In Her Own Write


Are you ready to start your day or, perhaps, to turn in?  Do you need a boost to get you going? Have you had a hard day?  Tired and spent? Then you’ve come to the write place.  Here’s a chance to do something special for yourself: Turn off the TV and the radio, dim the lights, enflame the candles--add incense if you dare-pour a bit of your favorite beverage---wine, perhaps?--- curl up in that comfy chair you’ve always been meaning to spend time in, close your eyes and listen to Monica recite from her collection of original poetry, with a subdued musical background.    

Or, if you prefer, follow along with the text below. Simply click on the play arrow of the collection of your choice when you are ready.







 blows where it will
 and waits
 for no one.      

 I sometimes wish
 I were the wind...


Simple Pleasures

   Give me a sapphire sky above my head
   With stars to guide my way
   An alabaster moonlit night
   And the golden sun by day

   Give me trees to teach of beauty and strength
   Flowers in every hue
   The rain to quench my thirst for life
   For temperance, the morning dew

   Give me wind at my back to ease my way
   A breeze to cool desire
   A gentle breath that whispers love
   And for passion, give me fire

   Give me the soft green grass throughout my life
   On which my feet may tread
   But when this body breathes no more
   Lay me down in earthen bed


Silver smoke spiraled
around a blackened chimney
and faded into a frosty mist.
The smell lingered long
after the woodsmoke vanished
deep into the cold winter night.



In the darkness of night it crept
        In silence
Embracing each thing with a gentle mist
Its hazy shadow was cast upon the hard-frozen earth
The image born, complete peace     

I delighted in the ethereal beauty
And was acutely aware of the hush
That had fallen along with the fog, muting
        The starkness
        The harshness
Of both sight and sound
Transforming each thing for a moment
By its presence

                          Come October    

Copper and gold, these riches I treasure
More than any earthly pleasure
Come October they shimmer in fields of grain
A harvest of color, in nature they reign
Behold their beauty, store the memory, look fast
But the blink of an eye and the season has passed


Wet leaves
veiled in the silver-soft mist
of a late summer’s eve
glisten through muted moonlight,
their swan song
before an autumnal gust
sends them sailing
to heavenly heights
like dust in the wind

Collection 2: Miscellaneous



Grave Concern  

Two stood together, heads bowed, silent
Cries buried in cold cupped hands
Bearing the marks of tear-stained grief.      

The earth was not newly opened here
And I wondered who might lay, still,
Beneath the feet of two
Who stood together, heads bowed, silent;     

Whose long-ago passing could yet evoke
Such profound pain.
Sister, mother, friend, other?
I am each of these and more.
And so, I pondered, what of my own?      

Would any stand together, heads bowed, silentCries buried in cold cupped hands
Bearing the marks of tear-stained grief?                  





In the spring
When she was a child
I wanted her
To be a ballerina
So she put on a tutu
And toe shoes
And danced for me  

Now it is autumn
And the winds blow colder
She dresses in jeans
And sweatshirts
And a Superman hat
And I want her
Simply to be  


Poetry is within me
I know this from the heart
It lives and breathes akin to me
We too shall never part
Although I’m but an instrument
For each poetic word
I’m pleased to offer testament
That the soul’s voice can be heard                


     Never More

    Uncertainty was not a stranger
    But these days seemed more distant
    It could not approach a heart so full
    Nor dash her spirit of hope
    Neither would it dare intrude
         the sanctuary of a soul contented
    She believed in herself now
    And would call upon this tormentor
    Never more          

                         If Only, I Think  

I am a storm on the horizon
Slate blue, whirling dizzy
Soaring on eagle’s wings
Swaying like jazz with each gust
Of God’s mighty breath  

I am a chameleon, changing moods
Like a Maple changes colors
I can smile with tears in my eyes
Cry with a smile upon my lips
And no one is the wiser  

I think     I can be     anything
If only I had the courage to succeed  

If only I had the courage  

If only  


               Time Capsule         

Time goes, you say?  Ah, no!

Alas, Time stays, we go (Austin Dobson --British author The Paradox of Time)          

Though many times I’ve paid no mind
And pushed the old trunk aside
This day I bravely bowed to fate
And beheld what lay inside      

With pounding heart I broke the lock
And raised the dusty lid
I could not wait to resurrect
The treasures which it hid      

Entombed within, conserved with care
Concealed throughout the years
My life, preserved for posterity,
Before me now appeared      

In infant’s raiment, small and crisp
In yellowed scrapbook pages
In crinkled paper and ribbon shreds
I survived throughout the ages      

I closed my eyes and summoned Time
I begged it to remain
I could not bear its passing now
I prayed it would refrain      

I closed the lid and asked myself
Time goes, you say?  Ah, no!
I thought again and sadly sighed
Alas, Time stays, we go


    In darkness it comes,
    that empty feeling.
    Fear, like a cold sweat
    leaves us chilled and wet
    with hot tears tingling,
    cold rain co-mingling.
    We are its target;
    in darkness it comes.           



Death has been greedy of late
and has surely taken more
than his share     why
the rush     what need
in the hush of night
to exact such a fate       

It gives us pause,
a moment’s thought
to examine our lives
lest we be caught off-guard,







More To Come...

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