Tag Archives: writing101

Writing 101-Day 18-Compose a series of Anecdotes

image-man at the wheel

“They That Go Down To the Sea in Ships”

‘Man at the Wheel’ Fisherman’s Memorial

Good Harbor=Beauport

Inner harbor-Back Shore

Bay View, Lanes Cove

Eastern Point, Twin Lights

Rocky Neck –Gloucester Fisherman,

Coast Guard Commander, Water Rescue

Navy Rank, Officer, Petty Officer, Ensign, Mate, Midshipmen, Captain,

Captain’s Courageous,

Aye ye Matey,

Stowaway locked in the bulkhead below,

Pirate Bar, Salty Dog

Accordion keeping time to sea shanties rhyme,

Prime Meridian lies across a wet salty desert,

Gulf, Gulls shrieking wail, Jonah, deck hands, mast, cast forth, cold and wet, wrinkled to the bone, rolling waves, port, starboard, helm, bow, stern, in irons, point of sail, beams reach, “keel hath beached upon the reef”, breech to port

And ….. Home!

Writing 101- Day 17-Map as your Muse

Naval Aviators Lost In Haze,

Seaweed in Longitude/Latitude Splays,

Sea to Wildest Seas Traversing,

Seafaring Lines Ceremonial Crossings,

Tropics of Cancer and of Capricorn,

Straits of Gibraltar, Magellan Reborn,

Sailing From Pollywogs to Shellbacks in Mass,

Sailors Beware As the Serpents They Pass,

King Neptune the Ruler of the Raging Main,

Realm of Czars above Davy Jones Reign,

Golden Dragon Traveling Time,

Poseidon’s Trident pointing in line,

30th Parallel Circumnavigation,

Admiral’s Nautical Mile Celebration.

Writing 101-Day 13-Play With Word Count-Clay Pots


Rich dark soil of human history,

Like a mug of steaming love,

Served in heavy, clunky pottery,

And delivered from above,

Spun by nimble hands,

Formed in our lands,

From earthy hearty clay,

The patina of,

The fragile porcelain glove,

We could not spin away.


Only now our memories will withstand,

The kilning fires we all stoke,

By our own weak hand, a choking smoke is fanned,

And what we fear we will invoke.


What if our thoughts and actions now,

Gave back all we took away?

Glazed not just with good intentions,

But with real sacrifice today.


Rich dark soil of human history,

A gift of nourishing natural grains,

Grown in heavy, clunky pottery,

And throughout our worldly plains,

Farmed by nimble hands,

Harvest of our lands,

From the earthy clay it rose,

But we couldn’t wait,

So we tempted fate,

And we stepped on our own toes.


Withstanding only in our memories now,

The organic grace we sought,

What has come about,

With our spiritual drought,

Is our abundance left to rot.


What if our thoughts and actions now,

Gave back all we took away?

Harvested not just with good intentions,

But with integrity today.


Dark heart of human history,

Will we learn from what we’ve done?

Broken heavy, clunky pots of clay,

What we are, we cannot outrun,

Though created by the nimble fingers,

Of the potter we once adored,

Our careless nature lingers,

And the warnings we ignored.


We can still hold all the blessings,

Back to basic human grace,

We must heal our lands and control our hands,

What we must conquer, we first must face.


Humility withstanding shame,

All false idols left to past,

We can return today,

To the simple clay,

From which each of us were all once cast.


What if our thoughts and actions now,

Gave back all we took away,

Men not just with good intentions,

But with real brotherhood today.


Rich dark soil of human history,

contains the dust from past mistakes,

we can always start a brand new pot tomorrow,

All we need is a lump of clay.







Writing 101- Day 16- Mine your own material

paper bridgePaper Bridges

Paper Bridges Span,

But they do not try to reach,

From heart to heart,

We read the plans,

In our own unspeakable speech,

Delicate as glass,

We smash designs our piers demand,

Never to interpret,

What the hearts language understands,

We listen with our stubborn voice,

What our minds do need to hear,

Pilings sunk in sand,

Cannot withstand,

Paper bridges built with fear.

Day 9: Writing and not writing

When I am not writing I am usually either focused on my family or my career.  I am a caregiver by nature and also by trade, I am a nurse and a mother. I am a big believer in being “All In” no matter what I am doing. Staying true to the here and now by letting go of work at home and visa versa is imperative to my sanity. My favorite way to reset and restore my energy before switching gears is just to take a walk alone in nature when I get home. I can sometimes literally feel the stress fall away. I live near a beautiful State Park and luckily the weather has been very mild so far this fall. Making time to talk to my family out east and getting together with friends are also important to me. I recently took a class with a friend and we started volunteering for my local fire department as first responders. It is good to be part of the community and part of a team. I also love cooking, laughing, cuddling on the couch, and listening to music. One thing that has always helped me most to take care of me is writing itself. Somehow just the act of jotting down my random thoughts helps my brain organize them.

Writing 101 Day 7: Let social media inspire you

“I can’t decide if procrastination kills creativity or is essential to it.”

~Grant Snider


I am Feeling uninspired,

In my messy, muddled mind,

I hope I’ll focus my attention soon,

And catch up from behind.

I start too many projects,

And have way too much to do,

So I’ll sit here doing none of it,

And I’ll start on something new.

When my imagination takes me, on a journey till the end,

I’ll know I’m finally really over, my procrastination trend.

Day 5 Quote

“All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.”

~Edgar Allan Poe

Parallel to what we know,  does another world exist? Natural order, ebb and flow, still symmetry persists.

If atoms burst outward as they meet when molecules collide, do particles react as they retreat to an equal and opposite side?

As elements extract moving energy and antimatter expands, we may find there is a path to synergy, a new universe to understand.

The Quarry

One by one we leapt into the abyss of life. Some still haven’t  reached the fresh clear water of adulthood.  Many friends left a bloody mess when they jumped one too many times and never cleared the rocks at all. Many fellow jumpers in our “Crew” live only in our memories now, lost to poor planning or just plain bad luck. Some jumped well yet still never surfaced from the depths to jump again. Weighted down by injuries too heavy to carry on with, or forever anchored to the bottom by a poorly placed landing. Wasted potential, unfinished lives, stuck in the muck with one foot through a rusted out car roof.

We jumped over and over, scaling the wall again and again, leaping from the cliffs with reckless abandon, crying out with glee each time as we sailed through the air on the way down to forever. We were living in the moment, our moment. No consequences, responsibilities, or excuses. No tomorrow just today.

The “Pit” was a spring fed oasis of fresh water just a mile inland from the salty Atlantic coast where I grew up. A granite quarry long ago abandoned by the Finish immigrants who mined the stone from pits scattered around the wooded center of Cape Ann until the turn of the century. It is said that most of the hard granite stone in Philadelphia and Washington DC came from these very Quarries.

It was our swimming hole. Our secret place in the woods. A place away from rules and judgment. The quarries were a long walk down a rustic path. The trails were former mining roads, now most impassable by motorized vehicles – although some were brave or careless enough to go “woods bombing” with their junkers. This often resulted in flat tires and broken axles, but getting the kegs to the pits seemed worth it.  Away from the prying eyes of cops, parents, and informers, we languished away our summer days, and partied with Cuckoo juice bonfires till the wee hours. It was more than a place for our teenage shenanigans. It was a safe place to detonate our teen angst just outside the periphery of our small village community. Imploding the last remnants of our youthful innocence together, we were letting go before moving on.

Vernon's PitNelsons_pit31quarries1