we hear rustling
the sound only a bag can make
that belongs to chips
or cheesy goodness
he rolls over
head on my lap
and strains his face and nose
towards the sound
another rustle
eyes wide
I can see his bear face thinking
is this a snack worth leaving
the warmth of bed
and then a few minutes pass
and I see his eyes droop
apparently there are other snacks
better than a nap
to this gray nose
blog
night walk
the chill air laps at noses
and it slobbers on paws
and there, a silver sliver moon
during our evening walk
icy puddles shine like diamonds
the ‘don’t-walk-here’ mirror
an owl hoots nearby
come here, come here
the shush-shush of snow on boots
and the sound of passing cars
me: you’re barking at nothing!
no–we’re barking at the stars!
hah. I’m proud of my little sketch. I’m trying to get better. Bought some watercolor supplies the other day.
January almost done! I hope you all have a great week!
AJM
rock star
is there nothing sadder
than a star
that used to shine
she was a rock star, baby
she sang about being
fine, fine, fine
now she’s in her fifties
her fans have all moved on
she dances alone up the street now
and no one knows her song
shine on, baby girl
she sings
know the stars
that don’t know you
reach for that inky dark
that unfathomable,
impossible blue
shine on, baby, girl
she croons
know the stars
that don’t know you
shine on
she whispers to the dark
her bare feet are turning blue
Have you ever been instantly proud of something you’ve written? That’s how I feel with this one. It started off much different. I wrote it last week. Then I found it again tonight and it all came together. It’s something like magic when words piece themselves together in your mind. It is a bit euphoric. I can’t quite describe it…maybe like how an artist must feel when the right brushstroke hits the canvas, or like a when a composer discovers the right note for a song? (Big, happy, sigh). I could go on, but it is feeling a bit long-winded already, hah.
This one was inspired by a show that I watched, or maybe it was a song. Not sure.
I hope you have a great week,
AJM
Some new changes: from poetry to prose
#73. Opposites Attract. Write a scene in which two characters play opposites to each other. (from writersdigest.com)
He was like fire. She was like ice. He was open like a flame that wraps everything up in its liquid arms and snaps and picks up. She was like wood that tightens and creaks in the cold. Instead of open arms, she felt herself creeping closed and she couldn’t help it.
It started the night she heard him on that phone call. One minute she was making spaghetti and meat sauce at the stove, the next she was peering around the corner to the other room, trying not be concerned at the hushed voice and the way he bent his head into the phone. Like he was trying to hide who he was talking to.
She told herself it didn’t matter and then the conversation the next day. Before work. Her coffee hadn’t even finished brewing yet.
“I have a project after work, babe. I’ll be late. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry” he had said…like he didn’t know how to talk to a woman. Like he hadn’t been living with one for the last three years. Like he didn’t know that all she would do was worry. Worry about who he was talking to as she opened her locker at work. Like she wouldn’t be thinking about the pink lipstick she saw on his neck that one weekend when she changed out of her scrubs later that day.
Yeah, don’t worry. Well, that would be pretty fucking unlikely.
That night she tells him. As they’re standing next to the microwave. She’s waiting for her dinner to finish cooking. “I’m moving back in with my mother. I’ll take the TV. No, don’t worry. I’ll be fine by myself.”
Hi Friends,
For those of you who have been loyal readers and followers these past years, I appreciate you. As I gather content for my next few poetry book projects, I am going to try something new on here. I won’t be posting as much poetry, but in an effort to keep writing…I’m going to try to write some more prose. Right now, that looks like trying writing prompts…wherever I may find them. Who knows, maybe in the future it will move into something else. Maybe it’ll be something that will stick. Maybe I’ll give up after a few posts of writing prompts and start something else. This feels like an ending of an era for me. But also of something new.
Happy Writing!
~AJM
security blanket
the neighbor’s dogs
didn’t want it
our golden retriever
didn’t either
but every night
our chocolate lab
carries it off the deck
brown and half-deflated
faded from the sun
it enjoys the ride
out into the yard
Koda’s ears perk up
his stance, square and at the ready
something snaps in the woods
he shakes his head
and growls with enthusiasm
the basketball shakes to and fro
it’s a good feeling
to be needed
shark week
in the silent
inky darkness
something surges
from the deep
predator
turned prey
as an adult
when i was little
i had someone tell me
“don’t be so eager to grow up”
i’ve had others judge me
like growing up was a competition
that i would fail at
and while i feel old and young
than i ever did before
it doesn’t change
the sadness that overwhelms me
growing up is over with
being an adult
happens now
and i
don’t
want
it
gloom and doom
even my favorite parts
of Summer
can’t will away the feeling
we’re all barreling
towards a cliff
with an obvious end
ADHD
and just like that
my thoughts disappear
they’ve gone somewhere
no longer here
I’d pull them back
if I could
my brain a block of solid wood
there’s no squish here
all grain and seed
maybe I should read
or was there something that I need
One thought, then the next, they bleed
meeting roadblocks and potholes
of ADHD
In case you missed it…new poetry book “Remnants” to be published December 2025!
This project is coming along!
This will be a collection of new material from the last few years exploring the ‘what’s been left behind’ from my college years, who I am now and the joys and struggles of being an adult. There are themes of feminism, mental health, self-doubt…and some silly poems about the weather, of course.
There will be more posts about this project later on in the next few months.
In case you missed it, my other poetry book, Walking in Cemeteries, can be found on Amazon here.
A. J. Morse 