Prodigal Poet: An Ecclectic Offering on God, Shakespeare, and the Beatles

I started using Facebook only a little over a year ago (I'm always a late bloomer!). Prior to I had absolutely no interest in participating in one of these social forums, and still don't outside of Facebook. I finally decided to start a page, thinking it could help build my freelance business, which I had just started at that time. I'm honestly not sure that it, so far, has done much in the way of business, but I have surprisingly enjoyed it very much on the personal socializing front. I have come into contact again with many people from my past and also stayed in better touch with some of the people from my present. I am often very bad at consistent communication with many people, so this has been a helpful tool for me in nurturing some of my relationships. Plus, I really enjoy taking those silly, little quizzes. :) I never would have guessed this before, but Facebook has also been an effective tool in my journey toward complete authenticity. It basically provides a

There are days when I love writing so much that I just can't seem to get words out quickly enough to satisfy the inundated crevices of my soul. And there are probably far too many days when I hate it -- I hate the way it feels, sounds, tastes . . . I hate the way it taunts me and chastizes me for not being more clever and witty. Writing is really a love/hate relationship. You don't do it simply because you love it. You do it because you feel you have to -- that you will cease to be you if you don't. I've talked plenty about how I discovered that writing was my life-calling when I was 9 years old, writing my first book of poems for the Young Authors Contest. I had never felt such satisfaction before as when I first put pen to paper for that very first poem, titled "Mothers." I will probably never aptly articulate just what that moment meant for me and what it did to me. I was hooked. I was lost and gone forever in a world full of words,

CAUTION: The post below is a little bit of ranting, a tad bit of raving, and a tiny bit of hostile aggression. Read at your own risk. (Sarcasm intended). I don't know about you, but I hate shopping . . . yes, I'm a girl that hates shopping. We do exist! There are many reasons why I don't like this national female high-inducing pasttime. When it comes to clothes, I get depressed because I feel fat in everything, and nothing fits that perfectly because I don't have a perfectly proportioned body. When it comes to household items, I feel hassled. It's really just a chore, not a recreation. And when it comes to gifts, I find myself wandering around for that elusive, outstanding and most glorious present that just never seems to materialize. That's why I do basically all my gift shopping online. Plus, I can find thousands more things online than I ever could in stores, at least without having to hop around to a dozen or more. The biggest reason that I hat

* This is part 4 of a series of posts that explore my struggles with self-esteem, weight, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and the very difficult task of trying to be my fullest self in a world that constantly demands more than what I am. Because this subject is so vast and most of my life has been spent swimming in its waters in some form or another I thought it best to break it up . . . also so as to not bore you to death! Some of you may not be able to relate, but I hope that you will find it interesting anyway. And perhaps you will be better able to understand someone in your life. Some of you may be able to relate and I hope that you will know that you are not the only one -- that the journey may be long, but progress is progress. Remember that no matter how small it may feel, you still are not the same person that you were yesterday. And that is something to celebrate! For Parts 1, 2, and 3 please scroll below . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I hated gy

I've been listening again to the soundtrack to "Lady in the Water," possibly my favorite of all of M. Night Shyamalan's movies. I know, it was pretty universally panned as being terrible. But why should I care? I loved it and that's all that matters. I love it because it's simple. I love it because it's beautiful and tender. I love it because I can see and feel the heart and soul that M. Night put into making it. I love it because it's fanciful and whimsical. I love it because it's a creative way of doing a modern-day, allegorical fairytale. I love it because it's honest. My working theory is that the people that hated it, do so because they don't know how to enjoy something with childlike love anymore. Or that they are far too "cool" to suspend disbelief for just a moment. And the rest, well, they were just upset that M. Night took out some personal aggression on the in-movie film criti

It's springtime, and like everyone else, I am glad. Although, the reason that I am glad is not because I hate winter, snow, and cold weather. On the contrary, I adore all of those things. In fact, if I had to pick a favorite season, I would probably pick winter . . . call me weird. I love each season as it comes -- each season in its due time. The reason I am happy to welcome back spring is for three things: the smells, leaves once again on the trees, and THUNDERSTORMS!! Yes, that's right, I love storms. I am pretty much infatuated with all bad weather . . . storms, snow, wind, cloudiness, etc. The only thing I do not enjoy, however, is driving in them. Springtime really pulls out the Transcendentalist in me. I like to channel my kindred spirits of Emerson and Thoreau. I suppose most people would say that nature is the thing that most inspires and rejuvinates them. So I won't say that (even though it's true), because I hate being just like everyone else. So

Dust of the day Light sometimes Thick Always clingy, magnetic, sure Campaigning the status quo Slow to retire, quick to spread A swipe, a wipe Smearing fragments till all is speckled Cristened With the mess of the day.