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Beauty Results From Struggles
Life isn’t always full
of sunshine and rainbows.
Thunderstorms, tsunamis, and hurricanes
will come and wreck havoc.
But the only way for
life to have rainbows
is for it first
to storm.

[Thought-Block] Partially Formed Thoughts
Just too far from the reaches of my mind
An idea formed, it won’t come to my eyes.
Almost inspiration, trickling perspiration
As I work to overcome the thought-block
That prevents me from unlocking
The partial, half-formed thought I had.
It’s still not quite there,
As time passes, it fades into air,
Drifting further from consciousness,
From any semblance of acknowledgement
That I caught a whisper, a breath
Of whatever was there.
I simply didn’t catch quite enough of it.

Keepers of Dreams: A Musing on Purpose and Playmakers
I am a Keeper of Dreams,
wonderful, magnificent things.
Those unhewn ideas,
such raw creativity.
I give and I take these Dreams,
I keep them, as my title implies.
I am a Keeper of Dreams,
All the times of brightness,
wonderful seem, upon reflection.
I work with the Playmakers
to create a wonderful world,
A bright, beautiful place
which thriving humanity
has filled.
Maybe my brothers
are much more easily wrought
with desires for acknowledgement,
But to me it matters not.
The Dreams are mine,
the humans cannot claim otherwise,
even when they “have” a Dream.
I or my fellow
Keepers of Dreams
gave them that Dream
to keep, protect, extrapolate on.
Maybe the Dreams we give
allow humans to have their own ideas?

[Writing Groove] Stuck in a Rut
I can’t get into the groove,
Perhaps I should peruse
Again, what is already written.
I am no longer smitten
With those words upon the paper.
All my sentences do taper
And timber incomplete,
It was never so neat
Or annoying as this time.
I promise I’m doing fine,
I’ll finish the work soon,
Even if I have to write with the moon.

When You Force Yourself to Write Without Finding Inspiration First
Inspiration ridiculed me today,
So I’m sorry but there’s no poem
As I failed to even think or say
Anything in a poetic way,
So you get this horrendous
Forcing of words about my lack of writing.
I apologize in advance.

The Playmakers
Of all the uncreative creatures
that could ever walk this earth,
Why is it those silly humans
that muck and play about?
They have all the fun, but we have all the ideas –
We should rule the earth,
but no one knows we’re in it!
We plant amazing ideas
in human heads and let them grow,
Nurturing and waiting for them soon to show.
But those humans take the credit
for our ingenuity!
They claim it as their brainchild,
when it belongs to you and me!
We gave them those ideas,
brilliant ones at that,
But the credit is all gone…
None left for those who slave all day
who have truly real ideas –
not silly unimaginings in gray and white and black.
We gave these humans everything,
yet they give us
Nothing
at all.

Writers may be Gone, but not They are not Forgotten
So much I’ve written
about my life,
In a multiplicity of ways,
when I’m gone
(and possibly forgotten),
Still those words will stay,
attesting to what I thought and did.
It’s almost alarming,
knowing that much of me–
my writing–
Will never be gone.
Perhaps I should be more careful,
but then I wouldn’t be true,
and others’ recollections
Would clash with me too.
I’ll continue to share
All that I write
as though I have not a care.

Here is a short story I wrote in French:
L’oiseau et le chat:
Il y avait une femme qui avait un oiseau et un chat. Elle s’appelait Marie. L’oiseau s’appelait Henri, et le chat s’appelait Richard. Marie aimait beaucoup Henri et Richard.
Henri détestait Richard, parce que Richard veux le manger! Mais, Richard est un chat, et chats aimaient manger les oiseaux. Henri avait peur de Richard.
Un jour, Marie a acheté des sardines pour Richard, et elle a acheté une cage pour Henri. Henri a poncé «Je n’avais pas peur de Richard maintenant! J’avais une cage!»
Richard avait faim. Il a mangé des sardines. Il avait faim! Il a poncé «Je désire manger Henri… Je vais le manger!» Il a découvert la cage d’Henri. Il l’a ouvert! Henri dormait dans sa cage quand Richard l’a ouvert!
Henri sera un oiseau très, très pauvre! Richard l’a mangé. Henri est mort.
Marie est très, très triste. Elle est aimé Henri. Richard a mangé Henri!
FINI

I have three sample speeches. “Car Crash,” “Christianity and Creative Writing,” and “Ending Abortion in the U.S.”
My prose samples are all a bit too long to include directly in this portfolio, for which I apologize. However, you can click here for samples of my prose.

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