Sad movies don't make me cry.
I sit there
in the dark,
with empathetic tears
trailing down the faces around me,
feeling a bit out of place,
and a bit cold inside.
- marandarussell.com
Poetry – Sad Movies
creative writing
Poetry – Counting Stars
Wading through soggy Lucky Charms, I push aside horseshoes, clovers, and tasty red balloons to begin counting stars. - marandarussell.com
Poetry – Playing Dirty
Where I come from
blood and names mean nothing
and sworn oaths even less.
But prized most of all
is that old art
of playing dirty -
so dirty
no one else
can even see the game.
- marandarussell.com
Poetry – Memory Collector
I collect memories, or perhaps, more accurately, they collect me. They've taken over the bed and the bedroom. They've wandered down the hall to congregate in the guest room. Still too crowded, some migrate to the couch, the stove, and the fridge. A few have even taken up swimming in the bathtub or driving my old Saturn. Like Tribbles, or Gremlins, they multiply fast - and require constant supervision.
A Look Inside My Personal Journal!
I didn’t really have a good idea for a blog post today, so here are a few random little bits of prose from my journal that I like and thought I’d share:
I want to cause chaos. I want the entire world to feel the insecurities and fragility that creates the glass enclosure I dare not shake or shatter.
I lean towards darkness, but not cruelty or evil. The comforting dark. The mysterious dark. The exciting dark. The natural dark. The darkness inside is strong, but it need not be frightening.
I believe in justice, in fairness, in self protection, and in reflecting negativity back to its source, but I do not believe in malevolence.
I should have been a whore when I was younger. I was a good girl – I ran from impropriety. I feared intimacy. I swam in self-doubt and self-consciousness. I was afraid to be sexual. I was afraid to be sensual. I was afraid to be attractive.
Poetry – Plague
the dead rest
one upon another
with dull, open eyes
and red rum trickling
out the side
of their mouths
unafraid
of the future
because
they no longer
have one.
freedom finally found.
Poetry – God as a Fish
Do you know how I
picture God myself?
As one single fish,
enormous,
creative,
scattering millions
of lucky little accidents
like caviar –
deep in his dark sea
caverns,
each tiny black marble
waiting their turn
to wash up
on life’s sandy
shore.
(Want to help support this blog?)
Poetry – This Mental Love
I pour myself out,
a puddle of libation on the floor…
If any of my fancies
ever pleased you,
I beg of you to accept
the mental influences at work.
My affection may be disputable,
but it was never plagiarized.
Of my loyalty,
none could fairly doubt,
as my poverty
is a witness
to my honesty.
Frustrations of Self-Publishing – New Book On the Way!
I spent hours yesterday and will likely spend more time today trying to format my new book for publishing on Amazon. The new book is a combination of some of my more colorful, playful artworks and poetry bits for kids. I used the art itself to inspire the poetry. I think the book will turn out great once I finally get the kinks worked out with the formatting.
One thing I really wish Amazon would do is to make it easier to format books using Word, especially if you use quite a few images in the book. For some reason, Amazon can not recognize when you split up content on different pages in Word, at least not when images are mixed in. It is pretty frustrating sometimes.
Once I get the book done, can proof the hard copy, and get it up for sale, I’ll definitely be sharing it with you all. I hope you will like it!
