Volcanic Woman

My core is unsettled.

Shifting fault lines
that tease and push against
the magma bubbling underneath.
Potential volcano,
but I’m trying to soothe the friction,
lower the pressure,
stop my tectonic plates from

I inhale, exhale
to bring my core back into Balance.
Standing tall,
focusing on the trees extending from my fingers,
the hills rolling over my hips,
the grasses swaying with my hair,
the clouds rising from my lips,
my core settling, settling…
…Am I settling?

Maybe an eruption is what I need.


via Daily Prompt: Core


Astral being

Astral being,
delicately dancing through the universe
Her power emanates from within
Burning plasma,
releasing energy,
that pulls eyes and minds to her.

Graceful gravity before an audience in awe
She glides
across the dark stage,
nuclear fusion at her core
radiating light onto her viewers.

via Daily Prompt: Astral

Photo by Darrel Summers.

The Conjuring

She added blood to fire,
sprinkling in the ocean’s tears,
and the feather from a phoenix’s tail.

Three rose thorns disappeared in the smoke,
two halves of an acorn followed,
and one black currant berry, ripe and juicy.

Hands now still at her sides
she closed her eyes and whispered
and formed the image in her mind.

A black paw scratched at her leg.
Smiling, the witch reached down
and picked up her conjured creation,
a little black kitten.


via Daily Prompt: Conjure

In a purple state of mind

Purple is the color of passion
shivers of anxiety racing through my nerves
action potentials firing off

connecting-connecting-connecting-connecting-connecting-connecting-every neuron-connecting

dendritic chaotic fractals spiraling out
every inch of my skin is pricked,
the electricity looking for a way out

My amygdala spits out emotion like a nail gun
my heart and brain under attack
Purple, purple
leaks out my eyes
and sails the sound waves out my mouth
while my brain changes like a chameleon:
Excited magenta
Melancholy violet
Dark, stormy aubergine

Sizzling and boiling, something is cooking.

via Daily Prompt: Purple


Rumination is an intoxicating drink
that makes you want to think and think and think
because maybe if I think enough I can solve this,
he will love me,
she will forgive me,
they will give me another chance.

Rumination, empty sensation,
a tangled knot that won’t unravel
no matter how much you tug on the string.

Rumination, hurricane of worry
with an Eye so calm the air is paralyzed,
while self-indulgent chaos destroys genuine action,
thoughts spiraling out and out
breaking connections.

Rumination, where obsession becomes your possession,
cherished and played with all day
while life is gradually swept away.

Let go of the spinning top
and let the momentum settle,
there is only so much you can do,
the rest is up to Them.


via Daily Prompt: Ruminate

We’re drying up

Like locusts swarming wheat,
they poured into the watering hole,
filling it up with their heaving, desperate bodies
and purging it of that precious liquid
that once lazily laid
in trenches, canals, channels,
soaking in its own molecules
indulging in its own wetness.

Now that once moisturized earth has chapped lips,
dry and cracked from drought
and overuse, misuse, and pollution
of her most precious resource.


via Daily Prompt: Swarm


One of deepest desires and real goals in my life is a very simple one actually. I dream of my own sunlit room where I can write and draw and create, an uncluttered peaceful place where no one will disturb me, where I can just quietly work. The rest of the house or apartment that is attached to that room is not as important as that room itself. I desire and crave a sanctuary.

Currently I don’t have a place like that. I make do with the library, although I always have to wear earplugs because there’s always at least one disruptive person. And when the library is closed I work at home, although my room is too cluttered with books and clothes and things that it feels like more of an oppressive environment than one conducive to creating. Not to mention I still live at home, (that is, my parents’ home) so I usually have to wear earplugs there as well when I write because otherwise my train of thought is forced to a halt with every loud voice and noise.

The desire for a place of my own permeates my mind every so often and I find myself fantasizing about that room. I imagine a large glass window with sunlight streaming through onto a wooden desk with a small plant in one corner – an ivy or Aloe vera or fern, I still haven’t decided – the only thing that’s important is that it’s alive and vibrantly green. There isn’t much else on the desk except for my computer and a couple of pencils and pens, but there is a large drawer alongside one of the walls where all my supplies are kept: papers, notebooks, markers, colored pencils, etc. There’s also one bookshelf in the room with each book carefully chosen, each an inspiring work in its own unique way, opening new horizons in my mind to explore and use for creation. Other than that, one of the most important things in that room is space. Freedom to move, to sprawl on the carpet, to dance. Freedom and space are essential to a creative room.

In the meantime, I dream and work, so that one day I may attain this desire. đŸ™‚

via Daily Prompt: Desire