A Writer Shares

Sitting in the beauty of a fall day, watching the leaves drift to the ground, and hearing their crunch under artists’ feet, I wondered what it would be like to have this every day. Wake up to a majestic sky, a warm cup of tea, and a tree to prop up against. Ghost Ranch is a magnificent space to exist within. During my two day retreat to Ghost Ranch I mostly slept, combating a cold, but I did manage to eek out a chapter and write a poem. The experience allowed me back into my writing which I had abandoned since the summer. In an attempt to keep a promise to myself I am going to post a bit of my various writings every now and again. I appreciate you reading my blog. Please feel free to leave feedback as I am only as good as my greatest critic.

Guts oozing onto the damp, cold, pavement.
A loud cackle somewhere in the lonely distance.
Another looms around the corner
devouring its young.
The mass murder takes place on
kitchen tables
front porches
benches
chairs
next to children’s play-things.
Heads sliced open
eyes
popped out
scars form around the mouth.
The hollowed shells are propped
a warning
invitation
for intrigued bystanders.
More join the fray
the harvest begins anew.

The Great Pumpkin Slaughter