The Lost Art

When I was in high school I had a binder full of poetry and unfinished stories. I had taken creative writing, journalism and yearbook class. I attended Poetry Club, one of the places I met my husband. I entered one of my poems into a poetry contest. It only got “recognized” because no one understood that it was personifying a vampire. My husband won the contest.

I don’t know what happened to all those poems over the years. I seem to have only been able to keep a few. Maybe now I can begin to write more.


Here is one from long ago.


Tell Me

Tell me a story
Of Sin and Delight
Where shadow lovers come to play in the night

Reminisce with me
Of times long gone
When our passions play did no wrong
And behind closed doors was our little game

Tell me of when
My bloody pens
Could carve whatever they want
And whether it was truth or lie
They were read without taunt

Write to me
You broken man
When I will be free from your pages
And while your hands carve the story of me
Tell me more



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