Attention, My Pet

Focused seemingly with a laser point stare,

Attention seems fixated, aware.

Then you sparkle and shine with a smile.

Attention’s thoughts chase your words,

scampering, bounding,


Suddenly, Attention sees a flicker nearby.

What is it?!

A new idea, endeavor, creation to nudge,

knead and trounce.


Yes, Attention has moved on for now,

But as she pads away swiftly, do know

she’ll be back to purr you to her side.

Grudge Stone

It’s been many years,

hand-1838345_1280and it kept getting bigger,

and heavier,

that grudge,

that stone,

that grudge stone.

It feels like it won’t


that grudge stone.

Till one day,

you decide to rid

yourself of it.

So, you manage to budge

that grudge-


Do you judge your




toss into




do you hurl

s h a t t e r i n g

that glass house you live in?

What happened when you budged

that grudge, that stone,

that grudge stone?




Temporary Guests




and Sadness.

Oh, wait, maybe Depression?

No, the first two

don’t get to hang out long

enough to become the third guest.

I see you moping behind my gray matter,

peeking a curious glance at my soul.

Hoping to stay for longer than a cup of tea,


or glass of wine.


You want to be acknowledged. I don’t mind.

Embraced and even accepted, that’s fine, too.


But, oh, you dark sexy Melancholy and sweet Sadness,

you don’t get to feast with me for weeks, or

eat out of my fridge.

You don’t get to dance to drumbeats in my head every other day,

or fuck me over again.

This time around,

you are temporary guests.

I’ve already given you my best.

Leave it at the Door

Are we getting comfy with our ego’s   –







If so, I invite you to come in and get uncomfortable with me in –








It’s not too late to relate, act and collaborate.


let’s leave our egos and shoes at the door.


Erasing the Finish Lines

Those aren’t finish lines on our body and face.crosswalk-377613_1280

Our soul’s race,

never-ending, so many infinite

miles into the heavens.

Some of us can’t even begin to see, perceive.

Our earthly race,

is only with ourselves.

Let’s set our own pace.

Never crossing the finish line,

but erasing, redrawing, and

erasing them over and over again.

Continuously resetting and


Winners in love,




and grace.








Those Rarer Times when Awkward Discomfort Leads to Creativity. (Cabin) Pressure Creates a Little Gem.

creativityCreativity – what conditions are best for it? In a recent conversation with a dear friend, we agreed that most of our good creative ideas come when we are doing one of the following – washing our hair, staring out the window, driving, or meditating. We are typically, physically at ease and relaxed. Even when I worked in busy, noisy office spaces, I was able to shut my door or put headphones and be productive. However, about three months ago, a strange thing happened to me. I was able to be creative under very different and unusual circumstances.

I was on a plane trip where I was pretty uncomfortable. The woman next to me had space in her seat to leave me one arm rest for at least part of the flight. She overtook the arm rest between us and randomly leaned a bit into my seat space. Additionally, she was coughing and sniffling into crumpled tissue. There was another seat on the other side of her, in which she could’ve sat. I asked her why she didn’t want the window seat. She told me that in case nature calls, she’d like to be closer to the aisle, so she was fine with the middle seat. I told her I understood and for the same reason, prefer my aisle seat. I added to this with a hopeful smile– “I’m sure we’re both good at sharing an arm rest.” She proved me wrong.

About 4o minutes into the flight, I asked a crew member if there were other empty seats on the plane, and of course, there was not. Not that it seemed to matter much, the majority of passengers sounded sick. So, besides feeling physically cramped, I was having a mild to moderate case of germ-phobia. I decided to make the best of it. I asked the flight attendant for some orange juice. I applied hand sanitizer generously. For a moment, I considered lathering up with up it – smearing it on my face, neck and arms to see if it would disturb my seat neighbor enough to move over. But, I didn’t have much left and wanted it to last the flight. So, I put on my ear buds and started reading a book I got for Christmas – Yes Please, by Amy Poehler, her funny, inspiring, and down-to-earth, nearly mid-life memoir. In it, she described her challenge in writing it –

“ Everyone lies about writing. They lie about how easy it is or hard it was . . . writing is some beautiful experience that takes place in an architectural room with leather novels and chai tea . . . what a load of shit. It has been like hacking away at a freezer with a screwdriver.”

Creativity and inspiration soon spark. A poem started forming in reply to her writing challenges. I wrote about my struggle with writing a fiction book:

Scribing Story or Sticky Sludge?

The pen is my balancing cane,
as I sludge
through molasses in
purple goulashes.
Hoping I don’t land on
my ass or in a pile of ashes –
the ashes of books burned
which never saw their finish.
Should I stick not to the molasses,
but the telling of a story to the end?
But what end? Who decides the end?
Is it I, they, or it – the molasses of gray
matter that is my mind of late?
Is it the moles, the curious on-looker of critics,
do-gooding book-readers who poke out their heads
and opinions? Or is it the asses,
the naysayers, and whybothers?
I continue on.
My pen is my support and ally as
I slip and slide down the street of molasses that seems to not end, 
doing my best to shake distracting moles and asses along the way.

 So, feeling the pressure of being confined to a small, uncomfortable space seemed to force me to intensely focus on other thoughts and ideas – and get some results. Have you had similar moments of creativity? Share your physically, awkwardly, uncomfortable, but creative moments with me in the comments below.