Poetry was my first love.
As my writing cravings grew, prose wooed me away.
I was torn between two lovers.
Why must I choose? I wont! I can’t.
I will hold you both in my arms; come what may.
We will learn and grow, mingle and love each other.
Our fruit will be vivid, nourishing, life-giving.
I wrote this fun poem a few years ago, as I was musing over these thoughts:
My Mighty Pen
filling up the recesses of my mind.
Light floods in.
The dam breaks.
My pen ebbs and flows across the scene,
keeping rhythm with the dictates of my thoughts.
“Mom, What’s for dinner?”
Visions die on the tip of my pen.
Faces recede into the shadows.
My pen is transformed into a sword.
I wield it with abandon till all has been conquered
and thrown into the pot.
Ah, one more hour to simmer and dream…
How has your writing branched out and mutated over the years?