Finding Peace… a Bit at a Time

While obviously high on Monday madness fumes, I challenged Rommy (and anyone who wants) to do a bit of the sort of blogging I used to do when I started doing it. Since she agreed to do it on Wednesdays, mixing the yum with the Midweek Motif felt just right. So, if you’re visiting from Poets United, feel free to only delight in the poem. But if you have a minute (or 3) to discuss writing and living and such, do read on.


the Poem…

Blood moon-drunk,
her heart asks her brain:
peace on earth?
Sure, magic happens,
if all think and feel.


the Writing and Living and Such…

Those of you who have read me for a while know that I have been ill for the last few years: a bit of cancer… a bit of Crohn’s… a bit of what-the-heck-is-wrong-with-the-nerves-in-my-left-hip-and-leg! To say that this has affected my writing is the cliché mother of all understatements.

The first time I got sick, I had to postpone the publication of a book. The second time unhealth got me, I rushed the publication of a book. The third time, well… I got so sick that I had to change the way I approached my writing and my living, too.

Like the brain, in the last line of thinner tanka I shared suggests, the whole of me figured out that for the whole of me to live peacefully, all of me had to feel the same thing and think towards the same purpose.


I stopped working on long novels and started focusing on short fictions and poetry (which, for me, are easier to craft and share… a bit at a time). Until things get back to the way they used to be, I told myself. When my Self and I learned that certain illnesses are like unwanted holiday guests who never truly go away, we embraced the words of our Knight Writer:

“There isn’t a way things should be. There’s just what happens, and what we do.” ~ Terry Pratchett

I stopped thinking those wild, I will wait until I am done with chemo and radiation to resume doing this or that, thoughts. My body is being healed slowly… a bit at a time. I’m rewriting and editing my fictions and poetries (and a novel)… a bit at a time. And I’m loving the peace the work brings to my mind. My flesh and bones will catch up… a bit at a time.

What about you, my Wicked Luvs? Have you ever had to slow down to the point that it feels as if you are crawling? If yes (and you do not mind sharing), tell me about it in the comments.


Doing It Alone Is Quite Yummy, But… (week 1)

To participate, just write a blog post telling us a bit about something you do (art, work, hobbies, living) and how doing it feeds your soul. Add the direct link to your contribution, at the end of your comment on today’s post… or, as a separate comment. If you do not have a blog, please leave your response to this prompt in the comment section.

Your post can be about anything: writing, cooking, painting, reading your favorite books, gardening, working at a shop, singing, trying to survive in an office, rocket sciencing, experimenting with your hair… Anything, just tell us how said thing enriches your life. No rules. Well, almost no rules: I ask that no one turns my cyber-home into a link-dump. Interaction takes 2, and true communication between friends takes a lot more.


this is the work of my gifted friend, Kerry O’Connor. It inspired the first line of my thinner-tanka piece. And yes, looking at it feels like drinking a sip of peace. Thank you so much, Kerry. I shall keep her close, always…

if you find Kerry’s work as delightful as I do (and you happen to be on Instagram), you should check out her account: she is giving away a signed print of “The Lovers Dystopian Tarot” (you must enter before Dec 16th)

p.s. after today, I will post the challenge on Wed (at 9:13am, my time)


Ink’s Favorite Stiletto Heels Look Different to Everyone

Ink is Art’s wild child
dressed in words
for feels. She is the one
all kinds of people point at, and say,
“Such perfection” and “What a skank”
and “I could eat her up”.

– when her wilds are deepest, Ink chooses stilettos made of poetry –

While on heels to kill (or caress, if you want),
Ink reaches for different heads, hips, beliefs…
using the same words. She can stab you in the face
or carve me a world to delight in, really—
Ink touches you and me, through our own knowing,
without ever having to change shoes.


the wee notes…
– a Wicked Luv told me that she felt a bit lost after reading the comments others left on “The Ghosts of Amontillado Fumes”. Her interpretation matched no one else’s. She asked if I wouldn’t mind explaining the story to her. I told her I could explain what the tale meant to me, but only she could know what it meant to her. Then, I wrote this poem.
– linked it to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and to Poets United.


Love Magic, by Natalie Shau