Tag Archives: writing

Perfect Strangers

Perfect Strangers

by Angela Soelzer Ragosa

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Perfect Strangers

Me:

I wish you all the best!

Perfect stranger’s reply:

But you don’t even know me…

Me:

I really mean it; I wish you all the best…

Perfect stranger’s look:

Puzzled…

This exchange brought me to the page this morning. I wondered why this person seemed so unable to wrap his head around the concept of a perfect stranger wanting all the best for him… Was it not plausible in his mind for someone completely unfamiliar to him to feel true empathy and compassion for him? Intrigued, I suddenly found myself weighing all the possibilities… I began to question what happened in his life in order for such distrust to exist.

I wondered who this person is…

I wondered about the shoes he’s walked in and the miles he had walked in those shoes… I wondered what his parents were like and did they embrace him with a loving ease? I wondered how much praise he had received for a job-well-done, if in fact, he had ever received any praise at all… I wondered what made this skeptic tick… I wondered if he could feel and come to know the unconditional love & support for him from a perfect stranger…me. I wonder

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One More Time

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One More Time

Marked by the Muse

“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”
— Maya Angelou

Today, trust that you can create the change that is calling within you one more time.

You can create your dreams come true one more time.

You can trust your creative spirit is leading you one more time.

You can have faith that what you envision is in process of becoming one more time.

You can gather the courage to create what your inner whispers are urging one more time.

You can take one more step one more time.

You can believe that your journey will yield the fruits of your heart one more time.

You can imagine that those blooms will become the fragrance of joy within your everyday life one more time.

You can remember you are here for a purpose one more time.

You can honor the value – your value – that you bring to others one more time.

You can share those inner whispers with the world, instead of holding them mute inside you one more time.

You can have confidence that you hear the voice of your Spirit and are following its guidance one more time.

You can be free now by singing your song today one more time.

You can draw from the well of strength deep within your spirit one more time, to live one more day and become one step closer to being who you truly are.

You are unique and your finger print proves it.

Today, is about celebrating you one more time.

Tomorrow you begin to continue one more time…

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No excuse

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Get your creative juices flowing…

photo: Getty Images

No excuse

by Samantha Reynolds

Don’t tell me
you are not inspired.

That is no excuse.

Creativity doesn’t land;
it is earned.

So wrench your eyelids open
cackle at the keyboard
stomp your feet

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LONGING

Black and white portrait of tired little girl with sad eyes. Shallow DOF

 LONGING

 

I long to return where my heart’s song began

The quaint city by the ocean I once knew so well

How I long to play along her sugar white shore

Swim in her ocean as deep and as blue as my longing

I long to jump up and down amidst her ocean floor with it’s scattered sea shells that tumble and stumble, all the while, tickling the tips of my toes

Crash about in her ocean waves as if I were a discarded cork, bobbing freely, just me…

 

 

©2011  Angela C. Soelzer Ragosa

 

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The City

New York city - 3 Sep 2010 - Times square

by Constantine P. Cavafy (1910)

You said, “I will go to another land, I will go to another sea.
Another city will be found, better than this.
Every effort of mine is condemned by fate;
and my heart is — like a corpse — buried.
How long in this wasteland will my mind remain.
Wherever I turn my eyes, wherever I may look
I see the black ruins of my life here,
where I spent so many years, and ruined and wasted.”

New lands you will not find, you will not find other seas.
The city will follow you. You will roam the same
streets. And you will age in the same neighborhoods;
in these same houses you will grow gray.
Always you will arrive in this city. To another land — do not hope —
there is no ship for you, there is no road.
As you have ruined your life here
in this little corner, you have destroyed it in the whole world.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/19/nyregion/if-you-cant-make-it-here-watch-out.html?_r=1&ref=poetryandpoets
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I am not eccentric

 

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I am not eccentric.

It’s just that I am more alive than most people.

I am an unpopular electric eel

set in a pond of goldfish.”

― Edith Sitwell

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i like my body when it is with your body

10-Reasons-To-Love-Your-Body-Now

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh … And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new

e.e. cummings

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12 ways to write a poem…

poetry magnetic pieces

Let’s say I’m sitting in that room with you now. Take out a pad and pen, your favorite pen—the one that just slides across the paper. Be sure you have an hour or so, so you can take your time with each prompt.

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New Dress Poem…

yellow dress 2

Hello, lovely disguise. Come swing short and loose

around my thighs. Cowl my neckline, let my throat

rise out of your yellow folds like a virgin.

Cup my shoulders; cling to my breasts so closely

that my skin accepts you, sister, knit and pieced

by strangers’ hands, but closer to my body

than my own husband. You absorb in your stitching

my wrist’s vanilla and anise, the sweat of anxiety,

a hasty last morsel of soup, or blood from a bandage

pulled off too soon. And those gazes I scorned

when I was younger—I accept them so eagerly now,

not knowing how long my face will stay,

how long I’ll be able to walk on these legs, slim

in black tights, before sickness forces me down.

When no man will want me for a lover, or dream

of pulling you over my head, you’ll caress me,

won’t you? You’ll be with me, faithful friend,

when my body starts to turn.

Anya Silver

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life, poetry, thoughts, writing

everyday life by Albert Goldbarth

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Everyday People

The oceans are dying. They require a hero,
or a generation of heroes. The oceans are curdling
in on themselves, and on their constituent lives,
they’re rising here, and lowering there,
I swear I’ve heard them gasping. And my friends … ?
Are brooding over who their kids are playing with
on the streets. Are coming home after a day where some
midlevel management weasel sucked
their souls out like a yolk from an egg—right through
a tiny puncture-hole in the dome of the skull. The cat
has worms. The price of gas is nearly what
their grandparents’ wedding rings cost. The oceans

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