Chorus of Blue

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


Free Write: We Must Learn

Posted by in Writing

We must learn to
love ourselves enough
to be alone
to be happy
in the absence of
and everything
except our own bodies
our own hearts within
our own chests
our own blood
our steady breathing.

We must learn to love
ourselves enough
with a certain curiosity
about our own thoughts
and our own abilities
the unseen potential
of our boundless minds-
To become engrossed in
a conversation
with our souls
and sit back, nodding quietly
by the dialogue.

We must learn to love ourselves
to laugh at ourselves
to examine our breasts, ears,
sharp ankle bones,
with an air of joy and
as if seeing ourselves
for the first time
as if peaking through the curtain
with childish glee
witnessing God’s great work,
in secret,
in progress.

We must learn
until we love ourselves
enough to become familiar
until we love ourselves
to be certain
until we love ourselves enough

to be enough.


Poem: Last Night, a Blood Moon

Posted by in Poetry, Ten Minutes

Last night a blood moon
Super moon eclipse
I watched it dim through a double lens
Until sleep overtook me

We talked about the graptitude of the universe
And minutiae of our existence
Our bodies jutting out into space
And a billion stars-like ghosts lingering

Moons circling suns
Supernova magnetism
Our sun the center of
one of millions

And when the day arrives
Some things will be altered
And others destroyed
The earth folded up, heavens revitalized

We muse of the distance from our heavenly neighbors
Like seeing one another across galaxies of stars
And what if each had a planet to themselves?
Laughter and awe
Gaseous Venus, a paradise we never realized.

The air never cools
We could be out here all evening
And not a single secret of creation
Would ever be compromised

I yearn, in my smallness, to be held
As if at any moment I could float into space
Or dissolve into molecules
And return to the atmosphere

But there is only one chair,
so we talk instead
And I think how base is human love
How simple and unmesmerizing
When considered along side God’s love for His creation

How he hung the moon like a lamp
And painted the sun’s retiring
And gave us endless reflection
In the wide wide world
Insurmountable evidence
in the waves’ constant rising.

Freewrite: Listening

Posted by in Poetry, Writing

I have not known silence:
The dead of space
Where meteors plummet through darkness
Like water drops through black ink
Stealth and undetected
except the trail of light
left glittering.

I sit and meditate on words
Try to to clank two together
and create value, meaning
Reflection of a thoughtful heart
And I consider for a moment,
remarking on the silence.

Then the distant ring of cicadas
crickets, traffic passing through the rain
The fridge’s hum, fluorescent light
computer towers, air conditioning
my arms shifting across my thighs
Cat kneading the couch frame
Soft click of the keyboard
The baby coughing

A whole world littered with sound:

I have never once
stopped listening.


Freewrite: Gary Reads

Posted by in Poetry, Writing

Gary reads and his voice is like wool
Comforting, warm, and deep
Like a rumble in your chest
But softer, more soothing

I think of the little old man
Chain saw in hand
Felling tall, graying pine trees

And for a moment
the scent is here
Crisp, cool, astringent
And slightly sweet

He speaks of his late wife
The little old Asian woman
And I feel sad, consider his son,
Kai, I think…

Hope that he isn’t lonely.


Free Write: Nothing of Consequence

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry, Ten Minutes, Writing

The sun rises and the cat whines outside
I know his routine, but I choose to write.

There is a very long list of to-dos:
empty accounts, unpaid bills,
the responsibilities of parenthood
looming in soft little breaths
all around me.

Our home creaks for attention,
the subtle jingle of a ceiling fan
I need to fix,
pictures to hang,
that broken drawer…
most the food in boxes because I have yet
to line the cabinets,
sew bench cushions,
polish the floors.

And I know that he wants me,
The one slumbering
in the quiet of our room,
before blood flows like a barrier between us
And his desires are stalemated,
or frustrated
or lost.

But I decide to settle down to write.

Nothing of matter
Nothing of great consequence,
But the practice I will need to make it
matter someday.

The daily watering and reminder:

In your heart,
in your hands
                          is the seed of a writer,

(dishes, laundry, dinner, sex,
carpets, curtains, wall hooks,
plants, orders to fulfill, interest
to avoid, angry emails, lists, lists)

                                            help it grow.


Free Write: The Rain Goes

Posted by in Poetry, Ten Minutes, Writing

The rain goes
I cant   don’t pause

boxes of books to unload
old journals that weep

bad marriages
children we love
but didn’t want

It feels like I’m reading
someone else’s words
this poor girl,
she’ll never get out

how little she knows of
life and faith
her flickers of hope
are only flickers

its a wonder I’m still alive.

here is a new life and
I’m unpacking the past
page by page
the ink bleeding through
the other side
i would burn it up
but I refuse to forget

these men take so much from us
but return so little
hurt, misery, betrayal, and loss
its been six years with another
God knows, that girl would know
he’s better, but even he
has trampled my heart.


Poem: Phantom Limb

Posted by in Poetry, Poetry, Ten Minutes, Writing

Betrayal leaves the deepest scar
One we cannot see
Only feel     like a phantom limb
Hanging there invisibly

We stumble over it
Bang it on tables and chairs
Feel the pain radiating up
Through bones and skin

We reach down and
grasp at nothing
but air

All the grand reassurances and promises
Like thin gauze on a festering wound
Healing nothing
Only sticking to the sore

There is no salve for a limb
You cannot see
No bandage
No way to bind the flesh

It is pain that manifests in the body
from the mind
An aching that permeates out
from the heart

And blood flow will keep the memory fresh
pulsing and reminding:

You were betrayed;

You will never    forget.


Poem: Go Back

Posted by in Poetry, Ten Minutes, Writing

Go back and look at the small house
the small room
with the great window
Go back and smell the fire burning
hear the wood break
beneath the weight of flame

Go back and touch the round keys
make your fingers stretch into each impression
Go back to hear that mechanical click
The muted sound of your own voice

Go back to sift through piles of papers
to layers of carpets on the cold wood floor
Branches outside tapping the window
The wind wailing at the coming storm

Go back because you cannot belong here
Your heart will grow quiet
your hands will grow bored
Go back ’cause you can never love them
they way you love the written word.

This post is a part of the #tenminutes series, a challenge to write for ten minutes, every day, no matter what. To learn more visit: Ten Minute Challenge and join the movement!



“A Relationship with Your Writing” – Write about your relationship with your writing. You can make your writing some grand idea; personify it as a person or living thing, like writing about it as a child youve nurtured or abandoned;  write  “to” it as if writing a letter, write “as” it speaking to you… is your writing a stalker that wont leave you be? Are you it’s victim of unrequited love? Compare your relationship with your writing with your relationship with something else, like your spouse, child, job, or hobbies. You can do it in any style you like! These are just a few fun ideas.

Please do share. I love to see your work. Ready? Set. Write forth! #tenminutes