive, and being the over-sensitive Mollusk Girl I am, would be worrying about every microscopic detail, fretting about becoming a bother and burden, and so on and so forth. Susan is calm. Susan is easy-going. Susan is Michael’s mom. I need these blue personalities around my red one, or else . . . I will absolutely go insane.

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