Poetry Corner: Thinking of You

Sometimes our hearts remember
things even our souls forgot
As I sit here in December
I ask myself  "was it all for naught?"

I remember that fling
it seems so long ago.
I don't understand this feeling
and so I just let the words flow.

As time creeps slowly past
and the wings of night fly by,
It's time to put the former last
and stop always asking why.

No more time to analyze.
It's time to stop focusing on the goal.
It's time to soar above the skies;
it's time to trust my soul.

What are your thoughts on this poem?
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Poetry Corner: Lies

I can't believe a word you say
why must you always treat me this way.

Someday you're gonna be lonely,
and you won't find me waiting around.
That's when you will be sorry,
and realize what you had found.

But it's too late,
after all the lies you chose.
You've lost your chance.
You'll want to hang yourself by the toes.

But you chose to lie instead.
You could have had true love,
but now you hang your head.
I cannot blame you,
but I know it is not my fault.
I guess that is just the way it goes.


I wrote this after a play I did, in which the male lead led me on and used me for my vehicle and my support of him. The irony is that I would have given him rides and everything, even without him leading me to think that he liked me. Unfortunately, he only knew how to use others to get what he wanted.

We are still in touch. He has a relatively successful career playing bit parts in B movies and I support him by watching every single one. My husband laughs every time he sees the guy and says that idiot really missed the boat. That is one lie I will gladly believe!

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Poetry Corner: Isn't Love All in Vain

I have been hurt so bad inside,

trying to count the times I've cried.

Men, they come and men, they go
like falling rain and drifting snow.

They never give me a second look
and all my love to give, they took.

My love anew was taken away.
I wonder how long the pain will stay.

I need a love that is so near.
Someone to cherish and keep so dear.

I wonder how long my heart can bleed
to mourn the love that I need.

I cannot take much more pain,
But then isn't love all in vain?

Poetry Corner: Rejection

I loved you                                                              

and you rejected me.
I don't know why.

Why did you hurt me?
Why couldn't you love me?

Was I so awful?
Was I so bad?
Did I make you cringe so?

Am I not pretty?
Am I not nice?

Am I not good enough for your grace?
Do you so hate to look at my face?

My questions are infinite,
You cannot comprehend.
You hurt me so badly,
I can barely stand.

My pride is damaged,
my self image shot
But the thing that hurts most,
the most tender part?
Is that above all things,
you broke my heart.


I wrote this after I did something really sweet and romantic for a guy in a play with me. I bought him flowers in a clear box, and added candy and a card telling him how amazing I thought he was as an actor and a singer. It was pretty innocent. I didn't even ask him out. Just a fan gift at best.

We hardly knew each other. He was a year older than me. It was our first play together, and we weren't even in scenes together. But when that boy sang, oh how he melted my whole world. Going back I look at pictures and dude was a straight up goober. He probably blew me off because he had no idea how to deal with it. And later I found out he was gay.

But at the time, I had no understanding why he was avoiding me, wouldn't look at me, and basically pretended I didn't exist. If me just admiring a guy could lead to such disgust, how awful must I be?

Silly kids.

"Poetry Corner: Love I Thought I Could Never Find

I want you, I need you, like a lover should.
I found a love I thought I never would.

You comfort me when I am feeling down.

You get my feet back on the ground.

You told me this was puppy love
but you make me feel so much more.

You're an angel sent from above,
a wave sent to my shore.

I feel a flame inside about to burst.
I know our love will ne'r be cursed.

You thrill me with the slightest touch
of your strong but gentle hands
I can't stop thinking of me and you
and when we'll make our wedding plans.

Please stay with me or my dreams will be gone
God has told me you are the one.



I was wrong. But at the time, I didn't think I was. Glad he had better sense...

Poetry Corner: Heidi Sampson

Image Courttesy of GraphicStock

Help I'm falling,
Even when you're calling
Independence is what I want
Don't let me be too blunt,
I think you need to stop.

Soon the time will come
All will unite
Many will fall
People will cry
Someday I'll win
Of happiness that day
Needing my love forever.

I wrote this with Rob Hopkins in Creative Writing class. It is an acrostic poem of my name. Clearly there are two different stories trying to be told here. I remember being very frustrated because he wasn't working with me on this one. We worked together quite a few times in creative writing class and I remember often being frustrated because we were going in different directions.

A writing partner is like a life partner in a lot of ways. If you work together you can create a brilliant world. If you can't get on the same page, you will create something disjointed, awkward and intensely frustrating not only for you, but for all those who witness it.

Poetry Corner: Was it a Midlife Crisis?

Life is a ribbon

Artwork courtesy of Graphicstock

that threads on and on.
Some parts are fine silk,
and some are torn.

There are jewels in the garden,
with which to adorn.
But sometimes our ribbons
get bunched and get scrunched.
Sometimes they wrap 'round us
and pull us down.

Down into inky black despair.
You're alone and empty,
have nowhere to go.
You just want to lie down and die.

But that is never an option.
You must keep living
and going on
and eventually
You will have to stand up.

Stand back up and face the world again.
So what are you waiting for?
Just do it


Yeah, not sure when I wrote this, or what inspired it. It wasn't for a class assignment, I am fairly certain. I am guessing it was during a very difficult time in my life. Probably either High school graduation, or when I was trying to determine what to pick as a major when I realized I wouldn't make a living as an actor.... So I decided to become an author... go figure.  At least I got a great degree that gave me lots of job options as well as helping me with my career.

Since I wrote this poem, I have gone through a lot of ups and downs in my life. Some have been so hard that I didn't think I could keep going on. Some have been so painful that I thought it would be easier to just curl up and die. And here I still am, pushing for what I want, fighting for my dreams.

Poetry Corner: Deceived

Starry Night o'er a sleepy town.
The day is done, the sun gone down.

Stars twinkle in the night,
but not every night is right.

Horror sneaks about in this town,
with the peaceful stars shining softly down.

What horror could stalk on this pleasant night?
The twisted brain of a man not quite right.






This was another creative writing class project. We were asked to write a poem related to Van Gogh's Starry Night. I have to be honest, when I was young I thought Van Gogh must have been on drugs and it kept me from trying drugs (true story.) As I got older, I began to wonder what the world saw in this artist. (I still wonder). Now I look at his art and I wonder if he was on drugs, if he had something different with his brain that led him to see the world this way, or if he was just REALLY good at snowing the public of his time into considering him a great artist and somehow that misconception stuck.  I know third graders who can create better artwork. If I posted one of Van Gogh's less known pieces of art as a cover, I would get tons of well-meaning advice suggesting that I "hire a professional" to re-work my cover.

Thinking of Van Gogh makes me wonder about some indie authors who have had success with books that I considered poorly written, badly edited, or just straight up ripped off from other authors. At least Van Gogh was original.  And that makes me wonder about the masses who flocked to these unnamed books. Are they on drugs? Is there something different about their brains? Did these authors find a magical way to fool the masses into believing these books were great art? Will that misconception stand the test of time?

Or maybe my brain is the one that is off.
I digress...

Poetry Corner: Wedding in White

When I dream at night
I dream of a wedding in white.
When I work through the day,
I keep that dream with me to stay.

When I say white, I don't just mean the dress.
I want my husband and me wrapped in cleanliness.
Full of chastity and sparkling pure
Brimming with innocence, yet sure.

To be a virgin is, to me
more than just vocabulary.
I don't just say I will, I do it.
In all I do, I try to prove it.

Artwork courtesy of Graphicstock

A sacred marriage that will last more than life.
When my husband will take me and make me his wife.
My purity is worth so much more
than to give it up young and lose what's in store.

So why be a virgin?Why should I care?
Why won't I do all that I dare?
Why won't I leave life while I'm young.
Kick up my heals at wickedness unsung.

Because I know that pleasure's not all,
that life is more than just having a ball.
I know that through Christ, marriage is forever
and I'll not risk losing that joy, no never.




I wrote this my senior year of high school. I feel so jaded looking back at this. My life didn't play out the way I dreamed it would back then. I made some stupid mistakes, some bad choices. My husband did too, before we met. We've paid for those mistakes over and over again. But we love each other. We've worked through the mistakes we have made together, and we have worked hard to build a life together. We are still paying for some of those mistakes, but we take responsibility for what we did.

Reading this makes me want to cry. How different our lives could have been if we had been like this when we had met. But then part of me knows that he wasn't raised with this expectation of life. If I had stayed on that path, we never would have gotten together.

Poetry Corner: Balance

Life and tragedy

Image Courtesy of Graphic Stock

for those who think,
is more like comedy
on the brink.

Feeling is pain
and thinking is lonely.
I stand in the rain
and ponder it slowly.

We should listen to Socrates;
find balance in life.
It will give us more easy
and a lot less strife.







Ever been so overwhelmed that you had to laugh to keep from crying? Yeah, me too. A lot. Did you know scientific studies show that those who think more are less likely to be happy? Ah, to have the simple life. Even as a teenager I thought too much. Even as a teenager I struggled with finding balance. Life would be easier if I stopped thinking so much and just accepted things the way they are. I have never found balance. All that wisdom wasted.

Poetry Corner: Rocks. Tonic. Juice. Magic.

Image Courtesy of Graphicstock

I see the rocks below,
the tonic heals my soul.
The juice of Life makes me whole.
It's magic.










This was another one for class. We drew four random words from a hat and had to make a poem around them. The title is the four words. Think how many ways this could / would have gone if any other 17 year old got a hold of those words!! I had a unique view even back then.

Poetry Corner: Stop That

I told you to stop that,

stop tickling me.
I told you to stop that,
don't follow that bee.

I told you to stop that,
you breathe much too loud.
I told you to stop that,
your head's on a cloud.

I told you to stop that,
don't wish on a star.
I told you to stop that,
don't be who you are.

I told you to stop that,
That's all madam said.
I told you to stop that,
guillotine took madam's head.

Yay for mixing creative writing and history. I had a sister who was very repressive while I was a teen. I mixed that frustration with the French Revolution and came up with this twisted little piece. Not brilliant, but true nonetheless.

Poetry Corner: I Love You

I am the dream that comes from dreams.

Living on the shores
Old-sung heroes often come
Veering from the Lores
Even fortunes cannot drive them from their path so true

Young and innocent
Old and wise
Unite with this reprise

Painting by Loo1Cool  from Deviantart

There is nothing more to be said. Sometimes I amaze myself.

Poetry Corner: Midnight

Many innocent children
In the middle of the night
Don't see life the same
No, not the same at all.
In the sunlight
Garish truth is right
Here at midnight
Truth becomes deranged

From http://pixgood.com/dark-scary-night.html

I got on an acrostic kick for awhile. I enjoy acrostic poetry so much that I actually had a section of it in my activity book Creative Exercises to Inspire, which was based on a summer program I did with kids in our neighborhood to keep them off the streets. I have to say, it was probably one of the favorite parts for the kids. They got to keep a creativity book and that was the most common poetry I found when they got to do free writing.

You'll be seeing a lot more of these as I continue sharing!

Poetry Corner: Exams

Those wretched, awful, horrible things
with razor-sharp teeth and ink-black wings.

The time is oh so nigh
so listen to my warning cry.
Exams, exams, they're on the way.
They'll ruin more than just one day.

Quick, get the books.
No second looks.
Lock yourself up tight
and study until late in the night.
The day has come,
the time is now
I must pass these things without have a cow.
I must. But how?

You awful, wretched, evil things
As I numbly stare at you on my desk
I expect you to magically sprout wings,
and fly away you little pesk.


This poem still makes me laugh. I have always hated testing. Recently I had to take a continuing education course and an exam after, and I still hate the stupid things!

Poetry Corner: Insanity

Absolute insanity
wrought our daily lives.
It blends well with humanity
carving like sharp knives.

Families full of madness.
Cruel tricks of the brain.
Some snap under duress.
How do these people drive me so insane?

From Imgur

I come from a pretty messed up family, which I have learned is actually pretty normal. As a teenager, I didn't know that. My parents divorced when I was very young. My older siblings were all out of the home and for the longest time it was just me, my brother, and my mom.

Then for a time, most of my siblings were all in the same city. I think we wanted to be like the Waltons, or Leave it to Beaver. We were more like a mini version of high school. There were the "favorites" and the "black sheep" and it was as fluid as high school too.

I have struggled with my thoughts of what I expect family to be, and the reality of family. Even with my own little family of four, we struggle with the ideals versus reality. I really appreciate that television is reflecting real families more and more. It makes me feel less bad for not having that ideal family. Yet I am still sad not to be able to have that.

 I will never stop striving for that ideal family and in striving, it will drive me crazy.

Poetry Corner: Teenage Dreams

It's not enough to have a dream,
unless I'm willing to pursue it.

It's not enough to know what's right
unless I'm strong enough to do it.

It's not enough to join the crowd,
to be acknowledged and accepted.

I must be true to my ideas,
even if I am left out and rejected.

It's not enough to learn the truth,
unless I also learn to live it.

It's not enough to reach for love
 unless I care enough to give it.


I wrote this my senior year of high school, and the words still ring true to me today. I have spent the last five years years really working toward my writing career. I have been writing ever since first grade. I always dreamed of being a writer, but dreaming and scribbling wasn't enough. It has never been easy, but I keep pushing and pursuing it.

Each of these are lessons I have taught my children as well. It is amazing how these key truths have continued on in my life. Sometimes I look back on the work I have done and wonder how I ever thought it was good, and sometimes I look back and think "Wow, that was pretty insightful."


What do you think of this poem?

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Poetry Time: Summer of 98

I found an old journal that I started using to collect all of my poetry. We all go through phases, right? Especially with wonderful high school and college teachers encouraging us to express ourselves with poetry. I started the book  in Ms. Dunker's creative writing class. I compiled poetry from over the years, scratched out on scraps of paper, and kept putting any poetry I wrote in the journal. I thought that one day I would publish a collection of my poetry. That may or may not happen.

In the mean time, I will share some of these little gems with you folks and the thoughts and feelings they still inspire in me as I read them.

This one is called "Summer of 98"

A special friendship I thought I'd find,

lustful emotions instead did bind.

I hoped for a relationship of serenity,
instead a hatred of mock insanity.

What has happened to our souls?
A lackluster fire of empty coals.

Your fantasy was so kind to you,
but my reality rang just a bit too true.

What did you expect? A pure God-dess?
Only fools would expect no less.

A silken angel of dawn tread times
made wholly immortal through a poet's rhymes.

My soul-sealed friendship was yours to take,
but you were expectant of a much better make.

A friendship stance I wanted from you;
but, lover's stance, you held aloft so cruel.

I was no goddess of lustful desire
so the friendship asked was place on the pyre,
my illusions lost deep in the fire.


No matter how far removed I am from the incident that inspired this poem, I can quote it and it still evokes such strong emotions. This experience was a major catalyst in my life. It was the time I went from the belief in a "one true love" to the need for one to love me. I became a little more jaded because of this incident and went from being a hopeless romantic to a practical person. I had spent most of my life (to that point) absolutely in love with this young man and had kept loving him even as he changed drastically (and not completely for the better).  I had never asked anything more of him than friendship, but his expectation after four years apart was romantic and then when he discovered that I was not the physical expectation he had, he wanted nothing to do with me (even though I had traveled all the way across the country to see him!)


And because of that, I married my best friend. A man who gives as good as he takes, who appreciates my practicality and admires my strengths rather than obsessing about the fact that I am taller than he is. A man who would rather snuggle with me watching British comedy, than complain about me not being "the perfect size". A man who supports my goals and dreams, while keeping me grounded.

Thank you, my first love, for teaching me so much so that I can be happy now.

I hope you are happy too.

What do you think of this poem? Tell me in the comments below.

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