Author: women who think too much
The Fire
https://lunatheblog.com/2020/11/23/the-fire/
WOW. Powerful.
I am the fire
I am the stone
Searing flesh
And charring bone
Choking smoke
Aching tears
Evaporate
Extinguish fears
Steam rising
Power fierce
A mother’s sword
The world to pierce
I am the fury
Knuckles crack
Skin full of scars
Rippling back
Flaming arrow
Archers hold
Roaring blaze
Green eyes bold
Let fly the wind
Lightning flash
Berserker charge
Shields clash
If I need it
I will build it
My cup is full
For I have filled it
I am the soldier
Upon the field
I am the blade
To me, all yield
I am the fortress
All I desire
Black as night
I am the fire
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If you would like to have…
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The Hobby Horse I Ride (Billy Collins, too!)
When I was in graduate school, there were two types of people in the English Department: Lit People and Writing People. The Lit People breathed the rarefied air of theory, while the Writing People were pretty much viewed as the idiot savants of the department:
Awww, isn’t that sweet. You wrote a lit-tle po-em. Bless your heart. Now, step aside while I tell you what it REALLY means and why, in point of fact, you felt compelled to write it. No, better yet, I shall deconstruct it into meaninglessness. And if that is not enough to send you sniveling back to your misbegotten scribblings, I shall prove that your poem does not even EXIST until I read it!
All right, I may be exaggerating just a wee bit.
However, I do believe that poetry is meant to be experienced, not used as an exercise in sociocultural and phenomenological theorizing. Interpretation…
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When you can bear your own silence–Mooji
PINK~Cotton Candy
Feels like a good night for pink cotton candy to me.💗💗💗
PINK~Cotton Candy
reminds me when I was 6 my baby sister was just born and my Momma took my brother and I the country fair. It started to rain and there my Momma stood with my brand new baby sister, under the covered pavilion, holding PINK~Cotton Candy and she was smiling. My Momma never smiled much, but when I see PINK~Cotton Candy I think of that day, in the rain, My Momma smiled and the taste of that PINK~Cotton Candy tasted like love to me.
I’m smiling just thinking of it!
Does this bring back memories for you too?
PINK Cotton Candy Memories
Momma I met a boy…
I love this one from my thinkingpinkx2@wordpress.com partner, Michelle Marie.
Momma I met a boy
he’s so cute and sweet
and if you wait till summer
I think you will meet
the boy of my dreams
cause Momma
he makes me feel safe
he laughs at all my jokes
but mostly Momma
he holds me when I cry
he steals kisses
like sugar candy
in the sun
he warms my heart
he’s so much fun
but mostly Momma
he asks baby girl
how do you feel
just like you do
he takes care of me
like you do Momma
Oh Momma
I met a boy
Memories
Memories

A Note From Grace (My Mom)
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie
A NOTE FROM GRACE (My Mom)
When my children were growing up and got into their “teenage problem” years, I’d become exasperated with them. I’d think, “They’re just like their father!”
Then, one day the light dawned on me, (Marblehead) because after taking a hard, honest look at myself, I realized; they were just like me. The me I had suppressed and hidden deep inside, where no one else could see. I was as wild and rebellious as they, but I had put up a shield of adult perfection, striving to become the perfect mother that everyone expected me to be.
I have now learned that I need to let this child in me come out to play, or the adult becomes a cold hard shell. I must confess, now that I’m older, I have to do this through my books, and old TV movies.
My mind wants to run…
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All Poetry Contest.
Hello everyone.
I am currently hosting a contest through All Poetry, and it is centered around writing poetry inspired by Wallace Stevens. This is the first poetry contest I am doing through there and if anyone would like to participate, you must submit your entry through All Poetry.
The contest ends on December 3rd, 2020 where I will then judge the pieces received. You can read more about it here, if you would like. You can write in any style you want, there are no restrictions. Further more, please nothing discriminatory, sexist, or racist–your piece will not be accepted if that is the case.
A minimum of 20 lines is allowed (but I’m not strict on this part of the rule). Maximum is the sky. Prose and prose-poetry will also be accepted.
Profanity is allowed, just label your piece under the “Adult” tag. Your piece must be related…
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Making Changes
Awesome poem, Pat.
https://patcegan.wordpress.com/2016/01/22/making-changes/
What will it take
to make you see your’re
at the edge right now?
Like an angry bull
you kick and buck
never seeing that
what you’re doing
makes things worse.
There are times in our lives
when we must stop
this forward crash course
we’ve set, and think
about what we can
do instead. Too often
we blame others, even God
unwilling to see what role
we play, always
the victim to the end.
Start by being quiet
still, in expectation.
Think of one thing
you can change to turn
the situation around.
Each time you do this
you take control of your life
creating it as you wish it to be.
Take time each day
to go within, to ask for
guidance, to be grateful
for what you have.
In time, you will find
a better way
to live a life
of serenity.
I Wait
I
wait by
the pink river
for my heart to
return.
I Won’t Grow Up!
Visit Pat’s blog for more great posts.
https://patcegan.wordpress.com/2013/07/10/i-wont-grow-up/
Looking under mushrooms
Gazing at the stars
Twirling spaghetti strands
Flying on dragons
I am a 70-year-old Peter Pat
who still knows that a child’s
world has more reality than
that occupied by adults.
Hey! Where’s Tinkerbell?
Happy Halloween

Happy Helloween

Happy Helloween
If Yesterday Were a Door
Beautiful…

if yesterday were a door
would you find her hand
where the sunset slid
if yesterday were a door
would you hold her smile
where the memories hid
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Somewhere

You can find me
Somewhere
That time does not exist.
But it does
Even if I say no.
And grains of sand
I cannot hold
Stick to my weary feet.
Lost To Sleep
Sleep eats my hours
Devours my moments
I awaken to find
Years and years
Were sacrificed
Lost to sleep.
Lost in a fog
Of numbness
I hide myself
Inside each day
Veiled by darkness
I embrace each night.
Devotional Battlegrounds
“Surviving isn’t just about
learning its price and paying for it.
It’s about fighting through it,
even when all hope is lost.”
Maybe the most interesting part about us is how devoted we are to each other. Not because we aren’t kindred spirits with hearts that still know how to bleed and fill up with a limitless supply of love. But like we were forged on the ground of a battlefield, still simmering with smoke and the coppery scent of blood lingering in the air. And I suppose in some ways, that’s exactly what happened. We learned to fight for our lives when we were supposed to be children, laughing and playing beneath the sunlight. We learned the price of survival early. It wasn’t pretty. Surviving never is. But a little agony is worth it if it means we will pull through. And that is what keeps me going.
©…
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Still Beating
I love Sarah’s writing.❤https://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/2020/10/28/still-beating-2/
“I still feel you in my heart.
And I know, my heart still beats for you.”
Maybe, when we are finally
beneath the same moon,
the cards will change
in our favor.
Maybe, when the timing
is right, we’ll find our way
back to one another.
And maybe. Just maybe,
when we move beyond
this life, we will still
find each other.
But most of all, for now,
I just wish your life
is filled with happiness
in my absence.
Because even on the
blackest of nights,
I still feel you in my heart.
And I know, my heart
still beats for you.
Maybe it’s the maybes
that are eating me alive.
© Sarah Doughty
2019
Perhaps one day,
this wall between us
will crumble beneath
its foundation.
Whispers
Michelle Marie paints broad strokes of mama love with her words and her art. Her art, poetry, words and photos are incredibly moving. She always grabs my heart and her pictures evoke a rainbow of emotions.
https://tellmeaboutit.co/2020/10/02/whispers/

Childhood is but a whisper…then comes the living. I wanted you to know I’m here cheering you on. 💕 Whispering prayers, I hope you feel them. 💕
Darkness Swallowed Me Whole and Spit Me Back Out Again
From the Bipolar Writer
https://thebipolarwriter.blog/2018/09/03/darkness-swallowed-me-whole-and-spit-me-back-out-again/
The Bipolar Writer Mental Health Blog
September is National Suicide Prevention Awareness Month
I will be writing a post a day about suicide prevention and awareness on my blog
for my campaign
Remember in September.
Prevent Suicide Yesterday.
Today May Be Too Late.
This is a post on my blog describing the meaning behind the title of my campaign.
Back to my current post…
Darkness Swallowed Me Whole and Spit Me Back Out Again
Because I started researching information about suicide prevention awareness and looking at old posts I wrote, it awakened thoughts and feelings of the past causing me to become more in touch with my past emotions and feelings of depression and severe mental illness pain.
Those feelings will always be a part of me. I will never forget what I have survived over many years of my life. This is not a bad thing, but is a blessing instead. It is always a…
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Why Caterpillars…
dont make good pets.

Waiting…
Waiting here for you

For Michelle Marie @ thinkingpinkx2@wordpress.com
Bewildered: Gray Walls with Boxes
https://judydykstrabrown.com/2018/02/07/bewildered-gray-walls-with-boxes/
WOW. Powerful words.❤
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown
Gray Walls with Boxes
Once I knew words that fit together.
Now my mind still has the answers,
but rarely lets me in to find them.
People who seem to know me
bring pizza in a box
and we eat it in front of another box I’ve forgotten the name for––
a small world with other people moving in it that I don’t know.
Sometimes words appear in a ribbon on the bottom edge of that box
and I wonder if I understood them
if they ‘d tell me what I’m supposed to do.
On the walls are other flat boxes
with people frozen in them
and I think it is my fault.
There is something I am supposed to be doing.
There is something I am supposed to be doing.
“They are your pictures, Mother.
They’re there for decoration—
for you to enjoy,”
a woman tells me
when I…
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