Category Archives

Archive of posts published in the category: words

undefined writer

A deep yellow cloth journal waits for me on my desk. It is unlined with eggshell pages, thick and ready. Nothing I could write, however, would bring it to life and birth it a soul. It needs blood ink and pain, and a…

fueling imagination and possibility

Photo Challenge: Optimistic How do you fuel the fires of optimism? There seems to be so little time to read these days. Time is merciless and haunts me each time I venture to steal a bit of leisure. It breathes heavily on my…

ink

black feather quill in blue ink words find their path along unlined paper a road follows each word sentences make tracks that trains cannot ride there is something on the unwritten page a soul waiting for its ink waiting to be born in…

senescence

my soul is blue and cotton soft sinking into aging flesh time enslaves body words are not youth fountains time machines are not made for me a blue flower picked withers folding into blue dust i am remembering freedom © zaji, 2016

retreating wrinkles

Writing Prompt: If I Could Turn Back Time If you could return to the past to relive a part of your life, either to experience the wonderful bits again, or to do something over, which part of you life would you return to?…

into my bones

water pours into my wanting bones into the spaces between blood and marrow those places that form seed and memory bones buried deep in brown ancestral soil deep into the other side of time tell dancing stories of the ancient ones forgotten waters…

writing warrior

Writing takes courage. One must go deep inside to the dark places, the secret places most people spend their entire lives avoiding. This isn’t easy to do, but it is there the true words live, the words that draw tears and incite anger,…

writing to hone

It really doesn’t matter how long you’ve been writing or how successful you’ve been. There is always the challenge to be better than you were yesterday, and there is always the possibility that what you’ve written will be so awful, you will wonder…

bleed

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” ― Ernest Hemingway

sit down and write

“You write by sitting down and writing. There is no particular time or place— you suit yourself, your nature.” ~ Bernard Malamud

the path

I walked the path a thousand times and remembered how deeply I loved him. The path was wood paved and green. The last Indian Summer saw us making love atop a Colocasia leaf. We slipped into each other like a gentle touch slips…

babel-17

I am reading Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany. So far nothing interesting is happening. I hope, however, that it develops into a magnificent story. Delany is setting the stage for a story that seems to be about language and how we decipher it…

waiting

he asked me to wait for him but the river flowed on for days never waiting for me or him it moved with determination towards its destiny we watched the river together it was then that he realized the question would he wait…

if i write

if i write everyday, will the ancestors read my words? ink to paper paper to mind mind to action action to creation creation to ink ink to words words to sounds sounds to touch will the ancestors touch the world with words spoken…

papers

i tossed papers into the fire. the words that turned to ash rose higher than their importance, but i still feel free now, from those words that tell truncated stories of who I was 25 years ago. i am not that skinny girl…

the release

There is so much for me to release. I don’t know where to begin. Maybe if I strip my soul naked and stand in front of the world that will judge or love, that will begin the releasing. Whatever it takes, but living…

i carry

i carry the world inside me. i wear it on my face. © zaji, 2016

grilled nightmares

Writing Prompt: Nightmares Describe the last nightmare you remember having. What do you think it meant? Something grabbed me and held me down. I was unable to move. I can’t say what it was. I don’t remember a face, only arms and hands…

the conjure woman

i don’t want to be a writer. i don’t want to tell my stories that come only from memory. i want to be a conjure woman. my medicine bag filled with ink. i want to conjure waiting ghosts from the past and tell…

lest we forget

memories trace a path to our doorstep. the familiar knock interrupts our living. do we open it? or do we send the memories away, back to their past where they belong. maybe we should remember, so the bad stories they bring cannot return.…

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