To Stop is to Die


I had a great thought going.  And then, I hit something and it went… Somewhere… So, here I go again…

Its been forever since I written anything on here. Well, not forever, but close enough… And, shame on me, I know.

I could pen a laundry list of reasons, or excuses, whichever you prefer to call them; about why I haven’t been blogging my writing.

I just, simply, “let life happen.”  Aaaannnnddd, there it is! That blank stare. Or the dog head title, or the thumbs up… Maybe.

True enough, I did have another baby… No, no, make that TWO babies, who are now age three and one…

I did, however manage to write a few new things and read them in my first ever Alumni reading at my alma mater, Lindenwood Universtiy.

(Yay! Score one for the Mama!); and I have returned to home-schooling, and at a co-op no less.  Life does happen, continuously.

But, that shouldn’t stall an artist. That should inspire one… But, I didn’t let it inspire me.  (Insert here any emotion icon you feel necessary).

Coming back into this blog, is like  picking up a writing journal  and blowing off the dust.

I have missed it and never did I forget it.  Even if I did nearly forget the user name and password…

I committed writers/artist suicide. I did.  But now, I have come back to life, if you will.  It is like Jesus, well, not exactly like Jesus.

But he did die, and rose again on the third day. So, I too, have died, and am rising again… To live and to write again, what a glorious joy!

I thank God for this gift. This talent. This creative blessing He’s given me. Even though, I foolishly, set it aside, like the foolish servant that buried his talent when the

master told him to do something with it.

Haven’t we all been there? Done that? Put down the paint brush, the violin, the pen… But isn’t that… Death? I think so.

Any athlete, singer, dancer, painter, writer, actress, so on and so on… Would agree that to stop, is to die.  I have stopped. I have died. And the worst part is that I

did it to myself! SMH… Dont’ we do that to people when we see them literally killing themselves with drugs or something?

But, what do we do when we see someone killing themselves by… Stopping?

For us writers, published and not. Writing is like breathing. It is how we feel alive. It is how we make it in this world. It is how we cope. It is how we contribute. It is how we be us.

And to stop is to die.

When Maya Angelou passed away I was more than sadden by her death. I was sadden that I would never ever get to meet her. To possibly talk to her. To have her sign a book, possibly

have her take a picture with me so I can prove it by posting it on Facebook! HA! But, I was also sadden by the fact that I had stopped writing. Not dreaming about it. But just,

literally stopped DOING it.  Her death though, made me want to be a better writer. I mean, you know, like to be REALLY good.

There are so many writers out there now, “making it.” But, are they really “making it” in the right way? I mean like, writing the good stuff and leaving behind good work

like “Of Mice and Men,”  “The Bluest Eye”  ( Toni Morrison), and “I Know Why Cage Birds Sing”, the late and great Maya Angelou.

It is time, for us writers to pen the GOOD stuff again. Not the loose and fast, I got published stuff.  True, I do have a young adult book floating around in my head, but…

I want to write good and contribute to literature, pieces that’s going to stand the test of time, and be classical. Not twaddle. Not faddish. And, then the next time I stop, it will be because

I did, truly, and physically… Died.  Not, just because I stopped.  Because, to stop is to die while still being alive, and that is the worse type of death.


Dancing with my words


I love to sing and dance with my words.

Embrace the meaning and let them go.


I love to sing and dance with my words.

Magical places and new beginnings, make-believe  fantasy being fulfilled by ink and

dreams being dreamt by dreamers and coming true by readers and love for the


I love to sing and dance with my words.

Not my quote, but I am taking it cause it’s true for me too.

I won’t ever stop singing and dancing with my words.

I love to paint with my fingers tips on the keyboards, the stroke of my

imagination coming to life and pouring out on to the page my words

I share willing.

I dare to share them voluntarily opening up myself for you all to come into me

and consummate the words with me and let them be born in our minds.

Your singing and dancing now too, it is pure bliss the sharing of the words

like new wine we are high together.

Breathe in the scent of the words with me and fly higher than the moon and

float in ecstasy of them, cause the singing and the dancing with the words are


I love to sing and dance with my words.


Before the eyes of whomever, wherever for whatever.

Sometimes shaking

Baring it all.

Taking in the words of others about my words but you love my words, they

made you feel.

Made you feel like singing and dancing.


Turquoise Folder filled and Gone


She threw away a part of me.


             My poetry.

My folder of memories.

My experiences, and thoughts and time.

College campus romps and passages into real life.

Memories I didn’t take the time to memorize


they were all there on the lines in ink and pencil

and in the folder.

She threw away a part of me.

             My mother.

Now the papers are in a landfill somewhere

where no one will ever hear, or see, or ears will not know of my life then.

Hearts will not feel.

She threw away a part of me.

I thought it was just papers, she said.

Of course they were!

Didn’t she remember that her child loved to write?

Any paper to me was just not a paper.

The lines on it is filled with…

She threw away a part of me!

Turquoise folder filled with my work.

         Pieces of me


Where eyes will never see.

Ears will never hear.

Hearts will never feel.

She. Threw. Away. A part. Of.



Love Always


Love is a battlefield.

Love is a dagger in my heart.

Love is pain.

Love is to know someone.

Love is hard to figure out.

Love makes you do crazy things.

Love feels good?

Love is dangerous.

Don’t play with love.

Love burned me.

Love got me right between the eyes.

Loves got a hold on me.

What the hell is this thing called, love?

Love hangover.

Love cost.

Love is for fools.

Love is a serious thing.

Love is expensive.

Love Shirley.

Love lets get married.

I love you.

We fell out of love.  We feel in love.

Love is a chess game.

Love is better left to mature audiences only.

Love is rated.


Love is hot.

Love don’t pay the bills honey.

Love is unconditional based on these conditions only.

Love don’t last forever baby.

Jesus loves me this I know.

God’s love is real.

Love don’t stop like this poem won’t stop but I wish it would because I’d LOVE to got to sleep.

Don’t you just love it?

Love, Always.

Thoughts and pens


*** Here is something quick I did while just sitting here at the computer… Not gonna proof it or anything. Cause it is what it is meant to be… ***

And in the end, when all you have are your thoughts and pens.

Don’t let it end.

Don’t let the story lie to you and say

“I’m finished.”

“Let’s stop here for the night.”

“That’s good.”

In the end, when all you have are your thoughts and pens.

Write it… Again, and again, and again

for the story should never end and be done.

NO! Not ever…

Cause in the end, of it all.

When it is all said and done.

All you really have are

Your thoughts and your pens.


Places in my Mind


The places in my mind are

dark and scary and


Places in my mind are…

Places in my mind are

crying and screaming

and running

and madness.

Places in my mind you don’t want to know.

They are not voices.

They are not whispers.

They are places.

The places in my mind

haven’t known jovial.


Yes, laugh at the places.

If you dare.

Try to understand . Figure me out.

Me. Out. Figure.

The places in my mind…

Still. Still. Still.

Is it calmness? Peace?


Rest places.