Hi there. This blog is devoted to all manner of creative writing and is (ideally) updated several times each month.
I invite each of you to provide investigations and analyses; poetry and prose; reviews of film, literature, and music. Submit your own dramatic writing, introspective writing, unique and original writing. Submit your own thoughts regarding your politics and passions, hobbies and recommendations.
I invite your comments or criticism; your suggestions and feedback, at any time. Simply e-mail me or insert your desired copy as a comment, with a small note to say so. Please include your own ‘byline’ information, copyright information and/or author’s note so you can be credited for your own work.
More voices mean more variety. Let’s fill this Kitchen Sink with all the beauty and originality it can handle.
Sincerely, Chris Hibbard firstname.lastname@example.org
A Buddhist Poem
(reportedly written by a 14th century samurai)
Posted June 2016
I have no parents:
I make the heavens and earth my parents.
I have no home:
I make awareness my home.
I have no life or death:
I make the tides of breathing my life and death.
I have no divined power:
I make honesty my divine power.
I have no means:
I make understanding my means.
I have no magic secrets:
I make character my magic secret.
I have no body:
I make endurance my body.
I have no eye:
I make the flash of lightning my eyes.
I have no ears:
I make sensibility my ears.
I have no limbs:
I make promptness my limbs.
I have no strategy:
I make “unshadowed by thought” my strategy.
I have no designs:
I make “seizing opportunity by the forelock” my design.
I have no miracles:
I make right-action my miracles.
I have no principles:
I make adaptability to all circumstances my principles.
I have no tactics:
I make emptiness and fullness my tactics.
I have not talents:
I make ready with my talent.
I have no friends:
I make my mind my friend.
I have no enemy:
I make carelessness my enemy.
I have no armor:
I make benevolence and righteousness my armor.
I have not castle:
I make immovable-mind my castle.
I have no sword:
I make absence of self my sword.
by Marina Eileen Horsman
(Dedicated to Lindsey)
Like the Wild Rose
she waits for someone to see her beauty
to drink in her intoxicating scent
to dispel the ghosts that haunt them and protect then from harm
she waits with vitality in her veins
courage in her spirit
and the strength of a thousand warriors
she grows in harsh conditions only to be admired by those who cannot cultivate her
for she is free from the white mans ways
she sees what no one else can
she hears the cry of the orca and the sound of the waves in the seashells
she watches over the gifts of the spirits
and when someone finally stops to admire her strength, beauty and healing power, she must not be tamed for she is a survivor,
the Wild Rose
by Wendell Berry (1991)
Republished without permission
March 4, 2016
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion – put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
by Harriet Beecher Stowe (1867)
Republished without permission
March 4, 2016
It lies around us like a cloud,
A world we do not see;
Yet the sweet closing of an eye
May bring us there to be.
Its gentle breezes fan our cheek;
Amid our worldly cares,
Its gentle voices whisper love,
And mingle with our prayers.
Sweet hearts around us throb and beat,
Sweet helping hands are stirred,
And palpitates the veil between
With breathings almost heard.
The silence, awful, sweet, and calm,
They have no power to break;
For mortal words are not for them
To utter or partake.
So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide,
So near to press they seem,
They lull us gently to our rest,
They melt into our dream.
And in the hush of rest they bring
‘Tis easy now to see
How lovely and how sweet a pass
The hour of death may be; –
To close the eye, and close the ear,
Wrapped in a trance of bliss,
And, gently drawn in loving arms,
To swoon to that – from this, –
Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep,
Scarce asking where we are,
To feel all evil sink away,
All sorrow and all care.
Sweet souls around us! watch us still;
Press nearer to our side;
Into our thoughts, into our prayers,
With gentle helpings glide.
Let death between us be as naught,
A dried and vanished stream;
Your joy be the reality,
Our suffering life the dream.
by Shannon L. Alder
Republished without permission
February 2, 2016
You chose to give away your love.
You chose to have a broken heart.
You chose to give up.
You chose to hang on.
You chose to react.
You chose to feel insecure.
You chose to feel anger.
You chose to fight back.
You chose to have hope.
You chose to be naïve.
You chose to ignore your intuition.
You chose to ignore advice.
You chose to look the other way.
You chose to not listen.
You chose to be stuck in the past.
You chose your perspective.
You chose to blame.
You chose to be right.
You chose your pride.
You chose your games.
You chose your ego.
You chose your paranoia.
You chose to compete.
You chose your enemies.
You chose your consequences.
However, you are not alone.
Generations of people in your family have chosen.
People around the world have chosen.
We all have chosen at one time in our lives.
We stand behind you now screaming:
Choose to let go.
Choose to forgive yourself.
Choose to forgive others.
Choose to see your value.
Choose to show the world you’re not a victim.
Choose to make us proud.
A poem by Colleen Fitzsimmons
Published without permission Jan. 26, 2016
I stood by Your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that You were crying, You found it hard to sleep.
I whined to You softly as You brushed away a tear,
“It’s Me, I haven’t left You, I’m well, I’m fine, I’m here.”
I was close to You at breakfast, I watched You pour the tea,
You were thinking of the many times Your hands reached down to Me.
I was with You at the shops today, Your arms were getting sore.
I longed to take Your parcels, I wish I could do more.
I was with You at my grave today, You tend it with such care.
I want to re-assure You, that I’m not lying there.
I walked with You towards the house, as You fumbled for Your key.
I gently put my paw on You, I smiled and said “It’s Me.”
You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair.
I tried so hard to let You know, that I was standing there.
It’s possible for Me to be so near You everyday.
To say to You with certainty, “I never went away.”
You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think You knew…
In the stillness of that evening, I was very close to You.
The day is over now … I smile and watch You yawning
and say “Good-night, God bless, I’ll see You in the morning.”
And when the time is right for You to cross the brief divide,
I’ll rush across to greet You and We’ll stand, side by side.
I have so many things to show You, there is so much for You to see.
Be patient, live Your journey out…then come home to be with Me.
Composed by Kaleidoscope (UK)
From the album Tangerine Dream (1967)
A million white flowers in a field in the sky
Seemed to spell out a greeting as the children flew by
A guard in a chariot of silver and gold
Gave the children all tickets, then the story he told
Of a time in the future that was sunshine and flowers
And the children grew sleepy in the sky’s white towers
They dreamed of the story that the guard had displayed
They saw all the wonders, tiny minds were amazed
They saw candy forests and dragons that breathed fire
On all that was evil in the misty mire
They came to the village where the turtles in caves
Made pies for the people and the lemonade
The people lived out by the sea and each day
The seagulls would wake them as they passed on their way
The people were kindly, they would sing to the sky
And each bright new morning, the sun shone from their eyes
The children passed over and all the people could see
As they dived from the sky to the treacle sea
They bathed on the white sand, minutes turned into hours
And the children all giggled and gave each other flowers
The King from his castle came down to the sea
And he spoke to the children so patiently
He gave them small presents and bid them farewell
And the children unwrapped them, tiny silver bells
Their tinkling floated across the island with ease
And it came back toward them on the perfume breeze
They smiled at the tinkling, they gazed at the sun
And they smiled at each other, pretty little ones
A beautiful white horse came down to the sea
And the children all climbed up as he knelt on one knee