• #AmWriting,  Writings

    The Writing Spot

    Athletes have their pre-game rituals. Performers have their pre-show regime. Writers have their spot. The writing spot provides focus and inspiration. It is the writer’s retreat from the world where words move from the imagination to the page. I think I can say with confidence that every writer has the spot even if it exist only in their mind, because location or money prohibit the imaginative spot from existing.

  • Creativity,  Poetry

    Sounds of the Soul

    The sounds of the world are an untuned orchestra — a crying baby clashing with the hum of a bee’s wings. Just as crashing cymbals jar the soothing purr of an oboe. How does a crashing wave rhythmically coasting across the sand accompany the honks of a NYC cab? To the ear — the sounds of the world are a cacophony. To the soul — the sounds of the world are in harmony.   – Inspired by reading Lit by Mary Karr. *Featured image credit to cbmd on Flickr.

  • Creativity,  Stories

    Philosophizing Smiles

    The evening breeze cooled my sticky, sweat soaked skin as I swatted at the mosquitos in search of a meal. A welcomed chill ran up my spine as I glanced up at the summer stars above the rickety, wooden balcony that provided me a seat. The boy across from me rearranged the cement block he rested on, catching my attention. I breathed in the smell of salt and dirt coming from his sun-stained and tired body. A smirk crept across my lips as I watched his muscles tense and release in an effort to find comfort sitting on cement.

  • Stories

    Phobia

    *This monologue was an assignment for a theatre class I took in middle school. Eventually I wrote a one-act play, which was performed by the class. Sadly, the word document of the play was corrupted and there was no back-up copy. It was very funny and well received. I wish I could post the script for you to read.  (Spot shins on – Two arms chairs. One side-table with a glass of water.) (enter stage right) I know I’m late, but I’ve discovered a new phobia. I now have amaxophobia, fear of riding in vehicles. I know, I know you’re gonna think that I just discovered this one on the internet,…

  • Poetry

    Playground Battles

    Innocence epitomized (long blonde hair and deep curious blue eyes) asked me the other day, “How do wars start?” I sighed, “Let me think.”

  • Poetry

    Self-Loathing

    * This poem comes with a disclaimer. It was written years ago when I was very angry at organized religion. imprinted by creeds of omniscient oracles knees and palms are pierced by gravel we beg for our penance

  • Poetry

    Art of Time

    hues of black and white splashed with colors bright, illustrate memories of a life haunted by joy and strife. brush strokes twist and bend tableus of life until its end. images unseen with outward eyes express the experience of human ties. but oils begin to melt as times fades each event ever felt. whispering thoughts of the past dissolve memories that cannot last. yet, each canvas shall remain awaiting —  another painting stain.