Mdkcreativismz's Blog











{January 2, 2013}   Andalusia

Sweet caramel in a gold foiled box is just
A mellow tongue tease
Masked with bitter chocolate and orange zest.
It was hidden for the taking.
There’s too much time on a back porch swing.

Four stop lights on Andalusia main and
A turn left for ten more miles
Leaves a memory of
Ivory magnolia blossoms leading to
Giant oaks netted in Spanish moss.

Ten miles more leads to white cotton clad flatlands.
Another ten past the marsh is where you will find
Sugar white sandbars
Soaked in warm emerald waters ready for the taking.

MichelleK.



{January 1, 2013}   Happy 2013!

I realized tonight that it has been almost exactly one year since I wrote my last post. Bad me. But not really. I write almost every night. Love it, as well as other things. So, I love this year and I love my life. And, I love …well let me say…just about everybody. Good thing, considering how bad the economy is. This too shall pass.

I love my dogs…Scotty and Johnny. I’m willing to share that. Make a donation to your local Humane Society and make the world a better place. Take a bag of rice to your local food kitchen, pitch in, if you can, lend someone a helping hand if you have the ability. Soup kitchens lead to victory gardens and roaming puppies make the best pets. Lots of joy to all. Keep on writing…and relish the power of an open mind!

Michelle K.



{January 1, 2013}  

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAIbiza

An obsidian stone thrust upward from a silver sea and
Cast a shadow on a gold splashed sky.

Radiation often burns unnoticed but the slightest rustling of the force always snares my attention.
Magnetism forewarns me of the gaze that will capture my spirit.

And I run.
At first I always run as fast as gazelles ran when Ibiza opened her granite gates.
The shadow disappears.
My regrets call you back.

Have you come to recall me, Ibiza, one more time?
Did you remember you left promises on sugary shores?
Tell Es Vedra we spun miel in green forests.
Our fingers were splintered from felling trees.
Our hands were roughened and torn from splitting boulders.
We planted our own vines.
We followed gold western sunsets and found more turquoise waters.
Tell Es Vedra maybe the ships were lost in all the violent storms and our voice was muted by thundering angry clouds.

Time softens dolor.
Are you her ombudsman or a missionary of the heart?

You climbed the cliffs of Es Vedra, didn’t you, and stood on the mark?
Do you have the other half of the stone?
Her tides pounding against the cliff walls echo across the ocean in a melody I can hear
But I do not know the words to answer her back.
The broken cliff’s dust never leaves our feet but forever stays with us.
Her power penetrates our soul even beyond the eleventh generation.

You’ve gone too far she says.
And her magic pulls you back.
Slowly back…
While the magma boils just below the waters of Ibiza.

The vents freed spirits that raced across the miles.
We thought it just another fog.
Warm muggy mists in the night deceived us.
The blue vapors of Ibiza doused our skin renewing her bonds.

Then Es Vedra cast her net.

MichelleK. All rights reserved. (November 2012)
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{December 18, 2011}   Southern Speak

south of the border

sticky sweltering hot summer afternoons in the dog days of summer
sweat pooling and dripping off your lashes
it’s not the tears that make you sting

the guys on the basketball court making slam dunks
being very careful not to glance at the girls on the sidelines
scoring is just too important right now

vast fields of corn with crows flying overhead
fields of puffy cotton boles bursting open freeing white fairies
that dance atop red clay fields
being careful not to go there
because you’ll stain your brand new clothes
your mama just bought at the flea market

lazy days on the shore of the river
just watching the waves created
by the huge riverboat barges
carrying coal to exotic places

the gnats at the shore annoy me
the problem with this place is there are no orators
I want to hear the stories of the riverboat captains
but they’ll probably never pass this way again

coffee at the diner every morning at nine
two eggs with biscuits and gravy
making sure you leave a tip for hazel
who works so hard to make ends meet
don’t say anything but she’s a new divorcee
she wears her v-neck just a bit low
but she makes a lot in tips

tea parties in the afternoon with cookies
that only grandma knows how to make
but everyone has to be gone by 5
because daddy is coming home and
mama is going to make some mint julips for their night
on the back porch swing

quiet…
lots of heat and quiet…
locusts serenading the summer’s eve
while sitting behind a mosquito net
sweat…
and stillness…
and stickiness…
night flies flashing yellow bursts of light in the darkness
and rivers that lead to eternity…

tuning into heaven at midnight
nobody else knows about a.m. radio
is that french or spanish
is this aruba or uguguay
is felipe netting fish in the bay
or is juan delivering speeches to the masses
i wonder….

caves hidden in forests
afternoons looking for arrowheads
and salamanders hiding under rocks in the stream

bike rides on gravel roads
just knowing you’d better be home
before nightfall
waves and hellos from people you’ve never seen
and from those whom you’ll never know

MichelleK.



{December 18, 2011}   Omen

Why?
I must ask why.
Must I?
I must.
Photo courtesy Fotolia.com coniferous trees on a seashore © Dmitri Zakovorotny #32516222

There is no why..
It just is and why
Becomes obsession.

When do words become rhythmic
Or poetry becomes prose?

It’s when the ocean splatters in the air
When the sun melts across grey skies,
And when the albatross sings a luring tune in passing…
Follow! Soars to the canyon top and falls back then
Skating endlessly out to blue
Nothingness.

Even so
Rocky shores remain …
Beautiful …
And here the graceful glider will perch.

Envy roots into sunken boulders
That will one day erode as relentless pounding tides
Disintegrate into gentle teasing ripples.
It is the era of my loneliness.

Remembrance of
Moody southern breezes and salty seas
Sprays across my face.

It was the deceptive tickles of warm white sands underneath our feet and the descent into tempting, tepid emerald waters
The arrogance of braving God’s fury on the shore when
Magnanimous lightning flashes seemed so distant in Western skies.

So very far away we thought…
We dared to ask why.

After all is over and silence calms the waters,
The price is waiting
For the return of the albatross.

MichelleK.



{December 18, 2011}   Hello
    I wrote this blog with the full intention of writing more often. I do that frequently. I find writing a great release for life’s frustrations, amusements, tensions, ironies. So, this is my first post. I have been writing. This summer I took a creative writing course where I managed to get a lot of practice. I shared with some really interesting aspiring authors. I’ve decided to make one of my new year’s resolutions to keep on writing and tonight I’ll share a few of my “midnight brain burns.”



et cetera