As a child I made up 'bedtime stories' in an effort to lull myself to sleep....I've never stopped; but now I write everything out, be it poetry or prose.
My background? I don't have that much of one, really!
I'm a high school graduate who yearned for college but never made it there. I had 4 inspirational teachers at school: Helen Petermann, Shirley McKinney, Louise Gravenor and William Voron. They taught me everything I know and I will be forever grateful to them!
My major influences are Shakespeare, Sara Teasdale, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allan Poe, Edna St. Vincent Millay, the Brontes, Elizabeth Barett Browning and countless other poets. I've also been greatly influenced by novelists Victoria Holt, Barbara Michaels, Dorothy Eden, Norah Lofts, Thomas Hardy, John Steinbeck, Laura Black, Cormac McCarthy, Stephen King and many others.
Johnson City, TX usa
In high school I won various awards for writing, mainly in the UIL yearly competitions. when I was a senior, I won 3rd in State for Ready Writing. I also wrote for our small-town newspaper and the school newspaper.
As an adult, I've won two 1st. place prizes in annual poetry competitions sponsored by the Marble Falls Public Library.
The earth is scorched and bitter here,
a sad and sere plateau.
Acid poisoned the sacred soil
and nothing new will grow.
The garden has withered and died,
the flowers burnt to dust.
The trowel and rake are cast aside,
grimy with dirt and rust.
The gardener has long since fled,
and won't be back again.
Harsh droughts and storms drove him away
to find a greener glen...
...and so this ground sits desolate,
a lonely place apart,
and no one ever comes to tend
this wasteland that's my heart.
Jealous, a demanding mistress
who covets all she sees,
a Madonna of Creation
whose presence lives and breathes:
Lady Nature, an enigma,
so beautiful, but cruel.
Unforgiving and unyielding,
she'll suffer not a fool.
For the Goddess of the Gardens,
each day's a passion play;
the roses glow a moment, then
she steals their bloom away.
God made her queen, then broke her heart,
as men are wont to do;
now unshed tears and heart's-blood make
a bitter morning dew.
'The Prison My Body's Become'
My body lies still, suspended,
cold; afloat in neglect.
An ocean of isolation
produces a numbing effect.
My skin holds a memory, faint:
hands, caressing and warm.
My blood yet recalls the sensation
of passion that raged like a storm.
There's so much that I've forgotten;
much I've been deprived of,
but I think my heart still remembers
soft whispers and rumours of love.
Emotions revolt inside me,
ripping me to the bone,
sighing and crying and starving
for the love that I've never known.
This vessel, so long neglected,
atrophies and grows pale.
I fear that I may ne'er return
from this chilling, killing vale.
'Though I drift towards surrender,
through great depths yet unplumbed,
my soul cries out for release from
the prison my body's become.