Category: poetry

In the words of Mother Teresa

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you.
Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.
Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten.
Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.
Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway.

–I had one of those “down and out” days yesterday, and it wasn’t because the fog has decided to blanket northern California all week. There were a few reasons why, none of which I’m going to go into right now. I’m not really sure why this particular poem came to mind (I’ve only read it once and it was years back), but certain lines kept popping into my head. I didn’t exactly know the name of the poem, or where it came from. It simply cycled over and over in my head–even drowned out the radio–while I was driving home from my in-laws last night.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.
Create anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.
Give your best anyway.

Yup. I’ve mulled over the internet, whined to a select few, confided fears in others, and now I’m over it. I’m embracing Mother Teresa’s words of wisdom and writing my heart out until…well, until tomorrow comes and I’ll do it again.

And maybe within the next few days, weeks, months, I won’t be so cryptic.

Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. On towards Christmas!


Silent Sunday: Letter from John Keats to Fanny Brawne

“…I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a time…I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again – my Life seems to stop there – I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving…My sweet Fanny, will your heart never change? My love, will it?…Do not threat me even in jest. I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you…You have ravish’d me away by a Power I cannot resist: and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often “to reason against the reasons of my Love.” I can do that no more – the pain would be too great – My Love is selfish – I cannot breathe without you.”

–John Keats: Letters to Fanny Brawne, 1819

Silent Sunday

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all. ~Richard Wright, American Hunger, 1977

*I’m on a mission to hurl at least 5000 words at the WIP today. I’ll be up all hours of the night. Wish me luck.

Celebrating anniversaries

Hubby and I celebrated our 12 year dating anniversary this weekend. Yes, we’re dorky enough to celebrate both the day we started dating and the day we said “I do”. Our wedding anniversary is in June…a looong five months away from our dating anniversary, so I figure why not celebrate both? Is it greedy to ask The Husband to remember not one, but two, dates out of the year? I don’t think so. Is it selfish to want roses on two occasions? Maybe. But is it a bad idea? Nope, no way.

Write something inspirational today. Tell your significant other you love them. Hold them tight. That is all.



Your love is an endless mist
falling softly upon my shoulders.
The first taste of Fall
drenching my clothes
frizzing my hair.

I welcome it
standing exposed
feeling cleansed
born anew.
We run for cover
beneath our coats
our laughter drugging.
Dance in dizzing circles,
stomp through puddles,
soak our socks.

An unexpected kiss,
sets hearts aflame.
The rivers flood,
our souls carried with it.

Whipple me senseless

“It is of great use to the sailor to know the length of his line, though he cannot with it fathom all the depths of the ocean.”–John Locke

Natalie Whipple, repped by Nathan Bransford of Curtis Brown has a fantastically helpful blog that I frequent more than I’d care to admit. She’s bright and witty and I can’t wait to get my greedy paws on some awesome YA for a change. (Stephenie Meyer just ain’t pushing my buttons anymore.)

I’ve been blogging a lot about editing lately (oh so sorry), but it’s only because the evil manuscript chomping monster has taken control of my computer. Seriously, a hairy looking spider crawled across my computer screen yesterday. While it was in my lap! Beyond gross.

Back to Whipple: she wrote a blog post the other day called “The Importance of Hating your Book” that completely summed up my feelings on the editing process. I thought you might like to read about what a rising star might have to say about what little ‘ole unpublished me is going through at this exact moment. You can read it here.

And here’s a little poem I wrote two minutes ago to jump-start the morning. (Warning: What you are about to read is not good for the eyes. The author has not had her morning coffee, nor does she claim to be a poet in any shape or form–in fact, author does not claim to have a sense of humor either, yet here she is, still trying. However, if any money shall be made from the copyrighted words below author shall receive hefty payments of chocolate truffles delivered on the 1st of the month for the rest of her life in lieu of monetary payment.)

Editing! Stroke!

Editing, oh, editing
How I love to trudge through your waters.
Ands and Buts catch in the rocks of your shallows
along with wrongly worded adverbs and bristly starfish.
I backstroke in my dialogue and butterfly in my voice.
No matter how hard I anchor time and place
your tide still pulls out, tangling my lines.
Editing, oh, editing
How I drown in your currents of hope and purpose.