Inspiration Interpretation

An inkling; a drip a single eraser trail marking what could have been at one point some very important words. Pink polka, left behind secret message telling tales of juice long ago spilled, but ah yes, never forgotten. Hint of green stalk bursting forth from dirty, rocky, grungy swath of land Empty before, sadly lacking excitement Soon to be populated By beautiful blooms. Lone tear casually drips off the end of your nose Silent, gentle reminder That not all is right.

I squeezed a post out forced it pushed it through the bars, like prison escapee... It didn't feel right- but then, good things never do. Tortured souls have far more to write far more to explore, more to complain, more to hang on to diving deep into inspiration, harbor seal searching for nourishment in the ocean For some reason, anger, depression and struggle translate more into promising poet Less trite, more feeling. How do I phrase something that can't be put to words? How each time I stare at you, if I allow myself to, I will cry tears of delight at how you've changed my life, how you've shown me what it is to really love a deep inconsolable, unchangeable love. How do I tell you without cheesy-cheese fluff stuffing, coming out at the seams BLECH- Nobody wants to read happy!! This is what my mind shouts I used to scorn at these types of writing hated using the word "love" Oh really? I'd think... This is all you have? This is the only way to describe how

I can feel it Creeping up Laying in the corner, avoidance all written across its face. I can feel it Almost happening Coming thisclose and then falling back again. I can feel it Peering in Against the window, face smushed there, fogging the glass like morning mist. I can feel it Know it will be Allow myself to begin to believe it's right around the corner. I can feel it But can't reach out to grasp The strings hang loosely beyond my reach... I can feel it... Someday soon. Until then I lie in wait, in hope, impatient.

It blows in the wind practically transparent standing up on end it can't be tamed won't be contained.... Your hair so golden in the sun as to almost be translucent the light catching it like fine threads of golden silk glowing radiating the light back at me They tell us it will grow better just cut it, it will... but to part with this piece of you which is so uniquely yours would be stealing a bit of your childhood your babyhood right out from under you. I refuse to be that one. I revel in your crazy hair, your stand on end, do what it wants hair your still-not-a-ponytail's worth of hair your rooster reminder hairdo... your lightest shade of brown duck fluff your tangle of snarls that stick to your head half rubbed off on the back where you sleep, front and bottom and sides so much longer your own style... You had it right from the beginning. I bury my face in it and promise, I whisper to you I'll let it be yours, that infantile oh so precious style, until I can't g

If I could fly I'd swing myself so high I'd flip Right over the bars, flip, right out into the sky just to watch the shocked eyes when I didn't crash to the ground. If I could fly I'd sprint forward, spring outward FLING myself out off the mountain, off the cliff, OUT into the open air, breathe in that most sacred of breeze the fresh the cool clean crispness of it all turn around, past the eagles, and fly right back to you, wind in my hair. If I could fly I'd hold you tight I'd take you out into the clouds OUT above the rainbows out beyond our eyesight where nothing can touch us Nobody can reach us Nothing could hurt us Being so high, flying away. I'd watch you laugh and cling to me Cling, like you do to my leg when I'm cooking but this would be better so free, you and me. If I could fly I'd float around when my legs got tired toes not touching the ground I'd take advantage of my new skill to replace that most fundamental of exercise. But most of

Coupons are my crack. I get all sweaty-handed, nervous, pit of stomach lurching like tossing up lunch handing them over, waiting... nervous like a criminal, waiting, like an addict, jonesing- hoping the register won't beep. Won't reject my offer, my credit, my coupon money in my pocket Hoping it won't call attention to me the other shoppers behind me Tsk, tsking... looking over my shoulder, TSK TSK. wondering GOD, HOW MANY DOES SHE HAVE? HOW LONG WILL I HAVE TO WAIT?! I flash an apologetic smile, an I'm sorry in disguise... but I won't back down... I need my fix, you see Like I said, money in my pocket- it's all money, and it's good to me And I am revived, resuscitated, happiness renewed When I see What I get Double, no TRIPLE, sometimes MORE worth my money. I get $105 worth of groceries for a mere $54. I get $27 worth of items

Sprout, You are growing up so fast. I feel like lately, I have nothing else to write to think upon to wonder about but you and your exponential growth. It seems like every moment is so fleeting, so gone so fast, so beyond my grasp when we were RIGHT THERE just one minute ago. One second ago, you were just a thought... I remember, sprout holding my belly when times were tough, and we didn't know How we would make this work... We just knew we would. Because you were coming, and it was all up to us. The fight, the struggle, it meant more since you would be here Your Mommy- crying, I remember, couldn't find a job, pounding my head wondering why all of a sudden a growing bump meant I wasn't a good enough secretary I would be out for so long, so soon, nobody wanted it. My degree may as well have been a crumb, I offered it out but it was not taken- Not accepted. I felt rotted, wronged, failed and failing... I wanted to do what I needed to for you- but nobody would give me a chance

Something makes me falter. Hear my own heart beat. Thump, thump. Thumpthump. Th-thump. My brain has done a skid-slide-stop at this point, to question myself- What if it was me? What then? This is what I have become, and I can say I love it- yes... Though I might be a little bit boring- Not partying, not wearing belly baring, nose flaring, sparkles glaring aloud- just me instead, but me and proud.... My hands find your cheeks, your crumbs, your smile... And I smile back, my teeth not quite perfect white, just light- from the coffee I drink, the things that I think, the nights with late snacks and scratches on backs... What is it that creates who we will become? If I am now mostly a Mum and wife... where exactly was it that I left behind the other life? Have I evolved or just changed, am I still the same breath? Am I still the same laughter, same tears, and same jest? Will I live the same moments? Will I die the same death? Would I have been me if I hadn't had you? If I hadn't me

I feel like there's an anchor crushing my chest. It's so hard to watch you going through this, to sit by your side and see you suffering, and know that there's nothing I can do to help ease this pain. I can do what I am doing, and nothing more. Nothing more significant. I can listen. I can plan. I can help, do more around the house. I can try to be patient. But some days, like today, it gets hard. This illness isn't just affecting you... It's all of us. I pray that once this is over, it's over for good. We can move on, be the happy little family that we are without worry that we might lose you sooner than expected... Some days, like today, I feel crushed by the weight of this responsibility. I have to hear your complaints knowing that we can't yet make a move. I have to be strong, when what I would really like to do is go to the bathroom, sit on the floor, curl in a ball and sob. I have to hear it without getting angry, even though it's trying on me to h

This was a creative writing prompt I got from... Wait, can you guess it?! ... ....... CREATIVE WRITING PROMPTS ! I know, the name? Not so creative. In any case, I found their site the other day, and I like it. I figured maybe I could use some of their prompts to give myself a kick in the butt to start writing again. Because I love writing, I really do... But lately it doesn't just flow the way it used to. I figure getting back in the habit of doing it regularly is the first step to overcoming this battle-of-the-rut. The prompt is: Come up with ten images (endings, etc.) for the following prompt- "My home makes me think of..." Here's what I have this afternoon. (1) My home makes me think of singing silly songs, spinning and sailing and snuggling tight... A little girl who whispers to me as I tuck her in- "sleep tight"... (2) My home makes me think of dishes to do, dinners to make, floors that have not yet been scrubbed, and socks on the floor... (3) My home m

Inspired by this quote: ♫ "Kids: they dance before they learn there is anything that isn't music." ~William Stafford Reality Rhythm By Jaden Brulotte 2-19-09 Rhythm, you feel it Moving in your toes, your fingers itching and rump-shaking Wiggle your wormy way while you wander around I can see you bump-bumping Bounce, bouncing off your princess chair, your carseat, our bed Chase-chasing a beat that I can't quite tune in to, Eyes alight with the pulse-pulse of your music... We would wonder at being so lucky, to hear that undertone the score to so many seasons of life, an orchestra of opulence, the choir of what can be... You feel the rhythm, but I can't find your beat-beat.