If I’m Exposed, Then What?

Why
don’t I
write
more often?

I was writing
daily,
often hourly.
At times,
my fingers flew
across the keyboard,
as I had much to say
and never enough time
to say what was needed.

What happened?
Why did I stop?
Was it fear?
Was it concern?
Was it worry
about exposing myself
and what that looked like?

If I don’t say anything,
then nobody can accuse me
of being
or sounding like
a fool.

It’s safe here
in my hidden hideaway,
my harbor,
nestled
next to
giant oceanliners.

But being
in the harbor
is not
what ships
are designed
to do.

Neither am I
destined to be still
or silent
or quiet.
I have words to write,
right?
Right words
to proclaim.

If I don’t
speak up,
then I will be
left out,
and will
have wasted
my talents
and abilities.

Those
who could have been helped
by me,
must instead
find their own path,
listened to other voices.

I hope they are as kind as I would have been

Why Worry About Other’s Problems? Free Verse Poem

It came upon
a late evening, clear.
As she rolled over,
not connected,
and I tried
(in vain)
to reconnect
(even though she was
late-night medicine
falling asleep),
she mumbled:
“Did you ever notice:
You try to help others
with their problems?”

A truer social media observation
was never made.
Facebook philanthropy
is alive and well.
How easy it is
to fix,
chastise,
or praise others
from afar,
when we have
our own issues
to deal with
right where we are?

Why do we solve for others?
Because it’s easy.
Because it’s quick.
Because it makes us feel
good about ourselves
and what we can do.
Because it’s fairly risk free.
Because IF they talk back,
we can ignore them.
Because we have
no responsibility
if our advice
or our helping
is terrible.

But if I have to answer
my children,
my spouse,
my parents,
my relatives,
my friends,
my neighbors,
face-to-face,
or through a phone call,
or in real time,
that’s risky!

They might not like
what I have to say.
They might get angry.
They might get frustrated.
They might lash out at me.
It might not go well.

Then again,
of course,
it might go fantastically.
And wouldn’t that be worth
all the risk
that there could be?

Where My Creative Passion Goes: Free Verse

Each day
I read,
get aroused
or excited
or perplexed
or disgusted
or saddened,
and I write.

I shout
out
to the wind,
to the sun,
to the moon,
stars,
planets.

I scream
out
to the woods
and fields
and lakes
and creeks.

I think
outloud,
and express it,
as though my words
and thoughts
might actually
be read,
might actually
make a difference.

Who am I fooling?

Social media
is not my pulpit.
It is not my op-ed page.
It is a place
for me to respond,
react,
rant,
and write
drivel.

It is a waste of my time,
my talent,
what I’m blessed with.

I need to change.

Taking Baby Giant Steps: I Write

We all take steps.

Take Steps: A baby taking her first steps reminds us to take steps
Some make powerful,
strong,
baby steps.
 
As my granddaughter
took her first shaky steps,
my son voiced for her,
(shaky home video,)
her force and determination.
“I’m a walker now.
I walk.”
 
I watched those steps.
Suddenly,
through his voice,
I heard
and realized
my own truth.
 
“I’m a writer now.
 I write.”
 
Some make powerful,
strong,
life-changing steps.
 
We all take steps.

What He Told Me: IMproVerse Haiku

If He hath told me/
who I am; what to do, who/
am I to argue?

OR
who I am and what to do,/
why should I argue?

OR
why do I argue?