“Write while the heat is in you. The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with. He cannot inflame the minds of his audience.” - Henry David Thoreau
I grew up watching my father place green tomatoes on the window sills of the house I grew up in. The house that burned because he and I were smokers and ultimately paved the way for the writing I have always done.
I have been an ex-smoker for over 15 years. I have been obsessed with smoking for much longer than that, and still am. My books and work are a testament to my desire to help others with this tenacious addiction, regardless of where they are on their nicotine addicted journey.
This poem was written on a day when I was experiencing the effects of dealing with my adoptive mother who has been suffering with dementia. It is my attempt to understand how to handle it and failing. Over and over and over again.
Waves of anxiety and distress plague us all and we say we are okay when we are in fact, not. Are we? Writing and talking are two very different modes of communication. Writing is the one I am better at. Always have been. It's better to burn out than to fade away...
This writing would be lost if I did not take the time to sit and be ready to hear my soul release it to my son and all those who have recently lost someone who sounds like he was so kind and the best type of friend anyone could have asked for. Much love and light being sent to Bobby and his family.
A conscious stream of thought while driving on Route 8 through what I like to refer to as "The Mountain Pass" inspired this several days ago. Another entry that builds up consistency as time passes...
I have learned to get to the "gold in the dark" I have to be willing to walk through it first. “Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” ― Louis L'Amour
Poetry happens when you drop fruit on the floor...five-second rule, apple skins shed on the cutting board...a simple act of recycling activates a string of associations from not so long ago...
On the train to NYC last week, I read an article about a mother and father. I knew when I finished it, it would remain harsh and sharp in the corridors where I keep the horrors like Jon Benet Ramsey.
I have learned in these amazing last several months that meditation, music and writing can cure just about anything and everything, even my dreadful low laying fury, even my deepest darkest rage...
...the energy of storms always evokes a poetic rumination and this blizzard like day is right in tandem with my flash of insight...
...there is but one Resolution for this new year...Fear does not lead the way...As the January sun mingled with a verse of a song, the poem began its spiraling dance around my mind and into my psyche
...Recently Augusten Burroughs mentions "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" playing in the funeral parlor where his best friend is being laid to rest. It has been coming up almost daily since then.
Tonight's poetry comes from inspiration caught while driving, a first line or two echoing over and over so hard and loud in my mind that I briefly think about pulling over to the side of the road...
...in my poetry today I relay the oxymoron of a flower that is pale yellow but black in my recollection behind a barbed wire vision that loves to twist its way up through the soil of my memories...
There are days I am writing before I am awake. This is how it is proven to me, petitions set out into the night are answered under the cover of elusive dreams before the light on the ridge of dawn...
Learning how to hear "Spirit" over "Ego" doesn't just involve listening, it involves feeling. This past weekend I was taught my own lesson once and for all.
Monday comes around again so soon, the energy of Friday long gone and time to check into a realm of gratitude for whatever you take for granted right now. All those things you love and cherish...wait
suffrage: noun 2. a series of intercessory prayers or petitions {words that arise from somewhere I have never been, coming to title my poems #333}
Proof of the existence of Art and Poetry as a life saving, life altering, and life sustaining medium that without it, I would surely be dead. The portrayal of the pain of betrayal turned into art.
Dedicated to my father, who knew how much I loved his red roses in the yard I grew up in. Now I watch his sweetheart roses bloom and his red raspberries take over the corners of my yard... (11.11)
...the words will always save me, either mine, others or both...too many things threaten from the outside & I will always return to the ocean that is the dark part of me, to find those hidden reserves
circumstances on the verge of changing, the power of the Mother is needed to strap in and truly test my trust in Her
..."You have chosen the hardest hobbies in the world, it is impossible to make anything of them"..And those magic words set me firmly on the path full of flame and indignation to Writer & Artist
an icy observatory of the mind of this poet, an incredulous account of the observation of cycles, death and endings and the tragic capsules of memories gone by
The little wandering thoughts that collect like mice in dark corners of the mind...the moments when you realize another day has passed and that there is indeed an untold number of them left...
...the darkest shades of night descend and show the author the way to deal with the impending loss of those she loves most...through words and art...
Through a meditation & the influence of the shamanistic information based on the qualities of a dolphin, the filing thoughts of my mind this October morning can be harvested in this brief overview...
I liken this creature running through my positive thoughts to heavier more desolate ones of the ego...every time I think I will catch him finally once and for all...I hear him scurrying into a corner
...cells become a heated magnet, attracting the right words, pulling them into my when the sweat is leaving...like a silvery wet trail of a snail, they glitter just the littlest bit are captured here
...my abbreviated view from a safe place...down in the dark red root chakra where I routinely sleep the anger and frustration away...until the voices get so loud I must disappear altogether...
...caught in a place I cannot escape...no matter the time that passes or waits...
A whirlwind of words and senses and images...all comprised in the twisted lanes of the Labyrinth...
...the result of the realization of the appearance of one of my strongest animal totems coming in a very vivid and electrifying dream...
...Silver and white...She lights up the Night...The Lady Luna She glows...and sets my mind on this prose...
It never recedes, the deep dark water in me.
I don't really have a right or wrong way of maintaining the severe emotions that I am currently experiencing. All I know is that writing is once more saving my life.
Reminders of the Unseen Spirits that watch over us, as explained to children...a soft conversation spoken to a mind untainted by the cold and trivial realities of human life...
Spirals and cycles and that big round Moon...She pulls the Velvet curtain back as the winds of March approach and the night sky becomes filled with roar of Lions and Wolves...
The wanderings and wonderings of Trust weave themselves through tangled brambles of the past...
The word disease literally means that the body is at unrest, or ill at ease. I believe that the things we keep inside will manifest in health or illness if they are creatively extracted or expressed.
Presences around us can scare us both to death and to life. The choices we choose and the sacrifices we make cannot be shrouded in achievements that will not change who we really are, inside.
Things that come to mind in the middle of the night...that remind me of the brief mortality of human beings and how pain can transform the attitude, if only for a few brief hours, into blissful truth.
The organic spillage of the soul into the unknown and forever driving force of the Divine - Undesignated Driver by Carole Anzolletti, author of Whispers of the Goddess 2009 (published by Authorhouse)
In my desire to be structured I watch my buildings fall down and my bridges burn firey planks to places I should have gone yet my diversion inevitable I watch my corners of solace fill with chaos screaming and shrill My creations...
There is no place no designated space of which I can perform the basic needs a writer heeds or a magician could call the norm There is no template or smoother slate no spontaneous date to which I cannot be late There...
A disconnected rendevous of biological proportions I am not included when they think of you relationships within the distortions A wandering sheep as black as night with the family ties I am not tight there is no wrong ...
"May I peel back a bit of your soft flesh and etch my name upon it?" She looked at me with Her crimson amber eyes, Her halo of burgundy hair flowing like the rays of the sun. A piano softly played in the distance past the smoke of the horizon. ...
A strand of sorrow like there is no tomorrow reflected in your eyes a subliminal grin above your chin yields no compromise it is but a shadow a shielded lie that forever resides in the rise of the emotional ocean and the...
The quickened pulse In the silver rain a sewn in locket of time a warm wind in the throes of December a cold shiver passes as I remember that inferno that began last November a deepened groove a black velvet river flecked...
There comes that cycle of death When all you love hovers above you searching in vain for their lost breath and they hover above us and they whisper their last words silent in your ears their profiles blurry seeing...
...It can be Winter here It can be darker denser later It can be committed married jointly adjusted and impervious to institution It can be the end of the World and I would still be warm with the thoughts ...
It's bound to be a remedy the words you use when you talk to me a familiar shadow from a distant shore yet graces my threshold Nevermore It's destined to be a tragedy the thoughts I think when I wander...
Through the gray-blue skies Through the white remains Blocked in with yellow alongside Just when you think the clouds Will release their rains, the blue prevails after only a few drops It seems to be a test of your faith. What will...
That haunted, exhausted look so familiar yet so foreign to her life as it is now So much a part of who she has turned out to be. On rainy days She is even more lethargic even more pressed for vitality in a way that bleeds...
Laying in the sunlight near the roots of the Great Oak, the young girl watched as red and gold droplets of light blinked brightly. She wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks and chin. They came without warning, streaming down silent rivers, so many...
Another hand drawn board has joined the collection of one of a kind hand penned boards that I have been creating for several years now. Each one is hand drawn and/or embellished with inks and stones and created on a polyurenthaned surface to be...
Your mention of leaving provides a sorrowful propellant that rewinds and relives our entire lives people smiling laughing crying knowing we are all going to die knowing we are all dying to live dying to be needed ...
Ephiphany Abound I listen for the sound of the whispers in the shadows of Your stars I saw you touring the Forests I watched you, watching me and I wait for you to catch up and you haven't Yet The time comes near where I adhere...
You've instilled in me your embittered prophecy about what my life should and should not be I have slid more than once or twice down the precipice of your muted octave world... drenched in notes of sorrow soured and screeching...
I believe unfairness is a judgement upon ourselves. Obviously there will be times when outright unfairness is in play via discrimination for one reason or another. Other times we are victims to our own perceptions of the definition of unfairness. ...
My infinite idea clothes me like a sheath of silk wrapped in a luke-warm April wind draping itself around me anyway it wants there is nothing else that feels like this arrangement of fabric and wind and the warmth tucked inside ...
Although I love painting and drawing, there is something else that I have loved for several many years now. The art of divination has lead me on so many creative journeys and given me so many insightful messages that I have become obsessed with...
Once upon the soil of the great planet earth there was a seedling that fell from the top of a very old oak tree. It tumbled down the hill and stopped just before the path into the forest. The Queen had been waiting for this acorn. She gently cradled...
There is a river of regret She runs so deep She makes her way through my dreams as I sleep Pages of books float gently by words written there I purposely denied to fetch for you it was all untrue the promises I made in the...
I could try all day I could pray all night I could stop and think about what I have not done right I could do everything you asked me to I could come to the cruciferous conclusion that it will never appease you and...
I'm drowning drowning can't see anymore while you're watching watching from the distant shore the tide comes in as you contemplate your sin the tide goes out unheard as I shout underwater I breathe in my only reprieve from...
In thirteen moons I will remember The way I feel this raw September I could not let it lay to rest try as I may to pass this test I have also tried so many times to understand why your eyes met mine no, not the two it was...
Can I sleep with you in this dark blue shell of chilled blue night as my blue heart swells its beat drops back and slows with time as I sigh in the breeze of the deep blue night... The clock stops and sticks the hands on the three...
Death besets the Sorceress the Gathering Red Storm Swells it blithely rises in Her chest and pushes against Her face, burning Iniquity releases itself into ethereal waves touching both sea and sky rivets of black laughter seamlessly...
...A ring, a thing, a scented pouch a lie, a fib, straight from your mouth you knew it then you didn't know when I would stop and call you out... Now these things I'd like to fling back in your face and remove the taste of...
Shattered prisms of faith and continuity Over and over again, the promise fades like wet paper dried in the sun and the words written on it have long since dissolved and dried tears fathered by the memory of who I thought we were and...
...a blossom erupted upon a land once corrupted and bled its red tint in the sand She presented a gift here and beckoned me so near to carve letters upon my hand They spelled out a name that is one and the same carved upon the fateful...
The momentous demise under a slice of cake in the handle of the knife do you implant your vanity and insecurity here into the stainless steel into the consumers belly * * * The New Moon shines black crickets still wander ...
...only in the arms of my three sons have I ever found the truest sense of what we know as pure love, in all forms and stages...only they have heard what my heart sounds like from the inside...
I don't know why I let you be The firey rise inside of me If I could stop the flaming rush surely I would resist the blush the temper rose like a storm filled tide the angry prose pushed the Light aside the awful pressure in my veins ...
The train smoothly slides into late morning and the bright yellow sunshine makes us tired. It makes you want to smoke…again. It makes me want to intravenously insert caffeine into my veins. Neither of these choices will add up to anything good in...
She holds a Secret, close to Her breast Made to swear on Her Children Never Tell Now I Trust You Now I Love You Now I Want You to Listen I think about the name here neatly written on a bright orange Post It I've got secrets of my own, Man... But...
September mornings have that ethereal change lacing alongside the dawn. They call me back down to the earth after a long hot August and strap me in for a cold winter. The very presence of chaos of language perplexes me. The unsung magic of...
Breathing sun stroked air into the large, messy metamorphosis of my life papers and pieces tumble and tilt all throughout the days Save me! Save everybody! Plastic boats float on oceans of grass The old lady dog loves the sun warmed...
The continuation of the first part of Moving Along the Tracks, this is a typical reaction to the choice of quitting smoking and the games that the drug nicotine can play on your mind. Not just a trivial addiction to be overcome but a serious and contemplative series of decisions that must be made...
Into the shell I whispered near the Secret only I could hear The churning burning The fire lit truth The yearning earning a place wrapped in youth The strapped in stirrings The trapped in lurings All slowly whispered Into the...
Moving along the theme of chakra and energy awareness, I have chosen to portray another angle of a possible mindset that one would confront when first arriving on the platform of wanting to ditch an addiction to the smoke screen known as nicotine...
This article is meant to inspire you to know yourself, the most powerful thing you can do to help yourself and understand yourself without spending hundreds of dollars or pouring out your most intimate and deepest secrets to a complete stranger. How about meeting yourself and helping yourself...
An article explaining how the power of the written word can set you free, especially if you are an addict to the drug nicotine. Many of the articles written by Carole Anzolletti have been rooted in and born from the desire to remain cigarette free.
Journeying to the beginning of understanding for the chakra known as the Root Chakra, my character has departed from the train to be mentored by The Red Queen, who has manifested just in time to guide this particular girl into a place of awareness that she will need to work at to understand what...
She sat on the floor of the train and watched as he made his way to her. The car rattled with icy creaks and scratching as he pushed the heavy door open. She watched as he came closer and then lowered her eyes, pretending to inspect the lines on...
As the year ends and new things and thoughts are coming to be incorporated into everyones lives, I thought I would share some information on a practice that has given me some insight on how toxic unwanted objects and the pack rat mentality can be.
A twisted little story about a man child who wished for nothing more than to be accepted and loved by his mother who in her own dis-ease could not provide the necessary ingredients for stable mental health. She chose to self destruct so that she could try again, another better way that would help...
Another entry to the Death Express articles I have been writing, this one is quite graphic so if you want to really take a look at a spiral into the insanity of addiction to a silly little thing called nicotine, this ones for you!
A very short story about possible reincarnation of souls as seagulls...
At a countertop In a movie scene Fractured killers thoughts Sliced in between Filed down to raw In my naked mind Key Lime memories Not so hard to find An Acquired Taste A Long Lost Embrace Of a time long gone and the desperate...
Another addition to my emotional water landscape of Mermaid Chronicles that I began when I quit smoking over seven years ago. It illuminates old phantoms that have no place and really have been in residence way past their due time.
This article is part blog and part shamanistic research on the influence of Octopus as an emotional catalyst and a water creature, both of which as a Scorpio I am entirely fascinated with.
Death Express has arrived again to pick me up and get me away from the Spirit of Addiction from Refined White Sugar, also known as the Duende in this case of my story. At just the right time an operator comes in to do not just his regular job of stopping the train, known as a Switchman or as the...
In this Hub I talk about some of my early memories on how I got into addictive patterns with substances starting with one we all know and love, Refined White Sugar...
This is the continuing story of the games addiction plays that I titled "Death Express" or "The Quit Smoking Express" and I have grouped this with the other parts relevant to the story.
As I begin the intensive study of everything Owl, I have started out researching and adding to what I have currently associated to the Night Bird, including some of my parchment artworks!
this one is relating to the power of eye contact, and how indeed it can change the course of ones life...
The Crone is associated with the darkness and old age, wisdom and patience as well as a chillingly ethereal presence when possessed by a woman who has immersed herself in the ways of the Old Ones.
The Crone Season ~ an Appointment with Winter is an observational piece about the time of year when the light fades quicker and the darkness becomes a welcome and comforting place, although we all know that time cannot stand still, it can for just a moment when reading this and realizing that the...
The Archetype is a specific design of a person or spirit of a story that aligns with certain characteristics of human behavior. It overreaches any & all borders and unites us through the acceptance that we too have the qualities of warrior, queen, king, slave, martyr, beast, priest, priestess,...
Between the creation of this piece of work, the influence of the holiday and my own personal affiliation with it, you can see that what I have created is thought through very carefully. The Day of the Dead and The Dead of the Day have been the theme of the week - this hub explains it all from...
The Swan Song/Assimilation is just as its title suggests: the end of something and the beginning of something else. As accompanied by the death of the swan, the journey continues into the Labyrinth once more, after the intil three stages of initiation/incineration/assimilation have been...
Fire Bird/Incineration is part 2 of the 3 segments of The Forest Labyrinth that I have chosen to share with the world as a look into the Land of the Queen. This is a fictional story meant to provoke and provide inspiration and introspection into the realms of fantasy and creative writing. I enjoy...
Crux means "dilemma, problem or issue" - quite possibly very well illustrating the unique perspective of a mermaid wishing to covet another human being to her dark world beneath the ocean. This segment follows the previous "Daybreak Illusions/Death on the Shore" which came out of the segments for...
The Phantom Priestess was born onto the page in September of 2011. She had me up into the early hours of the morning for several weeks and I had even taken this one to the printers, was at the counter when I realized that I had missed a part of Her hair. When I got home, not only did I fix that...
This is the fourth installment to the story I began here last week. The entity Death and I have emerged from the dark forest night and step into the light of day which turns out to be an illusion in its own right. Here I meet the queen of emotion, a mermaid who has come to take the place of Death...
"Yes, indeed. Over Your Dead Body." He snarled a little bit at the end of the sentence. I looked at him, looked through him. I saw my neighbor passing in and out of the wall. He had finally managed to figure it out, but where to go, now that...
Winds of change have come again The russet leaves become my friends As I walk and reminisce The autumn equinox I dare not miss Make amends and carry on For all too soon autumn's songs been sung Forgive and forget Wipe the...
My feet are cold. The night has advanced into a deep darkness. You hover now at the platform, gray mist and smoke pouring around your ankles. You have no feet now as mine are as cold as ice. This time last night you were alive...and well? Weren't...
Let's pretend we have just met on a platform and it's rainy...windy...cold. We huddle under the awning by the coffee shop we wished was open. It's not quite dark yet as I notice a stale donut lays on its side outside the spotless glass door. You...
Just the thought of it may make you want to rip your face off...right? Have you tried and tried and tried again? What have you tried? Have you tried writing and facing yourself honestly? That's what I had to do, in the END...the end...there really...
The Forest Labyrinth/Initiation is a segment of my larger body of work that I am currently creating. I am using a lot of my own experiences, emotions, and trials in the most constructive and creative way I know how and that is by writing it out, day by day. The muse, The Queen of the Labyrinth,...
The Power of Prayer Beads has been used throughout time by many different religious and spiritual traditions. When constructing my crafted pieces I keep in mind that many who aren't involved in an organized practice yearn to focus intently on something less invasive to their lifestyle. Something...
Originally, this was drawn with a Rapidograph technical pen, this clean and clear image of the Egyptian Goddess with Anubis and Bast in her aura was hand drawn and hand painted with Winsor & Newton Inks (made in England) and created on Strathmore...
My story, the Forest Labyrinth, has brought me into a chapter of intense realization. It has brought me way back into memories that were never expressed, never discussed, and ultimately repressed. The danger of sharing the exact details could ruin...
...I feel Her cold fingers creep along the edge of a dark abyss within me. She tries to reach for me and I am untouchable. I look shamefully away, I feel guilt. I feel too much and She knows it. I don't write because I aspire to be rich and famous....
Once upon a time I was a smoker. I am still obsessed with this fact for whatever reasons. I don't know why it is such a strong obsession or why my addictive nature won't just let it go. Perhaps it is because I spent so much time liking it so much -...
So many times I have recently read about the Power of Keeping Silent... I write every single day, several pages and I keep them piling up with my rantings and ravings and plans. I find so much peace there on the page. This morning in particular I...
...haven't forgotten that I said I would write regularly...and have been writing my 4 + journal pages a day...been watching my thoughts and my breath and my yoga practice...been observing the way that writing is pure magic and the way that deep...
In the span of a day the scope of reality can change so much that the shifts of light that used to be are no longer bright but pass and leave their shadows long against the dusk of the day. Music strummed from the pavilion of the beach echoes into...
I Always Feel Like... Somebody is watching me. On some Sunday mornings I clean my mothers 3 bedroom home across town. Sometimes I get there before she returns home from church and I look around at the some of the things that I have grown up with...
Dealing with Decline I knew this day would come when I would turn around and look at my life on a panoramic scope and see the many people involved, the many people who were involved, and the many people who I believe will never again be involved....
Well it seems that I do have this addiction, but its a manageable one that I enjoy so I will live with it for now. This would be the really wrong week to try to wean off of my coffee since the kids are getting out of school and now my sleep/wake...
Yesterday I started using my Lemongrass for aromatherapy. Today I wondered how it could be that this scent could wake me up more than that gigantic coffee I get every morning does. Can I abolish this chemical dependency also? My personal thoughts on...
I appreciate the wonderful comments and support of all that read my words. I have always wondered if they make an impact, and the kind people who let me know it does lend the greatest encouragement and motivation for me to keep on keeping on. I...
The following is from my writing course and is assignment nine. I am grateful to post it so late in the day. Thank you for reading! Burgeoning Anemones “Friends are flowers in the Garden of Life.” ~ Proverb It can be...
The following is taken from a journal long ago, in 2002 when I was still a smoker and I was writing my way through and out of it. It is not your traditional "I quit smoking" article but a more vivid and promising account of how if the truth hurts,...
I have been creating parchment art pages for several years now, and I love to entwine mythology and deity study with meditation. This is my latest piece of work and I adore pen and ink with watercolor applied to parchment. I have a unique style and...
I have seen that the worse things seem to become the more important it is to maintain some sort of inventory for one self, and one's health in any way possible. Whether this means to stop doing something destructive such as over-eating, smoking,...
Yesterday I had to take my son to the doctor out of town and figure out what his issues were there. That whole trip re-arranged the whole day. It was hot and sticky and frustrating later in the day when I sat down to try to type a blog. (Another...
I am amazed at the speed at which a day can go by with just one appointment thrown in. One of my boys has been having some stomach issues and we had to travel out of town to see his doctor this morning. He is alright, but all these things involving...
A few days ago I was informed of a close family member being admitted into the hospital and as some of you may know from my other posts, my mother had also been admitted. My mom is home now, and better, and they never found the source of the...
...A storm was gathering on the horizon where the day met the night. Clouds began to spin and form images, winds blew them together so that they danced a painful display of nostalgia and lost memories. I lay on the deck of the Goddess and She...
...The Sun beat upon my face hotter than it should have. I put one arm over my eyes and the other hand down on the stone beside me. A deep sting caused me to sit straight up and my eyes flashed open. I watched as a Scorpion clicked away on a path...
...Lion Blossom... ...The Lion has appeared again on the landscape of my journey. He is sitting on my chest watching the crows circle in the sky above. He is asking me to listen to his mighty voice now as it shatters the silence of my reverie. His...
...My lip presses against a chip in a large white mug I've given up sugar and whole milk again but the orange blossom honey takes their place glistening gold strands sticking to my finger Reminds me of bees They are coming They...
...Amidst our limbs Among the trees The Voices Whisper Upon the Breeze The shadows cast A sideways glance Upon the Forest Where We Dance The Realm Benign Saturated with Time Revives the Spirits Of deceased, sublime They watch...
...Visionary... ...She Whispers "I have had enough" She sighs You cannot stop me now You never could You never would You would never Stop the abuse If I hadn't Come If I hadn't Drown you in Silence and the Tears of the Universe...
...From the Bottom... ...The Red Queen is the Muse that has been watching me since the day a cell with my name on it appeared in the Great Abyss...She touched it with the tip of Her enigmatic finger and tiny shoots of light and energy spanned out...
...What it is about Sunday mornings that asks me to come to the cemetary? There is a huge one right down the street, where many famous people lay to rest. PT Barnum and Tom Thumb rest here, as well as Margaret Rudkin, the founder of Pepperidge...
...Last night I went to work at the same time I do every Friday night. I had my expectations and one of them was that my new shoes would be there. I had been wearing the same ones for almost three years, and although they look perfect on the...
...Greeting the Dawn from the Forest... ...How do I keep going, in this writers life? I wake up every morning and play a list of what to do, -for who and for what- in my mind...what do I HAVE to do, and what do I WANT to do...the list is endless....
One of my favorite pictures of me, altered by a wonderful friend 3 ...Okay...I am going to give this a try since I am hopelessly addicted to writing, and I believe I do it very well...I guess you will let me know :) Online, offline I am a...