Too Many Thoughts

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Too Many Thoughts

Slumbering in my bed
when suddenly I’m awake
I want to go to sleep
but now it’s just too late.

I hate when I can’t sleep
the things that cross my mind
the creeping thoughts intrude
I need an interlude.

Once my mind wakes up
the body has to follow
so here I sit alone
trying to write this poem.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Writing about insomnia with my friends at Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads. I used to have insomnia but I learned how to sleep better. This poem tells of a time when I used to get up and try to do something constructive when I couldn’t sleep. I read about how to sleep last year and found out it was something I had to work at like anything else worth doing in my life. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.

The Letter

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The Letter

Thrust into my hands
handwriting barely legible
every
last
word
and
lingering lie
delivered deliberately.

That tear stained letter
now
a sad memory
relished, relinquished,
then released.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2013

An old poem with my animation. This happened to me but not in letter form, it was face to face and never to be. I think we’ve all had our relationship disappointments in life but I hope you were spared. Love is complicated at the best of times.

It’s good to be back after taking an unscheduled break from writing. Sometimes life gets in the way. Tomorrow’s another birthday for me I’m turning 63. I use to avoid mentioning my age in the past but due to my bike riding and good health, I feel too good to be so silly.

Shared with my friends at Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads.

Spoken Word

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Spoken Word

Performed live for a hungry crowd
poetry spoken, read aloud
written words turned into sound
voices raised in prose astound.

Rhymes and stories rein sublime
my heart is beating overtime
I struggle to bring my muse alive
by spoken words that I provide.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2014

A blast from the past about how I felt reading my poetry to other people. The animation is from my photographs of the Bay Trail.

Old Library Book

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Old Library Book

Words in binding
fact reminding
maybe rhyming
perfect timing
plot defining
how-to guiding
new word finding
worlds unwinding
masterminding.

The End-I’m smiling!

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

My first experience with books was in the library at my grade school. I think I read every book they had about horses. Of course in class, it was Fun With Dick And Jane. Libraries have changed through the years but they still hold countless stories, art, poetry, history, and more. All you need is a library card and it’s yours for the taking. Don’t forget to return your book!

The artwork is Storybook by Schnette on Deviantart. Linked with Poets United.

A Writer’s Life

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A Writer’s Life

A writer’s life for me
there’s nothing I’d rather be
playing with words is fun
reading out loud when I’m done
bringing my muse out to play
and writing this poem today.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2014

Writer’s Block

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Writer’s Block

My book it lies unfinished
that sentence dangling there
the words remain extinguished
it’s like my thoughts are bare.

My first book came so easy
the money made now gone
the blank page makes me queasy
my writing just looks wrong.

I meant to write a story
a word, a phrase, a quote
I wanted all the glory.
One word is all I wrote.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2013

A flash from the past shared with Poets United.

The Poet’s Dilemma

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The Poet’s Dilemma

Days and nights spent crafting words to perfection
fueled by cheap whiskey and non-filtered cigarettes
cut off from the very world he writes about.

His prose clever and filled with profound images
the darling of society
everyone wanted his company
designers gave him the finest garments
he lived in a stone mansion with a beautiful wife;
but on the inside…

The poet’s soul is tinted with the blackest black
he has no words left
his muse left him with no note
empty with no more to give.

He sits in his library at his big ornate desk
the glow of the candles outlining his frown
considering the writer’s block that has silenced him
feeling lost.

He inhales, his cigarette glowing red in the dark
he opens his desk drawer to get more whiskey
his handgun next to the bottle.

He pours himself a drink
as he has done so many times before
it burns as it travels down his throat
the loss of words was killing him
destroying him!

He put the handgun to his head and pulled the trigger.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2014

Shared with Poets United.