It looked firm as I stepped forward Believing then in solid ground It gave away and pulled me in Yielding with a sucking sound Struggle only pulls me deeper Suffocation in the wings Standing frozen cannot save me Without aid from other things No one seems to see or hear me As I draw closer to death Sinking slowly ever deeper Anticipating my last breath.
I sat to write from deep inside To plumb the depths down in my mind To analyze what festers there Then sort it out and solace find But looking in and peering 'round Find jumbled masses in a rage Each voice insisting it's the one Demanding freedom from this cage Retreat with haste and turn the key No wiser than I was before Close me up with bolt and lock Scared to e're reopen that door
Drive to be productive, Time to be creative, Focus to be innovative. Success that pushes forward, Progressing toward complete, Till the vision is realized. And now it stands finished, But no one but me cares to see - My voice doesn't matter here. Creation stalls out cold, Wasted work mocks new hope, And shouts it's nothing new.
(2018) I just received my first rejection letter from a queried literary agent. Milestone achieved. Now, the wait to see if there are any who think my attempt at a novel could possibly be profitable.
(January 2019): Make that three, and the time has elapsed where I’m extremely unlikely to hear back from any of the others. Looks like a failed attempt all around. I guess I just overestimated my ability.
(October 2019): I decided to submit to a new list of potential agents. Same result as before. A few summary rejections. The rest was silence. I’m giving up on … Read the rest
I have been to the mountain And seen through the crystalline air The valley below shrouded in fog And the goal that lies just beyond I have wandered the paths of the valley Groping through gray of the mists Feeling for wayposts and markers Hoping to progess without knowing how I can stand above and know the way Or go below and press the path But never both.
About a year ago, I started writing a story after a strong impression. It wasn’t a particularly happy story – it was a story that was initially meant to condemn the blood-lust and military adventurism that has characterized American politics for the last 80ish years. As I put the pieces together, it gelled around a protagonist who experienced some of the darkest aspects of conflict. I found writing it to be very difficult. However, I kept writing it as a means of sharing emotions and difficulties I couldn’t share otherwise. It was a sensationalized and amplified retelling of stuff I … Read the rest
I can't give reason It doesn't matter though Jittery hands and pounding heart I'm tight from head to toe
Purposeless motion is chaos That ends right where it began Wasting both time and effort When expended without any plan Planning gives sense of direction Providing a goal to achieve Setting a clear objective And something in which to believe But plans have a transient nature That shift with the altering tides Changing the traveled direction Till my plans and future collide And the end point I had longed for Falls victim to what must be So sadly I concede defeat And forcefully subjugate me
I knew it all when I was eighteen At thirty I had some doubts Now middle-aged with teenage kids The doubts are all that remain
Clear and open my mind I'm told
But nature abhors a vacuum
It refills faster than I can empty
Flitting from thought to thought
As I banish them one by one
Grab a meditative thought
A gurgling stream to fill the void
But it won't remain without effort
So I fill in the cracks and crevices
With thoughts that defeat the purpose
Meditation is deliberate boredom
I don't know how to do that...
I seemingly never really can
Shut my mind to constant work
Without falling asleep