Sometimes a title comes first – sometimes a particular line in a poem

There are too many ideas to write down

Representations of beauty

A mixture of grace and insanity come to life

Difficult to focus on too many things at once

Feeling lost on the snowy expanse of a blank word document

Petrified of turning eleven

Despite occasional stress fractures it’s possible to heal

Lucky house guest of the Honourable Phryne Fisher

The light glowed warm from the burgundy beam-framed windows

Freshly baked croissants

I sleep better when there is a dish towel on my pillow

My imagination plays tricks on me with evils that aren’t there

A tall, black, iron gate

A monster was never the muse

I want to know you

I started with The Hobbit

I change

And it just doesn’t look right somehow

Petals float from branch to grass

Collect the fallen

I tend to follow my gut

Like a baby by the ocean

Fade from view into one deep blue

A cocktail of salty humidity clings to the furniture

The selkies wander freely here

We sat in a dive bar in Venice

We toasted with Chivas and an Irish blessing

Watch out for other spirits lifting

I want to see the ghosts

Wisps of clouds on the distant horizon

Apparition haunting the library in my head

Enjoying my escape into Miss Eyre and Mr. Rochester’s story

My mind is a curious, cluttered place

Polygamist set of champagne flutes

I began to appreciate my reality more

I wore a blue dress to the movies

Some freeze time and some impress

A fluid turned dissonant composition

How do you “not hear” music?

I have to remind myself to slow down

I gathered my debris

Memory marathon training

Poetry in the maroon composition notebook

Dragging along the stress of extra baggage

My decision to detach

I’d have gone sooner

Put the worries away for a moment to make room for clarity and creativity

Put your brave face on

Reduced stress, more clarity, and more space

I reserved my battle cry

Ease up on the clutch; you’ll feel it

Incapable of keeping plants alive

A grueling operation to amputate the legs of our couch

We collected our bags

We were usually just a stopover

Switched out our red brick wall

Our power has been out

Why fret about it now?

We sipped warm, red wine

White twinkle lights in the kitchen

An army of albatrosses in the Falkland Islands

Already standing on the summit

Many moments in empty venues