Poem for RDP Wednesday: Blast

This is how I’m feeling this afternoon. A small adjustment in my regular medication is messing with my head, and since I needed to write anyway, I wrote about it.


Disconnected now

I spiral out, where phantom zephyrs blow,


Driving my life-line

Beyond my deadened grasp; I am resigned


To drift here past

All company, alone, but for the blast


Of comets in the dark;

Untethered orphan drifting from her barque,


I am now lost

Out in the mental universe and tossed,


An astronaut at sea,

Prey to my inner haunts. I am not free.




Poem for Quadrille #90: Quiver

Photo by Jacob Mejicanos on Unsplash.

This is not the result I intended when I set out to write a quadrille today. I was going with the flow of my thoughts and they took me somewhere unexpected.

Quiver of the Raven Archer,

Lend the arrow I require;

Pierce the worming Demon’s heart,

And sink him in the endless mire;

Victory I beg of thee,

Grant me strength that I may be

Master of the speeding fire,

Quiver of the Raven’s Ire.



Too Many Ideas and Not Enough Time

Right now, I have a bunch of posts sitting in my Likes folder because they’ve sparked some sort of story idea and I want to keep track of the prompts. The problem is, I don’t know which idea to develop, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have time to work on it.

I have this problem a lot. Typically, I have an overabundance of ideas and characters and stories in my head that all want to be written, but due to their clamoring for attention and the lack of time to give it to them, nothing gets freed onto the page. I’m left with a head-full of stories and no place for them to go. And people wonder how I can be so forgetful and daydreamy. Well, wouldn’t you be too if you had a head-full of stories?

Each idea that’s sparked from the prompts I’ve collected is unusual and intriguing, at least to me. They all could be worth pursuing. Or, I might try one and find out it won’t go anywhere, and then I will have wasted my precious time. I want to write, but so many things are holding me back: doubts like these, obligations to people both in work and at home, chores that have to be done (like making a psychiatrist appointment; oh how I hate talking on the phone)…oh, and did I mention work?

A year ago, I didn’t have a job. I should say, I didn’t have a steady job. (I was dog-walking at the time.) I could spend hours at home, at my desk, working on whatever creative project I wanted, while watching my favorite TV shows. Now I wish I had used that time more carefully. I wish I had that time back. But then I think, maybe that wouldn’t be as idyllic as it sounds. Maybe I still wouldn’t be able to write. After all, I would still have to choose which of my many, many ideas to invest in.

How do you decide something like that? How do you choose what story to develop, when you have so many?



I Just Want to Drink Tea, Make Things, and Sleep

Today’s post is one I wrote about a year and a half ago but which is just as true of me today as it was then. I thought I would share it now, as it seemed to be helpful for me to write and for others to read. I’m always glad when I can encourage someone.


Drawing is my natural state of being. And now, writing is too. Profuse thoughts of things to create, whether through words, yarn, or pencil, are always percolating in my mind. Oh, I think, as I sit at work not succeeding in my attempt to concentrate, I could practice drawing dogs! I could write the next chapter of my children’s book! I could bake blueberry scones! I could try a cool new crochet pattern! This, reader, is just a glimpse into my daily life. Needless to say, functioning as a regular adult who does regular adult things, like working a full-time job, is somewhat hampered by this constant stream. Thus, the title of this post.

When I say “drink tea,” I mean, imbibe at least three cups a day, preferably some sort of black tea (such as Earl Grey or English Afternoon) with sugar and milk. Mind you, I used to…

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Poem: Triolet for Autumn


Photo by Warren Wong on Unsplash.

Written for RDP Wednesday’s daily prompt.

A triolet.

The land grows tenebrous and sere

At Autumn’s touch, that like a spell

Descends, and sunlight disappears;

The land grows tenebrous and sere

Around us, as stark Winter nears,

Bringing its sleets and tempests fell;

The land grows tenebrous and sere

At Autumn’s touch, a somber spell.




I don’t usually reblog posts, but I read this triolet today and loved it, so I thought I would share. Here is a little bit about the form:


A Triolet is a poetic form consisting of only 8 lines. Within a Triolet, the 1st, 4th, and 7th lines repeat, and the 2nd and 8th lines do as well. The rhyme scheme is simple: ABaAabAB, capital letters representing the repeated lines.

Make writing a Triolet more challenging! Make each line 8 syllables in length (4 metrical feet), written in iambic tetrameter (the more common way), or try it in pentameter (English version) where each line only has 10 syllables (5 metrical feet).


Jane Dougherty Writes

Just got Internet back (again). The OctPoWriMo prompt, about ways of looking at things just about works for the triolet I wrote yesterday.


This sky is heavy with grey-leafed cloud

And rests on tree tops, dusty blue,

Waiting to pour its river loud.

The sky is heavy with grey-leafed cloud,

Branching, spreading over ploughed

And empty fields where barley grew.

This sky is heavy, and grey-leafed cloud

Rests on treetops misty blue.

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Quadrille Poem: The Monster

Written for Quadrille Monday.

The Monster

Beset with grime, the image glares from out

The mirror cracked;

Distorted human becomes monstrous

In the reflection,

Where spidered shards multiply the revealed

Deformity, and pierce

The soul interred behind eyes that behold

This shattered image;

And the monster sees his own despair.