Places I Walk

MY FATHER’S SUITCASE   

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Advice From My Grandfather

Bearded Iris on Black

Chasing My Words

Differences

Have You Ever?

I Am More Than What You See

My Name

Night Sweats

Red Herring

The Word of the Day

Time

Witches Pay Taxes

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IDIOM’S TRUTH

by Gerardine Baugh © 2007

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Writer

~Gerardine Baugh© 1/25/2006

When was a child I can remember; Writer; softly whispered,
No one was around; when I reached for the one who spoke.
I felt safe within that word; I searched out its meaning,
Leather bound path of words, side by side.
Two dozen, books of knowledge, lined neatly;
Their bindings soften from time, they smelled of thought.
Writer; whispered and echoed in my soul.
Reading from the works of others;
Their voices murmured;
I have ignored my path, with its restrained voice.
Still, I hear my resonance of need murmuring louder;
From my soul, the whisper sounds commanding.
You’re a writer!
Write!

 

This is a wonderful writer’s group.

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Articles

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