Writing

by

Blessed

Is there space left

to push in my page–

to share my thoughts

on such an overcrowded stage?

Is there room

in our text-attacking lives

to find my voice?

Is there any surprise

left?  Any story

that hasn’t been already said?

I could read all my life

and still be over-fed.

There isn’t room for it all.

I block out just to breathe;

and my generation wonders

is there any need

for me?

More music available

than I will ever hear.

More knowledge than I

could ever care to seek.

More roads than I could

hope to take or meet.

More food than I

could ever safely eat.

I’m

SNOWED UNDER

by all that is sweet.

DSH

5/2017

by

Ficstory

I am overcome

and my heart bleeds

with the violence of fiction and history.

Must this be art?

Intrigue and sorrow,

traitorous tales

of harm by the same hands

that should have protected.

Grief, that is harshly too real

as I look into their lives

of darkness and spoil–

hungers soothed in famishing ways–

true lives of dramatic loss

and loneliness

so hollow that many

fell into their own abyss–

taking others with them.

And I, alone,

am left to mourn.

Can we celebrate prose

at so great a cost?

DSH

5/2017

 

by

Dear Emily,

Dear Emily,

I walked with you today

until my heart stopped

and I could no longer breathe

looking through your eyes.

 

A tiny desk, a life afloat

in a sea of ink and solitude

lost in thought

with nowhere else to be.

 

I catch up to you occasionally

when my life slows down.

I find you waiting–

waiting for me so we

can be alone–

together.

 

My heart beats again

pumping life into your pen,

and I breathe by

writing you in answer.

–DSH

3-23-17

 

 

by

Catching Up

It has been so long

since we spent a quiet

afternoon

together.

Just my pen

and I

getting reacquainted

with

myself.

Catching the lessons

out of the sea

of experience

and tacking them

up page by page

in the sun

to dry

so I can taste them

again

on yet another day’s

golden picnic.

DSH 11-30-16