by

Stomach

 

 

pain targeted me

when I could not see

that the red beam

had something to do with my dream

hurting feels like pain’s pleasure

thought I’d cry forever

scrutinized

just from the glow in my eyes

scared to walk

tears muffled my talk

my speech

I-I at times just could not reach

now that I have my voice

now that I am laughter’s rejoice

stumbling into peace

people yelling at me, now hold that muffled speech

oh how I retreat

of knowingly, it’s a definite reason that society targeted me

this girl could have died

but I-I oh I-

I looked at my two daughter-at my husband

and knew that I could not let my strength die

now I am just overdosing on courage

if it’s a thrifty skirt-I wear it

society had better bear it

for I declare it

I’m here to live

and to give-

hope

that when you think you cannot cope

God shows you, you can stomach this!

 

~TanishaB

by

In The Be Still

I became over stimulated
In the be still
I became fanatical
In the be still
I promoted-patience-
In the be still
I minimized my flamboyant -passion
In the be still
Though I stood, very, enthusiastic
And that moment of raw courage is drastic
My silence was dynamic
My standing still, was persevering
I became easy in uneasy-this surpasses, endearing
I became above
In the be still
I rose deeper in love
In the be still
I became forceful
of such a time-
Engaged-
Of clarity in my mind
I became a fireball
In the be still
And I stood -intensely
And I stood- boldly
And I stood- sharply
In the be still
And I stood
In my drama
And I stood
In my temper
And I stood
In my aggression
In the be still
I stood
Oh I-I stood
Moved -embraced
In the be still

by

CRAYON…

I’d profile
A smile
I’d formulate-
Strawberries, as my tongue for taste
I’d form
Dances; as weather-they’d storm
Lightning and thunder would gyrate across the sky
Two left feet would rhythm it’s rain of cry
Residue
Would be of a joyous misconstrue
Of what people think they know about you
Streets would be sweet,
To flavor-
The labor
Of my trying feet
I’d describe
Dreams; as dreams- being the bride
And be married to my soul-
Cheat on it with my- my hopes-my goals
I’d design
An extra twenty-four hours to a day’s time
I’d outline
The finding, right before losing my mind
I’d mark stars
Not so far
And just sketch
The shooting ones-in a catch
I’d engrave
Sweeping the autumn stars off the pave-
Excuse me, the pavement
And map them out as nature’s intent
I’d paint
Happiness across my face, in a jilted faint
And compose love, without penciled, contingency
If I could draw, my crayon, would mark life as my chemistry
Crayon would portray my intimacy

~TanishaB

by

STRAY BULLETS

UNPLANNED ,
YET THOUGHT OUT
UNINTENTIONAL
OF AN INTENTIONAL ROUTE
AIMLESS
YET NOT WASTE-LESS
LIFE IS STRAY BULLETS
MEANT FOR YOU                                                                                                      `
AND FOR ME,IT HIT’S TOO ,SOMETIMES…BLIND
WITH A SEEING MIND
LIKE NOT LOOKING FOR ROMANCE
BUT HERE IT IS BY CHANCE
CARELESS…WITH MUCH PURPOSE
LIFE IS STRAY BULLETS
MEANT FOR YOU
AND FOR ME, IT HIT’S TOO
IT COMES WITH A FORCE
TO IT’S COARSE
ACCIDENTAL…NO PARENTAL…CONTROL
BUT THE WOUNDS, THEY MOLD
NO MATTER, OUR CRIES, OUR LAUGHTER
AND WHAT WE GATHER…OF LIFE..IT HAPPENS, RANDOMLY
AND I KNOW LIFE IS NOT WITHSTANDING…FOR ANYTHING WE PLANNING
IT’S PRETTY CASUAL

REGARDLESS
NEVERTHELESS

WE KEEP LIVING …

be-cause-life, keeps giving life

and life is stray bullets

meant for you

for I am not ducking and dodging

it hits me too

~TanishaB

by

yesterday

I gather

I gather I cried

and I gather

my laughter

like it’s slipping away

because

I seek holding on to more about me than what random people say

though I cried

over my sun-dried

tears

I have dropped fears

though I have not cried all my tears yesterday

by

10 Myths About Writers and Writing

P.A. Moed

In order to write creatively, we need to exercise our free-spirited and impulsive right brain.  It might take a while to “liberate” this side of the brain especially if we have worked in fields that are linear, concrete, and require rationale thought.  This is what happened to me many years ago when I switched from a career in teaching and publishing to full-time writing.   As I began my apprenticeship in the creative arts,  I had to dispel several myths about the writing process and writers.

"Incognito: The Hidden Self-Portrait" by Rachel Perry Welty, DeCordova Museum. “Lost in My Life (Price Tags) ” by Rachel Perry Welty, DeCordova Museum.

1.  Myth: Writers Are Strange.

There is an element of truth to this!  Writers (and other creative people) must be willing to look below the surface of everyday life and explore the world and relationships like a curious outsider.  This perspective sets us apart, but at the same time, it allows us…

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