Chorus of Blue

Poetry Project: National Geographic Photo of the Day Writing Prompts

Posted by in Poetry, Poetry, Prose, Ten Minutes, Writing

Ever since I was a young girl, I have been deeply fascinated by National Geographic magazine. The wonders of natural phenomena, distant cultures, space and the cosmos… it has all enthralled me for as long as I can recall. Early in life, I insisted my dream career was to be a NGeo photographer and travel the world capturing the unique beauty and wonder of this planet. As most childhood dreams fade, those did as well. But the fascination always remained. 

Now, I’d like to take an opportunity to revisit that fascination directly, but to do so from where I stand now, as a writer.

POEM: Istikhaara

Posted by in Poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Writing

I made a prayer for guidance
And signs like meteors
came barreling forth

We sat on the lawn and watched them
light fire to everything
Each hope and near certainty
set ablaze

I saw the ash rise up in the air
like a warning
choked on it
coughed       wept

Then we held hands and laughed


POEM: And I Regard My Own

Posted by in Poetry, Poetry, Writing

He said,
I just wish I could touch someone’s hand
like I used to.

And I regard my own
with broken electric conduits shrinking and
my heart sending pulses eeking through

I try to open the jar and there’s so much protest
How weak and trembling like children
they retreat.

I just wish I could touch someone’s hand
like I used to.

And I remember when the pencils first began to slip


FREEWRITE: You Write Back

Posted by in Poetry, Poetry, Ten Minutes, Writing

There’s eagerness
I’m grateful I’m not the only one

There has never been much hope for us
But I want to pour my heart out
Like a journal entry

We fish for these connections
                             hands wet in anticipation
So desperate to be loved
or understood

So weary of being 

only desired.


Freewrite: At 33 Now

Posted by in Writing

At 33 now
my body aches
the bend of my elbows
turns my hands cold as ice
my wrists cramp with every mouse click
my fingers stiffen with each key pressed
and my knees, too!
Howling under the desk
and my boney feet, even
so frigid and so hard.
there is no beauty
in a lack of blood flow