Image from the Alvan S. Harper Collection.


Happy Flashback Friday Friends!! I LOVE a good ghost story! (But if the story is TOO good, I tend to sleep with lights and TV on to ward off the things that go “bump” in the night!) This story is my first attempt at writing the paranormal. I shared this a year ago, but you may have missed it! Enjoy! (With the lights on! ;) )

Originally posted on Nikewrites Blog:

Image from the Alvan S. Harper Collection.Image from the Alvan S. Harper Collection.

We spent the summer renovating our new home. The colonial style house, which sat vacant for over twenty years, was built in 1870 and sat on five acres of what used to be 180 acres of farmland. I was uncomfortable with our purchase. The cost of renovations being one reason, and the strange feeling that we were being watch was another. My husband thought I was just weirded out by the haunted appearance of the long abandoned house. I was the one who loved old houses and this house had character. It was a beautiful structure, with a field stone facade and wrap around porch. It was larger than most homes built at that time. The barn, which sat behind the house was large, but needed a lot of work. Steven planned on converting it to a three car garage with office space…

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Silence is a sweet symphony to my ears,
A comfortable bed to take my rest.
The absence of demand and insistence is a warm,
plush blanket tucked around me.
My spirit is unbothered.
My heart tastes the sweetness of freedom.
I am bound no more!
As light as a bubble,
A feather levitating on a gentle breeze.
Gravity can’t hold me down.
What once was a burden,
bends my back no more.
No man claims me as property.
I am free to stay where I am,
but free to go as I please.
I can choose of my own accord,
and forevermore
I choose to be free.

I is for: I Will Tell You a Truth


I usually don’t repost items I only posted a few months ago, but this one holds a timely lesson. Let it marinate. Happy Throwback Thursday, friends!

Originally posted on Nikewrites Blog:


I will tell you a truth:

You will get hurt.

Bones will snap.

Skin will bruise.

The heart will ache.

It has to happen

And if it doesn’t,

You may want to ask yourself

If you are really living.

I will tell you a truth

I learned from watching father.

He was working in the garden

And he pruned my favorite tree.

He cut a branch and left a stub.

Then he cut it again.

And then once more closer to the trunk.

I thought of how it felt

When a new wound was touched

Or reopened.

I thought he hurt the tree

So I cried.

He told me the branch was dead

And that dead branches

Hinder growth.

Did you hear that?

Dead branches hinder growth.

I will tell you a truth.

I know you are looking for answers.

I’ve been broken and bruised.

I’m healed and living.


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This poem is from my book, Persistence of Vision. It was inspired by artwork of Clint Brown. This image is a part of a series called The Plague Drawings. Special thanks to Clint Brown for allowing me to share his work.

Image from The Plague Drawings, used with permission.

Hollow Embrace by Clint Brown


What began as exploratory curiosity
eventually led to a single rendezvous,
in a room hidden from
the light of day,
but quickly
turned into frequent assignations,
and innumerable stolen moments
of explosive passion and lust
only to abruptly end
with final breaths
of regret.

If She gave too much
he took more than his share
and demanded more still
to feed his ego’s insatiable
appetite for her tender flesh.
Shameless suppliant,
foolish guttersnipe!
She bathed him with amorous
words and lofty immemorial fantasies
of him being Her first and evermore immorato
and Her being The One his soul long for.
Yet, was not his soul,
but his loins alone
that longed for Her.

She believed his lies
of the time being too soon
and his desire to know
Her deepest thoughts
and emotions before
he could present Her as his
crowned jewel
She saw him in the arms of another
who did not love him as well as She.
But he courted her
and presented her to all he knew
and flaunted her
as though she were new to the world,
but she wasn’t worthy,
there was no way
she knew how to speak to his soul
as She had done
in their clandestine encounters.

Could She be so easily replaced?

Truth settled in Her heart
and shattered its walls.
He was never Hers
and never intended to be.
So, She went back to their hiding place
and cried over the cessation
of his attention
and welcomed Quietus
as if it were Her next
romantic pursuit
and clung to it
wishing it was he
taking her to rest.

Paint Myself Gold

I would paint myself gold
if it meant you would notice me.
I’m just a poor child
living in the Land of Opportunity.
Mommy works so hard,
but makes very little money.
We have no light or no heat
My family lives in poverty.

I rush to do my homework
before night-time falls.
That’s when the drug dealers come out
and begin their street battles.
All the shooting scares me.
I want a safer home.
They fight for a piece of concrete
that they will never own.

Police are on the every corner,
I don’t think they care for me,
because all day long
they fight what my future could be.

I look forward to the holidays,
Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts,
that’s the one time of year
we always have plenty to eat.
We get big gifts,
new shoes, clothes and toys.
Even Mommy gets new things.
That fills my heart with joy.

I wish I could be a superhero
and protect my family and friends.
I’d beat up all the drug dealers
So the streets would be safe again.

There are a lot of families like mine
living in my neighborhood,
We are poor, but hope hard and pray
That our lives will turn out good.

When I look at all my neighbors,
I wonder again and again,
If I painted us all gold,
Would you notice us then?

This poem from my book, Persistence of Vision, was published in 2009 and was one of the winning works presented at the 2008 Delaware Art Museum’s Eye/I Witness Gordon Parks contest.



I’ve missed a few Throwback Thursdays! I could not disappoint you (or myself) for yet, another week! Today’s piece is about death and loss and rebirth. Enjoy!

Originally posted on Nikewrites Blog:

He held this new creation in his arms.
Oh, how his wife had suffered.
Two before, born and lived
Only to have one slay the other.
The living son was banished
A piece of her heart left with them.
She thought all was lost,
Until her belly swelled with life once more.
Light came back to her eyes.
She glowed.
Her sense of purpose was restored.
She was made to be a mother.
She did it so well,
That many times he thought
She was created first.
He was happy that she was restored
But he was concerned.
Confusion had slithered into their lives before.
What would happen with this child?
If they had another son,
Would brother kill brother again?
The child squirmed in his arms,
Pressing closer to his father for warmth,
Seeking comfort and protection.
He vowed to be a better father this time.
No harm would…

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It Was Only A Kiss


Happy Throwback Thursday! I went digging through the archives and found a piece that I have visited in while. Send to kids off do some chores and grab a glass of wine for this one! :) Enjoy

Originally posted on Nikewrites Blog:

He uttered few words

Allowing his actions to be his voice.

I was a prisoner

Trapped in his strong embrace.

His eyes were focussed,

His every move deliberate

As he tilted my head up

And brushed his lips

Softly across my mouth.

He gently sucked and nibbled

My bottom lip

Between feathery kisses.

I tasted passion,

I felt his desire

And restraint.

He did not rush this encounter,

My heart raced with anticipation.

I wanted to feel his hands

And those oh, so tender lips,

Explore every inch of my body.

He kissed me like

A starving man,

Savoring nourishment,

Rationing his portions

So he could return for more

As he had need.

I leaned into him,

Not hiding my desire,

I devoured his kisses

Like they were my last meal.

And then he pulled away.

Holding me away from his body,

Examining me carefully,

He let me go


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