Writers of fiction, poetry, lyrics, screenplays and life stories come from diverse backgrounds. For the past three years a small group has met weekly to write together, offering criticism and support to whoever stopped by. Over 200 different people have dropped by; we learned something from each one of them. Most of the people who found us had already written for years- some even published.

If this is something that interests you, join us! We meet every Wednesday, from 9 AM - 10:30 at the Jesus Center on Park Avenue.



Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Leading By Example

by Kathleen Ann Kelley

To lead by example is to be as you are
To be as intended
To "not be" is to transgress
Inspiration comes when it comes
As an arrow to the heart
A pierce
A sword
A pen

A pencil is better
For mistakes you erase
Don't worry about disgrace
If you've already set the pace

Friday, October 19, 2012

Fishing Triptych


The Cathedral
Blue, cloud frescoed dome
Pious cliffs, virtuous trees
Unruffled water

The Question
Sky reflecting lake,
Am I fisherman or fish,
Lake reflecting sky?

The Mass
Solemn children watch
the long knife. Terror stricken
I gut the first fish.

Chloe and Salyanna: Intro

an extraction from 'Cardomon'
a novel by James (Ben) Mielke

Chloe had an eye for good property and stylish living, as well as a talent
for dickering with realtors; Pyteman Daelmeron let his wife find their
condominium and she made a score, securing forty thousand cubic feet three
stories above Rim Deck and overlooking a bustling neighborhood of restaurants
and cabarets where life boiled at all hours. With financing through their
employer's private bank, the unit was actually the property of Glatz
Enterprises, but they garnered a finder's fee and a percentage of appreciation
for as long as they occupied it-deep space real estate never loses value,
it is a finite commodity in an infinite market.

They worked together as Transient Business Paraprofessionals, a job title unique
to the corporation. They were specialists in quelling incipient resistance to
the company and operated covertly; bribery, extortion and the occasional
assassination were their tools. They came to Crossroads Station on assignment
to break up a budding union among the staff of a cargo transfer facility.

It was an easy job, finished in under two years after the 'accidental' deaths
of nine organizers; and an even dozen others were en-route to prison, caught up
in a violent scandal involving narcotics traffickers and a huge cache of stolen
armaments. Everybody proclaimed innocence, blaming a mysterious black haired
woman the authorities never found. Pyteman and Chloe had performed brilliantly;
they drew the attention of the highest echelons in Glatz Enterprises.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The Door

by Charlie Gage

I found a place I thought was safe,
To do some work that needed done.
A place to take myself apart,
And find out just who I'd become.

I listened to the One's who knew,
The guiding One's who've been before.
And as I looked into the glass,
I begin to open up the door.

Inside was shambles, torn and tossed,
Things were scattered on the floor.
I saw the places they had fallen,
Love and hate and even more.

I started picking up the pieces,
Looking at them one by one.
Hanging them back upon the wall,
In places they had fallen from.

I know that some are not in order,
But even so I'm in the house.
I left the doorway standing open,
So the wind blows in and out.

The wind, it brings new things to me,
And lets inside the warming sun.
Things to hang upon my walls,
To help me be my Father's son.

RIPPLES

RIPPLES
by Michael Dean Long

Like Stones thrown in the ocean
Are the actions that we take
Never even imagining
The impact that we make

The feelings we evoke
The course we blindly chart
In the ever changing landscapes
Of the human soul and heart.

Fort Bragg to Gold Beach Oregon: 271 miles


Monday, 24th September
50 MPG

Fatigue the night before had misguided my assumption that the Oceanview Inn & Suites was merely shabby, not dirty.  In the morning light I discovered the detritus of past guests piled up all around the base of the bed.  As I checked Mother’s room for forgotten items, I found a Mini Oreo residing under the wall furnace.  For all I know it could have been years old---its preservatives protecting unknowing guests much like a mothball.
As I wrote and got ready for the day, my husband went for a walk---returning with a beautiful Brugmansia sanguinea blossom he found on a very large bush.  He promised to show me where he found it, but after we took an extensive motor tour of the side streets he could not relocate it.  I told him in ten more years he’ll call me from one of his wanderings, hoping I can find him.  The blossom resided all day on the dashboard, hardly showing any fatigue from the drive---amusing, since the plant itself is rather insistent on having cool, moist temperatures.

It was a pretty morning---misty sunlight playing over the fields and coves.  We stopped a couple of times to take in the view around Westport before turning inland and twisting our way up to US 101.  The mileage sign mentioned Rockport being ten miles away---and then another soon mentioned NO SERVICES IN ROCKPORT.  Upon arrival one finds nothing but trees, so it seems a case of CalTrans not keeping up with the times.

Shortly after the site of Rockport the back entrance to The Lost Coast appears.  Usal Road looks like somebody’s dirt driveway save for a plethora of warning signs that would alarm most suburban drivers.  It’s also the back entrance to Redwoods Monastery, a group of nuns related to the boys at New Clairvaux in Vina---some forty miles north northwest of Rancho Notorious.  We’ve toyed with the idea of visiting the nuns sometime, taking the more conventional route from Garberville towards Shelter Cove, and then south on Whitethorn Road, which is paved before eventually petering out into Usal Road.  Not that Patsy hasn’t forged over the Lost Coast’s dirt roads before---as recently as the 2nd of January of this year.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

To Regret the Past


by Nick B.

To regret the past and be fearful of today
is the entity of sorrow that I've chosen to convey.

I've sought comfort in nothing, got nothing in return
leaving a void and a lesson to learn.

I have presented a mask for any given task,
and I've been known to take something before I even ask.

And gazing into the mirror into my dark blue eye's,
it does not take me long to realize
that they’re not a window to my soul, but a storage for my lies.

I'm dying inside. A spiritual demise
I should have seen this coming, but it's really no surprise.
I fear I've lost the yester me in the peelings of the past,
but even then I knew that nothing good would last.

I've now done everything I said I’d never do—
always me, never you.

Learning slowly but falling fast,
I haven’t got the memo that you can't change the past.

Six Word Autobiography

by Andy Hanson

Arrived complaining
Lived complaining
Died complaining

Medications

by Nick B.

It was determined in my 20's that I have a social disorder. Thus began my journey of what pill can fix Nick: Abilify, Thorazine, Seriquil, Elevil, Prozac, Lithium, Colonipin, Adivan, Valium. I don't even know if anything IS realy wrong with me, they seem to think. So, I've stopped taking the narcotic ones because I end up blacking out, waking up in jail and I hate being the last to know about all the stupid shit I did. I thought I wanted to write about meds, but I'm just getting more and more depressed as I go and my hand is shaking a lot for some reason. Must be the Seriquil or Lithium.