6 Ways to Fill Your Creative Well

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You’ve been there. Maybe you’re even there right now:

– You’re tired and depleted
– You have a heavy heart
– And you’re out of ideas

Your creativity which once was bubbling over seems to have gone dry and you miss it. You feel like you should be doing more. You’re judging yourself for not being as creative as you were in the past.

Continue reading “6 Ways to Fill Your Creative Well”


Who turned off the lights?
And what is art anyways?

Is art the perspective from which we view the world?
Or is it more static?

And as I write by candle light
I can’t quite imagine writing any other way

Poetry is not written in the bright sun.
It is written in the shade,
In private moments
with the heart.

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.


to writing
the pen touches the paper
and I can’t stop.

I forget all responsibility
I forget to breathe,
getting it down.

love letters to my soul
quietly scribbled
in the night

and I’m not afraid of God now
because I know there is truth in my heart
and that the sun rises and falls to show us our shadows
and the tide is to sweep away our sorrows
pulling them from us violently
or softly

I live
in the hidden place
on the moon.

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

Why do I write?

there are stories in my heart
they want to come out

I know not of them
until the pen hits the page
and the words lead the way
to a story

some pain unseen
some desire unexpressed
for the first time

into the light

without writing there would be no story
no understanding
there would not be the healing that comes with sharing

the power of being heard
truth-telling for the first time

without writing
there would be no hope
no ideas coalescing
dancing together
creating something

without writing
life would be dull
veiled by tragedy of never stepping back
and looking
at the world.

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

Body of Work


to create a body of work
you need
a body

and not just any-body
or some-body
but your very own body

to create a body of work
you need to breath into your lungs
and feel into your toes
and listen to your heart
your mind
your gut

you have to want it so badly that it hurts
and trick yourself to keep going when you forget

you have to run fast towards the finish line
sprint even
in your first draft

get it down!

polishing can come in leisurely afternoons
getting it down must be squeezed into crevices
as you wait for the bus
the 5 minutes before the dental hygienist calls your name
before you go to bed
for 10 minutes before you call your partner
squeeze it in!

and how do you keep going at this breakneck speed
when your project is much larger than a postage stamp
and you do and don’t know where it’s going to end up?

trick yourself
any way you can
and keep going
To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.



Art is beauty for more than the sake of itself
When the form and the essence marry
And truth becomes visible

Art depends as much on the audience as the artist
Words can be lost
Symmetry unseen

Harmony can be felt
Hearts can be opened
There can be Rhythm

It takes two to tango.

So look up as you walk down the street
Where is the color? Where is the light?

The bright eyes of a child
Small birds chattering in city shrubs
Music drifting out of a basement window
The mountains in the distance


All art needs is an audience.

Burn Pile

Bhajans and burning grudges,
Sacred dance
In the woods
In the dark.

As the crowd fell away the music took off.
Using harmony and sounds.

Stripping the songs bare and then building them back up.
Taking each song to its edges but keeping the essence.
And somehow at the same time finding the essence.

The fire dances,
The trees stand tall,
The last song fades into the night,
And there is stillness.

The Dancer

The warrior of my heart is a dancer.
As she dances she weaves the invisible threads that create all that is.

She weaves the warmth into a mother’s voice as she welcomes her child into her arms,
She weaves pale blues and pinks into the sky as the sun sets behind the mountains,
And on a summer’s evening, it is she who weaves the freshness into the breeze.

She weaves compassion into our hearts when a friend is in need,
The harmonies into our voices as we sing together with love,
And as I sit alone beside the lake, she silently weaves the peace into the stillness.

It is she who weaves the healing into laughter,
The joy into love,
And the softness into my heart.

She is the weaver of the stars at night and the light at the break of day.

And she is always there,
Ever dancing,
As she weaves the miracles into each moment,
That are just waiting to be seen.