Archive for personal

Much as You’d Think

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on November 5, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

Haven’t known what to say to you:
still don’t.
Hurt never went away.
Memories, either.
Pushed myself to be better, more.
Pushed you out of my mind;

If you wonder, this one’s about you
(but not as much as you’d think).

Lose your selfish belief of being selfless, maybe we’ll talk–
if you start with apologies.
Apologies matter.
And I never got mine.
What’s gone is done.
And what is to come probably isn’t us.


A quick update…

Posted in current events, on writing, Personal Notes with tags , , , on November 2, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

I haven’t posted any new poetry for awhile. I spent the last few weeks editing and compiling poems for a first book prize. I’m not holding my breath, but look at it as a worthwhile effort in working to be a better writer. The process made me aware of a lot that I should work on, but I gained a little more confidence, too–just putting that envelope into the mail gives me hope in one day being a professional poet.

Now, it’s November, which of course, means NaNoWriMo. I’ll be pantsing, entirely–I have only a slight concept. But I’ve done this annual challenge for so long, it’d feel wrong not to try again, this year.

I’ll try to get back to new poems in December. Thanks for reading.


The Weight of Watching

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on August 28, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

In the distance, I watch
as leaves fall–
some still spring-green and fresh,
surely too new to drop away;
some turned crisp from
the heat of many sunny days.

I feel myself drooping
from the weight of watching.
I am a hollowed-out acorn–
empty and exhausted,
incapable of any movement–
except, eventually, down.

Beauty Is (I)

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , on June 16, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

Beauty is a quiet, long, clean line–

the thin angle of your nose or your

hip, hip, hooray, so small compared with

collar and rib, so fully compact.


Beauty is short, loud, and curvy–

the smell of my perfume hitting you,

a celebration of width and fullness,

shoulders, breasts, wasting away.


Beauty is bold, brash, and calm–

the tongue-taste of summer wine and

somber kisses, the succinctness of sense:

smoky along the line of your lips.

The Graffiti of Aging

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , , on June 14, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

The dusty ghost of old paintings haunts the walls:

reminders that I am not the only tenant in this world.

This is the graffiti of aging–the skin of experience

has found a wrinkle and is beginning to fret, a disused

guitar that needs some strong, grey steely strands.

The spirit of youth is wily, though: a coyote I cannot

outrun; shaking spray cans and laughing. And the question

becomes–not can I catch up, or could you? But can we

choose a color suitable for both the old and for the new?

The Things of Memory

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on May 11, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

Someday I will stop looking at the past, stop examining the things of memory,

the smell of campsites, of cigarettes, of sweat and toil, of being freshly washed,

the taste of arctic char, of pickled ginger, of dandelion wine, of a bloody lip,

the light in a field–or over ocean–with shimmering clouds scattered, secrets within,

the first time I heard your voice, and the last. The ringing beauty of my horn singing,

the touch of you: so many, beside me, warm, comforting. The comfort of being alone.

The feeling of well-being, of my growing strength, the certainty that my senses

have not exerted their potential yet; and neither have I. The past, and my

memory, are moving further and further away: one day at a time.

The Finish Line

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on April 30, 2014 by Sarah aka Sarjé

This isn’t goodbye. This is hello to

a different kind of battle, one I’ll fight in

longer strides, bigger and bolder strokes

of color, too long overdue. This isn’t

goodbye, but you might not see me

for a while, dear friend–

and upon my return I may be scarred.

I won’t be wounded, at least no

more than I am now. This isn’t goodbye.

I’ll see you at the finish line,

though I’m not sure how far away it is.