Write it, Sugar

A few years ago, maybe four now, I took a class to teach teachers how to teach writing. As a first grade teacher I understood the importance of writing not only for learning how to read but also for learning how to think.u42w1108r_242

For two weeks we studied age appropriate writing research in the morning. Then, all afternoon we were given the task to be writers ourselves. At the end we produced four different genre pieces, an author’s discussion on each piece, and a final project for presentation. I discovered I love to write.

I now organize two writing groups. One is for adults. The other is for students in my school. Both are run the same way. We come to write from a prompt and share. It is not a traditional writer’s workshop where we critique work in progress. It is some of the most powerful writing I’ve seen and done. I’ve completed two National Novel Writing Months and have two novels ready for rewrites and editing. I learned that to fall in love with writing, you must write. Write what you like and don’t be afraid to share with others of like mind.

But I know I need more. I need to grow.

I am a novice. I am not interested in finding a university writing program or another degree. I just enjoy writing.  I’ve had no real, gritty writing training in my life. I want to grow as a writer. I wasn’t sure what I should do.

Then I found Tweetspeak Poetry, Word Candy, the 100 Sweet Bloggers project, and the Poetry Workshop 2013. I read a new poem every day from Every Day Poems . I am inspired by Word Candy quotes and send them to friends. But the most important step I’ve taken is to join Tweetspeak’s Poetry Workshop 2013 with Anne Doe Overstreet.

I cannot begin to thank Tweetspeak, Anne, and my fellow students for this journey. We are only two weeks in and I feel like a freshman in college. I am learning. I am a bit scared. But I know I am going to grow. And that is what it is all about.


So there is no poem this month to go with the  100 Sweet Bloggers Project. I am writing like crazy, but nothing is ready. I am sending this Word Candy as inspiration to all my writing friends out there.

Write because you love to write. Write what you want to write because you love it. But don’t forget to sprinkle a little fertilizer on it to keep your blooms bright and luscious.

You can visit my other entries for the 100 Sweet Bloggers Project here:

February: Come With Me
January: New Year
December: Hobgoblin Nocturnes
November: The Science of Color

Come With Me

He said5152d94bec8d839055a62a5291da2e20
come with me
and I did

Stepping into white slippers
flat, satin
giving him my hand to hold
not grip or pull
but hold

We’ve danced a long journey
towards the stars
under the smile of the moon
the breath of the planets
warming our hands
clasped together
comfortable as one

The familiarity of
my fingers wrapped in his
we move
our heartbeats
the music of life
resting for a moment
here or there
one taking the lead
and the other

And as the years greet us
with challenge or a spark
a loss or gain
we reach together
to bravely touch
the gift given

For we are one
one heart
one soul entwined
a smile
a sigh
we touch Infinity

Author’s Note:
Happy’s Valentine’s Day.8116766755_b17425eb96
It’s a love poem for this month’s entry for the 100 Sweet Blogger’s project on Tweetspeak Poetry and WordCandy.
Send some sweetness of your own this month to someone you love. Just go to WordCandy. It’s easy as pie.

You can visit my other entries for the project here:
For January: New Year
For December: Hobgoblin Nocturnes
For November: The Science of Color

New Year

The door opens to 219832025533039706_nMfJ4Nmi_c
the New Year
what will meet
us there
has never been

things that have
never been
like lots
prepared for auction
newly purposed
for something new

things that have
never been
to fill our hearts
our souls with
lustful hopes

those things
that have
never been
for me
for you


100 Sweet BloggersFeatured Blogger Grey

This is my third entry for the 100 Sweet Bloggers Project at Tweetspeak Poetry.

This month I not only used a beautiful quote from Rilke with a favorite Word Candy wrapping, but I dove into L. L. Barkat’s new book, Inspired 2012, 8 Ways to Write Poetry You Can Love.

You can catch my other two entries on my blog:31z-i7EMNQL._SL160_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-dp,TopRight,12,-18_SH30_OU01_AA160_

Hobgoblin Nocturnes posted December 1

The Science of Color posted November 1, 2012

Hobgoblin Nocturnes

upside down
hobgoblin nocturnes gambol219832025532853249_05DdQ9Cn_b
until the dream is righted

turning it over and over
in hand over again
rough edges are hewn to softness

but not without sacrifice

courage runs its delicate finger
across the crimson stain
vestige of the promise



100 Sweet Bloggers at Tweatspeak Poetry and WordCandy.me

Finding inspiration for a poem can happen in the most interesting places. This poem’s inspiration came from the above WordCandy photo and quote.

Featured Blogger GreyI am one of the featured Sweet Bloggers at Tweetspeak Poetry. You can make your own inspiration at WordCandy.me and even send some to a friend. If you would like to see some ready made Word Candy, visit Every Day Poems on Pinterest.

The Butcher

The princess slumped in a purple puff
her finest dress now wrinkled

She pouted then grinned
and told those who’d listen

“The swan will be arriving soon!”
She wished for the rabbit

the grey-brown one with fur
to greet everyone in the watery deep

mourning room but he couldn’t that day
could not move by himself

so it fell to the butcher
who was honored to play with

the princess her alligator prize
for it no longer mattered

neither swan nor brown-grey
could stay when the place was arranged

after gloves had been donned
clapping muffled the cries

the now crumpled princess
on a service of silver

was set right before their eyes

Author’s Note:

Some days are just like this.

Some days greet you with a snicker you would rather not pursue the reason for its presence. When that happens I know I should just get right back into bed.

Today Tweetspeak Poetry came to my rescue and gave me a reason to continue on. Even though I have laundry to do. Even though I must still write approximately 2500 words of my NaNoWriMo novel to keep ahead of this busy week. Even though it is a beautiful Sunday in Colorado and my dog, Bremen, wants a walk.  The nasty grin greeted me this morning. I was able to shake it off until noontime. Thank goodness for Tweetspeak. Their poetry theme this month is surrealism.

I have been collecting their surrealistic images all month on Pinterest at Everyday Poems, but have not had time to write.Today was the day and the princess’s story was told.

Now back to the laundry. And NaNoWriMo. And possibly, the Broncos, but maybe not.




These are photos that I used as prompts for the poem. Click on each and it will lead you to one of the Tweetspeak or Everyday Poem sites where I discovered them.

Parallel Lines

Photo from Every Day Poems at TweetSpeak Poetry

it’s just the memory

the power of pain
traveling down the track

tourists and gift shops
walls and checkpoints

daughters and guns
there is light

two parallel lines
not quite parallel

a slight angle inwards
coming together

not fear and retaliation
but dialogue slightly inward

a beginning
finding the light

just a slight angle inwards
an encounter pulling away

from the memory
the power of pain


Today is Sunday. I finished my daily count of 2000 words for my current NaNoWriMo novel, The Lion Tamer.

I am enjoying the leftover good vibes from last night’s mass celebrating All Saint’s Day and Seinheim at the Church of the Holy Family.

And I’m wallowing in my daily addiction of Facebook cruising.

A photo from Tweetspeak Poetry caught my eye. It drew me back to a FB post I read a few minutes earlier.

Nadia Bolz-Weber, a local Lutheran minister, is visiting the Holy Land and I am enjoying the updates of her travels on her FB page. I admire those who are fearless and go where I would never dare and do things I don’t think I would even entertain the idea of doing.

Her piece touched me today. And when the haunting photo on Tweetspeak scrolled into my view, I knew I needed to use some of Reverend Bolz-Weber’s words to build a found poem.

So many of our problems today seem to come from riding the rails on parallel tracks and not noticing that we are going to the same place. Especially with the political season in full swing, we always seem to see the other guy as the enemy. We see those at work who don’t agree with us as the enemy. We see the car cutting us off in traffic as the enemy.

But we really are going to the same place.

We are here together on this earth as residents. All of us.

I wonder, if we would just angle ourselves in, just a touch, so those parallel lines come together, as those who founded the Palestinian Israeli Bereaved Families for Peace that the Reverend encountered in her travels, maybe peace could be a real possibility. Maybe we could see through the eyes of those struggling what it is really like, what the situation really is.

Maybe we would find the light to light our way.

Maybe. Just maybe.

The Science of Color

law demands that opposites glow
the science of color
place yellow next to blue
tufted fields bending under the sky
but we don’t start there
we can’t begin with the glow

slowing down to begin
strikes and strokes
pencil adapting harsh lines
under candle light
where muddied hands
lift potatoes and tea to cracked lips

you are always dusty
you exaggerate the law
with extreme clarity
drawing me according to
your own principles
adapting the masters’ strokes
strokes of thick paint
paint laid on paper
defying the law
painting me into eternity

it is not impulse
the almond branch
blossoming in a glass of water
your grey hooded head
pressed close almost
touching the canvas
mouths murmuring in reverence
I cannot be
without something greater
than myself

Where do the words come from?

I ask myself this.

I understand that when I begin to write poetry, I begin in silence. I may have words, quotes, or over-heard conversations randomly scribbled in front of me, this time a photo with a quote from WordCandy.

I may have an event in mind, this time a visit to the Denver Art Museum‘s exhibit Becoming Van Gogh with words from the artist.

With this help, silence leads me to images that begin to flow like water in my head. Soon the images connect the words and the words become a found poem.

But it is silence that draws me in.

Today is my first post as a part of TweetSpeak‘s Sweet Bloggers Project. I am using their new app, WordCandy, for inspiration. Please stop by WordCandy and pick some up for yourself or a friend. I might even be sending you something sweet.

For the next six months I will be posting a poem once a month that is inspired by some WordCandy. So please let me know what you think and certainly come back. I usually post a piece once a week or so, but NaNoWriMo starts today, too. Who knows what will show up here?


he made a pair of shoes like Dorothy’s
to lead you home when you are through

grey, like a man’s with bright red trim
on the left lights compass the beat

the right side sports three blinking eyes
a pledge to return one safely

ahead of the night’s bone chilling
in tune with Dorothy’s lament

I prefer my crimson red sway
bold radiance lighting my path

no stepping lightly I have little fear
of centaurs and monstrosity

my crimson reds boldly present
me to the dance no graves to smite

no need for guided travel
one perfect route is not my way

my red slippers do not blush
but blaze a course to kismet

Author’s Note

I always find it interesting how stories collide in my life.

Yesterday, as I was driving home from school, Judy Garland crooned one of my favorite songs as I was listening to the news on NPR. It seems that a British artist, Dominic Wilcox, has created a new type of ruby slippers, ones that will actually get you home. Amazing and creative technology mixed with art, you have to smile.

Arriving home with little more than an hour before my book club meeting, I decided to visit TweetSpeak Poetry.  The beginning of the school year is very busy and doesn’t allow me the luxury of my daily visit and writing challenge.  I so look forward to the Tweetspeak muses. They inspire me. I miss them.

A lovely image by Nicola Slattery and poem by Maureen Dollas greeted me at Image-ine: Red Shoes.  A Picasso-esque figure  sits dreaming over a pair of red shoes. The portrait is just what pleases my eye. It is not too sentimental in that the colors limit themselves, bright with a touch of melancholy. The roundness of the figure gives a soft touch. Yet I glean something serious, maybe a wondering of what more there is to life with the possibility sitting at her fingertips?

The two stories collided and, hopefully, normalcy will soon return and I will be back to Tweetspeak and writing with regularity.


I didn’t close the window
when the rains finally came.

The summer was so dry, so hot.
My open window only a passage

for the crucible searing phantoms
in the brain dancing with fire.

When the rains finally came, I kneeled on
rough, dry wood beneath the open window.

Curtains, an angel’s flight
shrouding my face, and me, the lace reader

running through the holes.
I am Balzac and the little Chinese seamstress,

remarkable creatures, willful and precise.
Catching my breath in the wind

of the storm, its tears spilling
coolness, anointing me

in this faithful place of wooden
planks and coveted release.




The August Rain Project at Tweetspeak Poetry challenges poets to write a found poem about rain using book spines as a prompt. I couldn’t take a photo to post of my chosen book spines. I hate to admit this, I no longer purchase paper copies of books unless they are spectacular. I keep telling myself there are many happy trees because of this.  So I headed to my Kindle and chose some of my favorite titles.

With almost 60 days of over 90 degree weather in Colorado this summer, I was shocked to see little wet drops falling from the sky earlier this week. Our tornado sightings are half of what they usually are, thank goodness. And I can count on two hands how many times it has rained in my backyard this entire year. Fire lit up our skies and smoke grayed them much too often. This poem fell into place after such an unaccustomed summer.

Book Titles and authors: The Crucible by Arthur Miller; Phantoms in the Brain by V.S. Ramachandran; Angels Flight by Michael Connelly; The Lace Reader by Brunonia Barry; Holes by Louis Sachar; Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress by Dai Sijie; Remarkable Creatures by Tracy Chevalier; Catching My Breath by C.J. Prince, Joanne McLaine and William C. Thomas; Faithful Place by Tana French.