A collection of 17 posts
Day 29 of 100 in my 100-day writing project
Day 27 of my 100-day writing project.
Day 18 of my 100-day writing project
Day 10 of my 100-day writing project.
If lines could be drawn and walls could be built, I’d be the chief of my thoughts and the queen of my feelings.
I roll my tongue and hide it inside the cave of my mouth.
I slacked and moped around, whined about being creatively blocked, and emotionally drained. June was a month of shadows.
Slipping between random movements of my eyelids, I pause to breathe. My breath rises and falls; it chases the film that unfolds. I’m a witness.
The sun bursts into a million flames, painting the sky with its richness of light ochers, bright yellows and burnt siennas.
The sky always tells a story.
I breathed fire. I revered the sun. I wore my passion in my heart, and swore my life to my art. I danced to the tune of cackling embers.
What are daffodils? How do they look, or where do they grow? and how do they smell? This poem explores the depths and breaths of what a daffodil is to the poet.
A letter to all influencers.
I didn’t grow up near the sea with its fishermen flinging their nets through the sun’s golden beams. I saw no boats, caught no waves or ate no bites of the fish’s flesh, its silver skin scaled off with a steel scalpel.
Stories in the sun.
Nostalgia from the 90s