Resistance is futile. 

You will not find rest

as long as I am near, 

whispering in your ear. 

STOP,  right now.

Write now. 

Talk about how 

love echoes 

in the valley of 

lost souls. 

Share your hopes, 

dreams, fears. 

I’m listening, 

channeling, 

ready to bathe you, 

in serenity. 

I am your muse, 

voice of truth, 

your...

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A magenta sky 
greets my morning sigh.

Another majestic day, 
lost in the minutia of life.

Shoulda, coulda,woulda,
paralyzing dream sabers. 

Distractions abound.

Download another book,
refresh the poet's page.

Escape, behind a waterfall
of tears.

Long nights,
paved years. 

Fandango memories
sustain me. 

Resilience 
prevails.

Dry your eyes,
face your fears.

Wr...

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You are enough. 

Insecurity or 

grandiose confidence 

isn’t necessary. 

Doubt, distraction, 

procrastination, fear, 

impostor syndrome,

borderline lunacy... 

are costs of the 

creative process.

Keep creating 

through it all.

But, then again,

what do I know.

https://youtu.be/sIaT8Jl2zpI

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I want to tell you how incredibly

imaginative, creative, talented

I think you are with your poetry,

writing, music, art...

but I hesitate to expose our

eggshell-covered egos, 

fuel rejection, 

ignite impostor syndrome...

all live wires 

that threaten to electrocute

our fragile muse 

into submission 

of a numbed,

comfort-zone life. 

So, instead of shouting

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If I knew your poetry would suddenly 
disappear, 
I would have memorized 
every poem,
to comfort me
when I feel alone. 
Your words help heal 
my savaged soul.
I'm sad you had to go.

# # #

https://youtu.be/OeP4FFr88SQ

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Feeling down
because my muse
abandoned me again.
Maybe to teach me
another lesson
about leaning on him,
instead of mining inspiration
from deep within.
Seeking satisfaction
outside ourselves
is perhaps the greatest sin.
It is a game no one wins.
So, back to the blank page I go.
Just me and my pen.

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Mortality stalks me 
like a jealous lover.

Breathlessly follows me
wherever I go, incessantly
banging a gong, 

chanting, 

it won't be long, 
come to me, let 
the pain end.

My eternal soul sees
this game of mortal gods 

and challenges me

to go where mortals
fear to tread...

Meditate in silent space
past the black hole,

beyond illness,
depression, despair

to that ...

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For some, the writer's plight may be staring at a blank page, fear of rejection, or resistance presented in various forms. For me, the writer's plight is being available morning, noon, and night to welcome a steady stream of pop-in visitors with expectations of providing conversation, cooking, cleaning, even childcare for hours on end.

With a Mona Lisa smile, I weigh the importance of what my d...

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Oh NaPoWriMo 
how you challenge me.

Calling me to rhyme on time
when I would rather procrastinate
with this talent of mine. 

A poem a day keeps the doldrums away.
Read it, write it, recite it,
makes no difference 
to me. 

Just do what you can 
with what you've got
and see how happy 
you will be!
 

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The razor thin space between 
stimuli and response 
is decision. 

I decided to put a  
romcom relationship
where love never ends
and be, just friends. 

It was a defining decision.

He decided that without 
certain stimuli, there would be 
no response, just an end.

Tempting as it is to give in
to conditioned responses,
I'm riding the razor's edge
into a new frontier...

A pla...

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Poetry is a 
refuge for 
a lonely life

the antidote
for pain 
and strife

warm words 
blanketing
a frigid night

tonic for thirsty sailors 
drowning in an ocean 
from which we cannot drink

To our deserted island we go 

while the world 
casts us loners, 
introverts, quiet
weird, crazy...

Let them judge 
as they wine and dine 
in crowded rooms 
on cell patrol

while w...

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Publish your poems,

your stories,

your soul songs.

A world of lonely people

are waiting for you

with open arms. 

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You have come to visit me. 
Welcome. I have missed you. 
I often see you hiding behind the laundry, 
patiently waiting until the neverending chores are done. 
Then, when I finally sit down to talk, 
you disappear like an unwritten dream, 
leaving me speechless. 

Today, for the moment, 
you are here 
and I have so much to say. 
Won't you stay 
and be my friend?

My Muse Replies:
"Yo...

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