I Suppose I Do Get Weary

The weather outside may look peachy keen,
but inside my soul has been set aflame
by the lightning of the storm that deals out rain
in waterfalls that flow into the river of my veins.

My weak heart.

Oh my weak heart that’s worn out from constant pain.

I suppose I do get weary.

I get weary of the advice from others thinking they can save me from the ache,
thinking that lectures they read somewhere will guide me in the right direction.

They don’t know.
They don’t know that this is familiar territory and I’ve walked this neighborhood time and time again.
They think they know from text, but I already know from experience,

and man do I get weary.

But I’ll smile that smile, nod that nod and laugh that laugh to keep it all down.

I’ll keep it down until it drowns in that river
Or until it burns out into ashes of black and silver.

 -Deneé J.


This was entered in a little contest hosted by Half-Price Books blog, in which I did not win. :/ Anyhow, it’s national humor month and poetry month, which is why they wanted a humorous poem. The only thing we had to to was to make sure the word bump was used, and so here it is!


I’ve done it! It’s finished!
It’s all gone as planned!
I’ve built this fine bookcase
with my own two hands!

With mounds of tape
and cardboard and foam
I now have a place
for my books to call home

With books organized
They’re standing with pride
I stand back and smile
and admire all sides

But as I turn to leave
my shoulder, it bumps!
The case twists and turns
then falls to a hump!

“My babies!” I cry,
as they go in a heap
but I suppose that’s what I get
for being so cheap.

-Deneé J.

I wish GRRM would make a Hodor POV like…

“Hodor!” said Hodor as he Hodored to the city. As he walked he could see that he hovered over everyone else there like a giant.

“Hodor, Hodor!” he had accidently stumbled into a brothel he assumed was an inn.

Staring eyes turn from shock to hilarity as they started shouting insults at the sight.
Turning fast to leave, Hodor knocked a table over, and slammed knee first into the filth ridden floor. Laughter insued.

“Hoooooodor-or-or-or” He cried, eyes misting and fists clenching.

“Oi boy come ‘er! Let me give you a hand.” A woman whispered as she tried to lift the giant. “yeh, that’a boy, I’ll dry those tears for ya lad. Yeh, I’ll make you feel better there, real nice. Come on over here, lad.” She motioned towards the stairs.

Hodor jumped up, made for the exit and pointed his finger, “HO-!” Hodor cried out in alarmed disapproval

“-dor” he whispered as he left.

-Deneé J.


Presents left unopened.
December’s left behind.
The world has already started
it’s steady crumbling decline.

Innocence is broken
shattered, turned to ash
Guilt becomes unheard of
the grief has turned to mask

Too often we come together in sadness
misery, anger and tears…
We blame each other’s ignorance
and with this, it fuels our fears.

Stomp out in our frustration
and beg and plead ‘no more’
And go tread on like soldiers
in this never ending war

-Deneé J.

This poem derived from some feelings I was having after the Sandy Hook Elementary School catastrophe. May we keep their families, as well as others involved in these senseless acts, in our prayers.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Iconic

I have recently discovered The Daily Post here on WordPress (I’m still a newbie and all) and it’s full of great ideas to get me posting more! This week’s writing challenge is “Iconic” and you can check out their site … Continue reading


(Written on Flash Fiction Day 2012, done in five minutes; this was my first flash fiction attempt ever.)

A flash of blinding light. The peer pressure took over your fear and turned it into arrogance; you have something to prove. You walk into the building, your sight instantly impaired, your senses heightening. You stand, blink a few times and wait for your eyes to adjust. You begin to shuffle on. The silence seems deafening. Then suddenly a scream of the floor boards pierce your heart.

You’re shaking; was that a whisper?

Humming an assuring children’s tune, you carry on. How long did the bet require you to stay? The wind whistles and echos throughout. Stop. Catch your breath. Another creek of the floor, but you’re still, how can this be? The putrid smell of urine assaults you, getting stronger. Pat yourself. You’re dry. You whip around, and not soon enough, you catch the moonlit glimmer of steel before your last memories of life are recalled in your mind.

A flash of blinding light.

Writing Prompt #2 pt. 3 (finale)

Part ONE

Part TWO


Maybe Clyde wasn’t all that bad after all. I shift to my side and quickly scoot closer towards the passenger door, which for the moment makes his hand drop from me. We’re still a ways from the city, but at least I can see the direction it’s in. I want out.

“You can let me out here, please.”

He whines, “Aw, come on little darlin’, I’m not leaving you all by your lonesome! We’re in the middle of nowhere here!”

“I can find my way, please let me out.” I state again, more firmly. Continue reading

Writing Prompt #2 pt. 2

Part ONE here


I point out the only other car in the small lot, and he drags me by arm.

A few minutes later, we’re winding down a back road full of run down farm houses and other places I’ve never deemed worth my time to travel to. I’m in the passenger seat and the thief, I now know as “Clyde NotMyRealName,” is driving with one hand and holding his gun on me with his other. The sirens were an apparent false alarm as we passed by the funky highway earlier, seeing that the police were just trying to control traffic. I’m not exactly sure what to do because, believe it or not, this is my first hostage situation so I shift in my seat to stare at him. He looks to be somewhere in his forties, with the definable features of scattered scruff along his jaw and a weird looking scar near his temple. He’s not all that bad looking, but really not all that handsome either; why he never considered wearing a mask in the store is beyond me. He doesn’t notice my scrutiny so I stare some more. And I stare. And stare. And–


I seemed to have struck a nerve. This crosses out my idea to begin an award-winning chorus of “The Song That Never Ends,” and gets me thinking that perhaps I should try reasoning with him instead.

“If you take that gun off me and let me go, I’ll stop staring at you.”

Perhaps I should just keep my mouth shut. He gives me a confused side glance,

“How about I take the gun off you and you keep quiet.” Good enough, I think, and I give a nod. He tosses the gun to the backseat.

“It’s not loaded anyway.”

Continue reading

Writing Prompt #2 pt.1

Five Items: You wake up in jail and have no memory of how you got there. As you pace around the cell, you find five items in your pocket from the night before. As you look at each piece, the … Continue reading