Seasons: A poetic journey of a thousand miles

Love spins my world. Out of the maze of life comes simplicity. Love is simple. Raw and unedited, lived in dreams.


Talking Cure 

Am i seriously having this conversation alone?

Two days later,
talking, gaining volume,
a thought pops into my mind,
sometimes as soon as i leave the office.

these voices,
invisible in my head,
they sound so much like you.
I hear spirit advice “hang on”.

Each word enters the sanctuary,
prepared to wash this stone.
He asks “Can you hear me?”


Rain King

Counting Crows, August 21, 2016, Klipsch Music Center, Noblesville, IN

There are several bands I consider poetic. Counting Crows has been playing on my car stereo for the past two years, over and over and over. I probably will never tire of them. Some words speak to you no matter how hard you try and block their music.

We must learn to fly
despite our feet won’t try
after all we have one chance
to make this gift of life.





Words kept her from bleeding,
idle hands, bandaids.
Streaming beads of blood
dammed by black pools of ink.

“Inject the poison,
swallow the pain,
kill it in the dark.
Digest the bitter,
sing the sweet.”
Her chant heard throughout the park.



Sorry to bore you
with the mundane life I live
and I suppose I know you do too
you just refuse to let me know
how you really feel.
No need to spare me
I will certainly understand
if you have not already realized
I am Queen of Boredom.
Sitting high on my throne
you run from my presence
in hopes I do not spread my disease.

(Sorry to publish another silly thought. Truly believe me. It happened.)


1 Comment

Writers we are

I always need encouragement. 

write it and read later

I do not know how you handle first drafts. Do you treat them like children, hold them back, mold, mend and polish? Or do you allow your words to grow of their own accord? 

I often push a writing out of the nest in order to see how it performs. I am not ashamed of any effort I put forth. Let it go!! Let your words perform for you. Let your words give feedback and continue traveling arm-in-arm. Never abandon thoughts. 

In the end, do what’s right for you. 

never give up a dream

I disagree, i try to make my words dance. They may not always soar. They trip and fall but I pick them up, brush off the dirt, and let them try again. 

Elizabeth’s sentiment of trying is important. Don’t be bashful. Hide behind your words. Let them speak and find a heart that seeks you. The kindest reward, a book on their bookshelf. 

Happy writing, J

1 Comment


she never felt the romance
others reveled in,
darkness her home.
a tattered life reading
other people’s enchantment,
their words pricked her ears.
she was not deaf
to “what could be”,
lost in a world of torment.

Anhedonia, oh Anhedonia, how you crush!
You, a notion of something feared
A burden to her every breath.

“This had been one of Hal’s deepest and most pregnant abstractions, one he’d come up with once while getting secretly high in the Pump Room. That we’re all lonely for something we don’t know we’re lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that he goes around feeling like he misses somebody he’s never even met? Without the universalizing abstraction, the feeling would make no sense.”

David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

That “pregnant abstractions” exist is hope, if hope is something real. I love those two words. Wonderful how two words, only two words,  can envelope a host of thought. 


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