Writing Every Which Way

Novels, poems, and writing tips


In firing range

A shirt that smells like you

Wrapped tight around someone new.

A smile saved for me

Turned on someone you don’t need.

I moved on from abuse and fear

While you gave it to those near.

You have no regrets

No reason to place bets.

You broke my heart this year

And yet your conscience is clear.

I hope you change,

Saving those in firing range,

But I have certainty

She will be hurt just like me.


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Making friends

Everyone says to make friends

But on them my happiness

Does not depend.

My life is a mess,

But I’m okay,

Well… I guess

That’s what one could say.

I know I should socialize

But that seems like a waste of time

In my eyes.

This place I’m in isn’t sublime,

I know that,

But my choices are slimmer,

Yes, healthier than fat

But not helping my feelings simmer.

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Smiles for miles

You are my life,

My world,

And my entire existence.

Yet when I think of you

I only remember

The impending distance.

The fear I feel

Is spread wide

Across the miles,

So I know,

I must have faith

In your confident smiles.


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Who is ‘they’

They say,

“You’re as happy as can be

And as pretty as the sea.

You ask,

“Who is ‘they’?”

And “Liars,” I say.

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I look at you,

You look at me

And we see

That there isn’t a you

And isn’t a me

But rather a we.


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A name forgotten by time

She was pure at first,

Asking to be tainted,

Making her way in the world

By sneaking out with her face painted.

Men didn’t know her age

And didn’t ask.

She smiled with lipstick stained teeth,

Her face shroud in a mask.

She could have gone far,

Could have done things right.

Instead her name was forgotten

And few learned of her plight.


Just one little poem

You need to write something today.

Just get the juices flowing.

One little poem for a Wednesday

Just to get the mind brewing.

Six small lines won’t put you in disarray

And they’ll be nice for viewing.

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Stained glass

The window was open

Or so I thought.

Rather the glass was broken

And the culprit wasn’t caught.

Shattered glass lay at my feet

Like shiny dew on morning grass.

This villain I yearned to meet

Surely deserved a kick in the…

Instead, they had fled

From this disaster they made

And left me cleaning feet that bled

As if from a blade.




Living with a genius

We live in a world of geniuses

Where we’re called Misters and Misses.

Our emotions direct our path

And sometimes it can end in a bloodbath.


We  dress up like our heroes

And pray we don’t share their sorrows

When all the while we’re missing

The point of the thing.


Occasionally, everything goes wrong

But we must keep chugging along

Or else there isn’t a point anymore

In finishing your chores.



**Not one of my bests, but I’m still trying to get the hang of poems that rhyme**


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The Whackado

Out of whack.

No slack.

What am I to do?

A little writing.

Some editing.

Watching Netflix too.

Never satisfied.

Rarely glorified.

In need of something new.