They Call

toss and turn. clammy sheets.
trembling hands and frigid feet.
creatures of the wildest kind
existing only in the mind,
hovering neither here nor there;
trudging through with weighty cares.
I know not if they’re bad or good
or simply the misunderstood.

they call, I come.
they chase, I run.
they seem as friends
but quickly lend
a mocking to my misery.
yet when they call each night, I’ll go,
afraid of where they’re leading me.
they speak of all that’s terrible
beyond the dusky shore of sleep.

*originally written on Aug 16, 2012 and recently published in the poetry anthology Ground Zero by Nicholas Gagnier of Retcon Poet

Ground Zero


Hold Out

Hold out for hope when none is there.
I will not give in to despair
Or wet my hair with tears each night
And stay awake til mornings light.

I’ll walk in greener pastures soon
Beneath warm sun at midday noon.
And underneath the stars we’ll play
And share the secrets of our day.

I’ll eat again til I am full,
And rest beside you in that lull
That comes with twilight’s steely light.
You’ll read to me into the night.

I will dream of pleasant times;
And file away some lovely rhymes.
Sing me tunes I long to hear,
And hold me close til morning’s here.

*originally written on Dec. 16, 2011 and recently published in the poetry anthology Ground Zero by Nicholas Gagnier of Retcon Poet

Ground Zero

Rusty Chains

I cannot sleep. I cannot rest.
My thoughts descend in circles deep.
The melody falls on my brain, until this page with ink I stain.

Each thought is like a spider web
Waiting to snare me if it can.
But I am armed with pen and ink. At least some thoughts I’ll try to link.

At first the chain is cheap and frail,
With weakened links and rusty clasps.
The more I’ll write the more I’ll see, and then my mind will soon break free.

By the end I hope to have
A cable strong yet beautiful,
To climb as I fall back asleep, and dream to heights so very steep.

originally written on Friday, August 12, 2011 at 9:32pm

Take Me Down

Take me down, take me down, take me down to the water’s edge.
Hold my hand and coax me in.
Talk me down from off the ledge.

Lead me into the cool still water,
Darkness around and moon above.
Listen with me to leaves who whisper,
Telling secrets on how to love.
Hold my hand as we tread dark water,
Being cleansed of our daily pains.
Tell me all of your secret plans
And remind me of all
That’s yet to be gained.
Swim with me to the other shore,
To lie on a blanket under the stars.
Run with me in fields of twilight.
Catch me a fairy to keep in a jar.
Rest with me here in the moonlight.
Pack away the fears of today.
Put off for now the care of tomorrow,
Just for one night, content to play.

Take me down, take me down, take me down to the water’s edge.
Hold my hand and coax me in.
Talk me down from off the ledge.

originally written on Friday, July 22, 2011 at 5:04pm


Why am I still awake
At this ungodly hour?
I try to force my eyelids closed,
But it is not within my power
To fall into that nightly spell.
I’ve thoughts to think and words to tell.
I try to rest my brain
But words keep tumbling in;
Far too many surging wraiths
For me to think of turning in.
I’ll try to pick just one
To empty out my mind.
Maybe something good will come
A blessing in disguise.

originally written on 11/2/11

Attack of the Zombabies

I often suffer from terrible dreams and insomnia. Last night I had a dream where I woke from sleep (waking from sleep inside of a dream is pretty trippy) and I was covered with toddler bites, which had become infected. Then I woke up for real and spent 15 minutes in half-sleep haze, cataloging my extremities to make certain that I was not indeed attacked by zombie-babies. Distressing, yes. Weird, yes. Insightful? Hmmmm…maybe?

I’ve realized lately that my dreams can be rather telling about the roots of my anxiety. This particular dream was no doubt due to some apprehension over my interview today for a nanny position. No worries, everything seemed to go well, and I was not bitten by any toddlers. I even wore my “you-can-trust-me with-your-children” interview glasses. It’s not yet a done deal, but the family does want to proceed with a “trial run,” which always makes me feel hopeful. It has been FAR too long since I have had full-time employment. Being unemployed or underemployed sucks. It’s discouraging and draining and often seems pointless after a failed interview, especially when I felt it had gone well. Yet, I feel like I have turned a corner. Maybe it’s the warmer weather and the flowers blooming. Maybe it’s my “trust-me-glasses.” Whatever it is, I feel full of hope, that even if this one doesn’t work out, I can trust in God and not fall into a spiral of cynicism and self-doubt.

So here’s to spring-time, flowers, warm breezes, new glasses, and endless opportunities.

Cheers 🙂


“But you can trust me…I’m wearing glasses.”


wake each morning sweating,
trapped beneath my bedding.
confusion reigns from dreams most dire.
my head has caught on fire.
paranoia running rampant.
captivity beneath the blankets.
enemies are everywhere;
i’ve not a friend to spare.
running. running. always running.
thoughts are strange and unbecoming.
no rest found inside this bed
whilst I live inside my head.


Have you ever written something that afterwards you’ve absolutely hated? Hated so much you wanted to break the laptop, or the cell phone, or the tablet where you wrote your masterpiece? Or for the old school crowd, ripped the paper from the journal but only after scratching everything over with a super thick Sharpie so you don’t have to be reminded of how stupid it was?

Ever thought something seemed so brilliant yesterday at 4:30 am when you were lost in the haze of half-sleep, just waking from a strange dream? Upon waking laughed “Hahahahahahaha, BRILLIANT!” and hit publish too soon? Have you ever tried to base your future best-seller on said dream, which was so fraught with emotion and complexity and even plot twists, only to realize…’Wait. I don’t know what in seven hells* I’m doing?’ And you keep thinking, ‘I can re-work this somehow, save it, cobble together my favorite phrases into something half-intelligent‘ only to have a piece which resembles a three-sided shanty house with rusted pans hanging from the front rail?

Or just pretended it’s really deep and that’s why it makes no sense in the unforgiving daylight?

Yeah…me too.

But that won’t keep me from trying.

Write on.


“You can’t think yourself out of a writing block; you have to write yourself out of a thinking block.”   John Rogers

“First, find out what your hero wants. Then just follow him.”   Ray Bradbury

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”   William Wordsworth

*Game of Thrones shout-out…holler.

Dream Bazaar

My brain has turned to mush
In the weighty static hush
Of TV’s blue electric light
Left on throughout the night.
Dreams infused with bawdy calls,
Shouted from the market stalls
Of televised metropolis.
I’m tired…tired. I’m nonplussed.
Clamor from the market square
“Look here! Here!
Working deep inside my dreams.
Sludging up from churning streams.
Coiled spring inside my chest
Winding tighter with each jest.
Screeching at me more and more.
“More and more! Always MORE!”
Dream bazaar. And dreams bizarre:
Keep that TV very far.


image used with permission from