in Inkfingerz by

Two minds
yours and mine
Are two night skies of the
Starriest cast.
I give you a window
You give me one, too.
Windows look up into every night sky.
Windows like nets for catching
Shooting stars
Like fish.
We are
Each star caught gives
Clues to other stars
That might be
Out beyond the window sill.
We grow hungry
For me to capture every
And each
Shining star
Within you,
The gleaming and the dim,
Is unlikely.
Modestly, I do not try to fathom
You in your
I know you cannot fathom me.
But we love each other, still,
Weather or not,
We know it.

♦ ♦ ♦

The winds are picking up.
Every where in the world
Are two lovers
Holding tight.
Their embrace strengthened by the gusts.
Everywhere else two lovers
Are blown apart,
By the might
Of the wind.

♦ ♦ ♦

It’s September Seventh
And the cicadas are howling
In the day,
Howling in the night.
They organize shifts
Over the 24 hour period.
Their duty is to keep the trees
I wonder if the day shift and the night shift
Are paid the same hourly wage.
♦ ♦ ♦

There is a grey bag made of very thin
Plastic on the pavement.
It tumbles over itself.
Open, it is motioned by the blowing winds.
My eyes deceive me for a moment
And I think it is a Pigeon,
Lost among the pavement
Of all the speeding cars,
Fwapping about with uncertain feet,
Thoughts stolen by the current.
I feel like that plastic bag
Or Pigeon at times
Caught in exhausted eddies
Made with asphalt pavement and speeding cars
Carrying countless speeding thoughts –
Chambered by speeding counted cars –
Our thinking thoughts,
Inside so many rushing cars,
Thoughts speed by and by,
Enclosed in cars,
Enclosed in cars,
Enclosed in cars,
Enclosed in cars
Our thoughts –
Speeding by and by.
♦ ♦ ♦

Perhaps, God is Love.
That’s why we do it.
Love, that is.
In order to find God.
God is in the bushes above
Always ready to jump out.
Perhaps, Love is God.
God is she
And God is he
And God is it
And it is nothing but
Love what is, in order to find God.
Every hero, every villain
Think of love.
Love is everywhere.
There are so many things; what’s not to Love?
Cars, chickens, chocolate, trains, chess.
My Friends, Love is, in order to find God.
Discuss, make love, give a wink to a dove.
Sing, dance and marry.
Drink wine, eat books, imbibe poetry;
Clasp, clinch, hug, squeeze!
The body of this world surrounds you, now.
Love what is in order to find God.
Unite, congregate, give thanks
And pleasure!
I wonder that, God perhaps is Love.
Why else would we be hoping for,
Excited about,
Desperate for,
Infatuated with,
Over and Under
Love –
That is, in order to find God.
♦ ♦ ♦
Smells like Snow
Chilly whispers
to the nostrils.
Skin up on tipsy-toes
holds air differently than most.
An aroma of crisp-ness.
Fresh cold sparkles like diamonds.
Cold is the rough – fresh is the diamond.
Sun and Cold christening the air –
Light as a feather, as serious as stone.
There is nothing perfectly stranger –
A sun’s wave in the still cold.
Arms, legs, bellies, blankets and
Criss-crossing across and
Light up Snow.
♦ ♦ ♦
There are only one way tickets,
My fellow and frenzied traveling friends.
For when you get to where your going
Your journey will commence.
And there will be no time to wonder
a return.
Your return flight will
Be tacked on to your journey
And you won’t know when it is coming,
Unless of course you cheat
And flip forward the pages
Desperate for some clue.
Do not be desperate,
Dear friends,
I encourage you strongly
Never to sneak a peek to the future.
You’ll only spoil the
Kiss in which you are in.
Live for today
And it will lead to tomorrow.
Jesus said something like that you know?
“”Think only for the day and let the morrow think of itself.”
Time will come
And come and come.
It will come, come, come.
You can rely on Time.
Your journey will take you home
Only after it’s sufficient in Todays and Tomorrows.
This, so much, is inevitable.
Weather, the sun,
Continues to shine
Or doesn’t – it is inevitable.
There is no rush, thankfully.

All paths lead home where you can finally
Finish your book and get it published.
And it will all be right in Time
For your next journey to begin.
Oh, boy. Oh, girl.
That’s right.
Your life is none for boredom.
You must keep waking,
For there is much to do
And each day is sincere as fresh Autumn
And there are many,
Many a Autumn to come.
There are no return flights from here.
But I promise, home you’ll become.
The sun will rise
Again and again.
Let the fall of each night
Wrap you in blanket
And mend you from the breaking ray.
This is how all the world spins
And finds in spinning
To endure
The enjoyment
And the sorrow
Of mortality,
Which mimics immortality.
It’s true, Beloved, your life is Eternal.
But listen to my whispers.
There is no reason in worry.
Change and change you may.
You will know many eyes
And Time will forever be by your side.
Even in your loneliest hours.
Think of Time as your undying friend.
For it will live passed the age of
This Sun.
May you recognize this while you
From the undying vine,
The wine, with Time.
She will comfort you
And remind you that the lines
that shape your
Face – magnificent.
Weathered in her unforgiving beauty.
She will tell worlds of your beauty,
The worlds you took Time to know.
Home, Sweet Darling, will be yours
Not once, but for all.
♦ ♦ ♦
The End.


Monica Hadley is co-founder, host and producer of Writers' Voices on KRUU 100.1 fm in Fairfield, Iowa, a community low power radio station, and webmaster at

0 thoughts on “On Writing By An Old Novice

Want to join the discussion?
Feel free to contribute!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *