Posted in coolness, stuff, writing

Typewriting

I downloaded a new app today called Hanx Writer. Oddly enough, the Hanx does refer to Tom Hanks, who worked to create an app that replicates his beloved typewriters.

Anyone who knows me at all knows there are three sounds in life that I adore beyond reason; tap dancing, crackling fires, and typewriters. The sound of typing literally lulls me to sleep, which is a dangerous thing when you work in a building surrounded by people typing all day.

But I digress. Go download this free app (Hanx in iTunes) and tell me it’s not fantastic. I actually paid for all three styles of typewriter AND the 99 cent add-on that will let me use these as my keyboard in any app.

Yes, I have a problem, but any time I can give myself a soul-soothing delight for less than $6, I’m all in.

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Posted in poetry, writing

Planting a Flag

The hardest part may be
Reclaiming the places and spaces once shared by two;
favorite haunts, now haunted.

You can ignore, retreat, recoil
Avoid the heartache
of a thousand happy memories
Or face them
Own them
Plant your flag in the soft sand
of towns with ocean views
Even as you wipe away tears
and try to smile
Tell the waitress you aren’t waiting for one more
even when your heart is
Because every special place you went
With him
Is a place you went
With you
You can own
those roads and restaurants,
the sun and the Saturdays
or continue giving them away
to someone
who doesn’t even
want them

(C) bigdumptruck.com

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Posted in poetry, writing

Winter

Frozen fields unfettered
blowing ice
breath short
wandering, pondering
The day stretches long and lean
Possibilities peak out
between gnarled tree branches
and frosted grass
lonely birds fly
with weak songs their
promises of warmer days.

For now, the sun is wanting
and the journey long
Swirls of smoke from a chimney
and my breath
call me back to the fireside
to wait
another step forward
another day closer
to spring

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Posted in poetry, writing

Collateral Damage

Collateral Damage

I knew a man
Once.
Forever ago
He seemed to be
what he was not
Denied his truth,
at least to me
I know now
Killing time –
late night prayers
tears
wishes and whispers
When I would not
could not
hear.
To reclaim his old life
The Pinnacle
I, collateral damage.
“Good enough”
Isn’t good enough
when you’re
selfishly
holding out hope.
Hope knocked
Right or wrong
Truth never spoken
Fleeting “I’m sorry”
Then silence

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