Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

Psychscribe Quote #58

April 19, 2009


“Everywhere I go I find a poet has been there before me.” Sigmund Freud


When I am Happiest

March 16, 2009


I’m happiest when I’m creating. I am totally present. It feels like God flows right through me. Peace and energy simultaneously! What could be better than that??? Pure joy! I honestly feel that both physical and spiritual healing continue to take place in me, the more I allow my creativity free reign. Poetry, jewelry designs, decoupage, photography- all of it. I’m working on a new jewelry design which i will show you later. I went to take photos of what i’ve done to show you guys but my battery was dead on my new camera 😦

Anyway, just thought I’d share a happy mood for a change.  By the way, the photo is not me but my sister and dearest friend, who shares my joy as described here…she’s an incredible mixed media artist so we are starting a business together. God I love her.

Cool New Blog in the ‘Sphere

February 11, 2009



I would like to introduce the brand new blog of my friend Viv:  Zen and the Art of  Tightrope Walking.

She’s a  wise and witty writer, a wicked poet, and a sincere and cool soul searcher. Check it out!

The Measure of Grief

February 5, 2009





Twenty-five years ago today my father died.  

Even in my dreamless sleep I knew it.


I stumble out of bed  

where is my husband?


I want to hug him    

hug him so tightly

but he is gone

gone to work  

to work his ass off.




I worry about his heart.


I want to hug my father  

(who worked his ass off).

I want to hug him  

hug him so tightly


but he is gone  


gone to rest    

to rest in peace.


I’d rather he were here, God forgive  me.

Yes.  I would rip him right out of paradise  if I could

to have him back here with the whole family

loving    living   YES , even suffering

but right alongside us where   think he belongs.


A quarter of a century.

One-fourth of a whole.

A quarter coin is so small really.  


A hole the size of a quarter 

is still in my heart  

big enough to kill me.


by Psychscribe ©2009


February 2, 2009



I really must break the best kept “secret” on the web. If you have any creative spark, juice, electricity – professional or just yearnings, please do check out Cafe Crem. This is an online, international  cafe of the kindest, most wonderful people who encourage all efforts at all stages of artistic development.

The sense of generous, artistic community is truly a gift.  It was created, and continues to be developed by Miki, an awesome artist, and Kev, her partner, an awesome musician and writer.  Miki is French, Kevin is English, and they both live together in Spain.

There are different “rooms” in the cafe depending on your interest.  There is the recently opened “Cafe Literati”( for the writers)  the “Cafe L’Arte”  (the Art  Gallery)  “Ca’ Puccini”(the Music Studio) and “The Mini Bar”( for teens and kids). 

I love it there. Hope you will too.

Psychscribe Quote #51

January 16, 2009


“It is strange how often a heart must be broken before the years can make it wise.” Sara Teasdale

Winter Twilight (Revised)

January 15, 2009

Listen  to the silent wail of  swaying, naked treetops.

Watch them blindly seeking  cold comfort

from the dark indifferent  sky,

as howling winter winds whisper :

 night is stalking.

The Prodigal Daughter

March 13, 2008

The Prodigal Daughter

Thanks to a class offered by a

soft spoken South American professor

who preaches the gospel of creativity

I am whole again.

Seeking the power of steel beams and girders

I had tossed my Muse (my dearest friend) into the sea.

I needed muscle

not watercolor dreams leading nowhere.

I learned to weld and solder

to read blueprints and gauge distances

to hammer and sweat in the sun

until mine was as big as his.

I forgot how to cry.

Finally one say in class (for three credits)

I walked alone across the bridge that

I had built with my own two hands and

found my Muse waiting there

like an indulgent mother

for me to call her name.

Now words and colors and images

leap and dance before my eyes

and I paint golden wildflowers on my bridge

and I sing purple poems

and my tears fall freely now

because I have come home again,


It is indeed a form of prayer.


by Pyschscribe copyright 2008

Psychscribe Quote #16

February 20, 2008

“Much Madness is divinest Sense-

To a discerning eye-

Much Sense-the starkest Madness-

‘Tis the Majority

In this, as All,  prevail-

Assent-and you are sane-

Demur-and you’re straightaway dangerous-

And handled with a Chain-“

                             Emily Dickinson

Do bloggers ever get “discovered” for creative professional work?

February 3, 2008

Writing was my first love. Its true. Before my first kiss at age 12 ( a yucky, sloppy, uckky one!) I was writing poetry and short stories. As time went on, I had a few small successes….an essay in the NY Times, an essay in a now defunct magazine called NJ Woman, an essay in another now defunct magazine called The Monroe Monthly…and poems in various small literary journals  as well as an online one.  Then I stopped, because franky the rejections got really tedious…and so I got into my education and career as a shrink, which I do indeed have a passion for.

But the creative urge never left me. I taught myself decoupage and truly enjoy the process, similar to writing, I just sort of float off into another dimension, find myself humming as I work, and consider it to be a passion….actually I don’t endeavor to do anything in my life which is not a passion – my lover, my career, my work, my hobbies….

But still….this blog as re-awakened my passion for writing. I love it, even if I only write small blurbs. I love that I can find old stuff I wrote 25 years ago and finally publish it!  

I love that I can get reactions to my work – its not just flung blindly out into the universe landing in a never to be read slush pile somewhere. Though I have to say that the rejection letters I got were rarely form letters…they were personal and explained exactly why the piece wasn’t right for them…

Anyway, as my title here asks, has anyone ever gotten “discovered” by a publisher who read their blog?

The Drowning

January 30, 2008

Along with a flare in my lupus symptoms lately, I’ve been pretty depressed. Denying it to one and all, but when my daughter, also a therapist, keeps pointing it out to me, I stop and take note. And yeah….I have been depressed. I was attributing it to the lupus, but am now realizing belatedly that very soon it will be the anniversary of my father’s death. He was younger than I am now when he died of cancer. Somewhere, not too deep inside, I’ve always had this doom feeling that I too would die an early death. From illness. My father died of cancer. So here is the poem I wrote about that defining experience about 25 years ago:


Every now and then you hear of one.

You shudder    shake your head   and knock wood

when next you swim (as if you had a choice).

Streaming downriver with all the rest of them

buoyed by careful innocence and a fine summer

day    kicking    laughing    gasping    splashing

you hoist yourself on the dead man’s float 

for a gulp of air.

The mute scream sails skyward like a black balloon.

A man has gone under    heels over head   like a

tumbling fetus.  You try to grab him but he’s beyond

your reach     all flailing limbs   and bobbing head

and     naked    naked    naked    white

sinking feet first into it    the spiral crystal chasm

the one you never see in the middle of the river

because you had this fixed idea

about the natural flow of things.

I LOVE YOU! you scream at the head

just before it goes under.

What hurts the most later is the stillness of the water

unmarked but for jeering green reflections on its surface:

just watch how they drip through your fingers.

The river continues across the void.

He re-emerges   head first   squirting water

from his mouth like a playful dolphin

warming his face in the sun.

He smiles faintly back at you but

moves on    regret tossed behind

as distant as the grief that

always lies ahead.

by Psychscribe copyright 2008

Psychscribe post on different blog today

January 15, 2008

Today’s post, Learning to Love an Aging Mother, can be found at  Thanks for reading.

To My Adult Son Who Revealed He Writes Poetry

January 5, 2008

Its a secret language.

Only some can understand it,

a chosen few can speak it.

You must be initiated:

a bloody ritual of human sacrifice

and tormenting joy  that could not last.

Therefore the agony.

Like a prophet you are given the excruciating

vision          you scream and rage against it

but it is done to you      and when it is

finished you must write your poems

or you will die.

We’re marked but its invisible.

We walk alone       always alone

and if we are lucky we  recognize each other

along the way and  share      for a moment     

 the kinship of survival.

And so I greet you now,

you of my body and of my blood,

you        my first poem

and whisper this:

we are cursed but we are blessed.

You will be alright.

I can’t say more       they don’t allow it.

Each one must find it for himself.

So though I would stab my own heart with your pain

if I could        to spare you,

I rejoice in learning that

you too have grown wings

and fly closer      each day,

toward the gods.

Copyright Psychscribe 2008

Psychscribe Quote #8

December 29, 2007

“Do not go gently into that good night

Rage, rage against the dying of the light!”

Dylan Thomas


December 3, 2007

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace

The soul that knows it not

knows no release from little things

knows not the livid loneliness of fear

nor mountain heights

where bitter joy

can hear the sound of wings.

by Amelia Earhart    amelia.jpg

Child crouched behind a wall

November 29, 2007

Hidden, though  she  wants to be  found.

Silent, though  she wants to scream.

Choking on her own  fear and

blind to the hand held out to her.