Saturday, May 29, 2010

A Butterfly's Lesson

Child and a Butterfly

Occasionally, we are given a serendipitous gift.  Life puts a simple event in our hands and, if we recognize it as such, we can use it to teach a valuable lesson. Sometimes, even one of the biggest lessons can come from one of the smallest, most beautiful things in nature.

The important thing is, when we're given a special chance to teach our children, to see and feel it with our hearts.

A Butterfly's Lesson
by CJ Heck

"Oh Mama look, a flutterby!"
(her tiny hand held it out to me)
She grasped it firmly in her fist,
afraid to set it free.

Lovingly I showed her
one of life's most painful tests ...
sometimes the ones we love the most
we hurt more than the rest.

The butterfly was still alive,
although its wings were bent
this tiny miracle of grace,
its rainbow all but spent.

The magic dust was there to see.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
I hugged her to me and explained
that real love never dies.

We spoke that day of letting go,
of holding love less tightly.
To hold it gently in our hearts
shows love much more, when lightly.

That day when she was very small,
we more than mourned a butterfly.
We shared a magic, tender moment.
I'll always thank the flutterby.

"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Friday, May 28, 2010

FORBIDDEN LOVE: by Geoff Pirie

Today, I've the sincere pleasure of introducing the work of Geoff Pirie twice.

I think you'll agree, he's a talented and spiritually moving writer.

I first met him on Facebook and, after reading some of the beautiful things he posted there, instantly became a fan of his gentle, romantic style of writing.

And now, Geoff Pirie ...

by Geoff Pirie

I live through my dark existence;
Only to bask in your beauty;
Your eyes shine like sapphires;
Your smile brightens my day:
Oh, how I envy the wind
 that runs through your hair
and touches your lips;
I long to hold you in my arms....
but I cannot;
For your heart belongs to another;
So as I love you from afar;
More than anything this world provides:
Like an angel...
you have touched my heart;
I have never felt a love like this before;
I saw the night sky clearing
when you spread your rainbow wings;
You kissed away my tears
and sheltered my heart:
But then I grew fearful;
For I had fallen in love;
I cried for the friendship
I thought I had lost;
Then felt your gentle hand in mine:
As you whispered
soft words of comfort
straight to my heart;
These camouflaged emotions;
Pain...and silent cries;
Yet...still I cannot tell you:
These feelings so cathartic;
I tremble when I'm near you;
Cant you see it in my eyes?
Forbidden pleasures...
Who makes these rules?

Geoff Pirie:Copyright © May 2010:

Thank you most sincerely, Geoff ~CJ

"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Short Story: The Way Home

by Robert Cosmar

One day, God sat with three of His friends waiting for the return of two of his creations, Man and Woman. He had three special gifts He wanted to give to them.

As the two creations approached, a big smile came to God's face, but He also sensed that something was wrong. The creations were hiding something. He could tell. Still, God decided to keep His own counsel and not say anything. He wanted to see what would happen.

"Hello Father" said the two almost at the same time, as they approached. “We would like you to meet some friends we brought along with us. We met them on our journey.

"Fine," said God as He looked at them. He loved them both dearly and wanted only the best for them. "Where are they?" God asked.

The two were so nervous that they forgot to check what had happened to their new companions. Looking around, they spotted them hiding behind some rocks. Excitedly, they waved and motioned for the new friends to come closer. Timidly, each one came from behind the rocks, or crawled out from under the rubble that lay along the path.

God frowned as He saw them approach. He knew all too well who they were, but realized that by granting His creations freedom, they were free to choose their friends.

 Slowly, the five new friends approached God and his two creations.

"Father, I would like you to meet our new friends. This is Pride. This one is Reason. Here is Logic. This is Ego, and the shy one is Fear." said the male creation, as if he were seeking approval from God.

"I see," said God," and where did you meet them?" He asked.

"Well, after You gave us the freedom to explore Your kingdom and learn what we could, they just ... well, appeared." The male creation answered.

"Yes, we became confused and anxious one day as we walked and talked between ourselves. We began to wonder who we were inside." The female creation stated.

God smiled at them, while at the same time, their companions sought to hide behind them and shield themselves from any direct contact with God. "Well this changes everything," said God, with a knowing look in His eyes.

The two creations looked surprised and a bit stunned. "What do you mean?" they asked.

"Well, I had three valuable gifts to give you both, but now I cannot give them to you," said God.

Sadness filled their hearts as they felt an inexplicable loss within their being.

"But, continued God with a compassionate smile, you can choose to receive them because you have your own freedom to choose.

The two creations began to beam, their faces alight with smiles. (God always gave great gifts).

"However," said God, “there is a choice you will have to make."

The smiles turned to concern and uneasiness as they realized for the first time that they would have to make a decision and the responsibility would be on their shoulders. Up to this time, they were always used to God giving them everything.

"My gifts will have nothing to do with your friends. It is not that My gifts harbor any ill will towards your friends, but rather, it is that they have nothing in common with them," said God.

"Well, can we see Your gifts and may we talk to them?" asked the two.

"I am sorry, My children, I cannot do that. You will have to trust Me and decide for yourselves," said God

A perplexed look came over their faces and for the first time they felt an inner alienation from God. They had always let Him decide and now they were going to have to choose. Not knowing what to do, they decided to confer with their new friends.

God watched and knew what would happen. It was inevitable. It was necessary. For them to know the importance of His gifts, they had to experience the freedom to go their own way. They needed a reference point from which to compare His gifts against their choices.

A short time passed and then they spoke. "Father, we have decided to go with our friends. We will discuss Your offer in more detail with them. They have some excellent suggestions and we think we need more time to explore them."

"Fine," said God. I will even create a world for you in which time exists. This will be a place where you can be away from My influence and learn from your friends. But, I warn you, there is a danger there. In that world, you could forget how to contact Me and you might not remember My gifts for you."

The two looked worried, but their new friends assured them they would be beside them so they would not feel alone.

"Have you reached your decision?" asked God.

"Yes, Father, we want to go to the new world with our friends," they answered.

"Very well, children. I would like you to meet My gifts now," God told them.

"This is Wisdom. Over here is Understanding, and this one is Knowledge. They are My closest counselors and they help Me in all that I do.

I was prepared to share them with you, but you have chosen otherwise. You will now experience the freedom to choose, along with your friends’ counsel, in the place you have chosen.

Remember what I have told you about the danger of forgetting these gifts. I have placed a longing in your hearts, which will grow weary, in time. You will create and discover many things in your new world, children, but they will not last.

So you will not despair, I am giving you yet another companion to help you remember your true hearts. This one is called Death."

"What is Death, Father?" asked the two creations.

"It is a friend of Fear, over there. Death will also help you to remember what is really important and expose the true nature of your friends’ counsel to you. It will help your hearts to seek Wisdom, Understanding and Knowledge and they, in turn, will help you remember Me and seek your true home again.

The two creations smiled wanly at each other as they turned and walked away from God with their new friends. It seemed with each step, a loneliness filled them. Something was leaving them and they could not understand what it was.

Fear, Pride, Ego, Reason and Logic all explained that it was okay, because they were with them. Soon they arrived at the place with time that God had created for them. The lonely feeling left and was eventually replaced by excitement for the beauty and abundant possibilities they found in this new world.

Together, all of them discussed great plans and shared new ideas about this world and what they might do there. Nonetheless, something was missing. They missed God and, over time, they realized they had forgotten how to even contact Him, just like He said would happen. They even forgot where He was and what He looked like, so they made up stories to hold the memory, so to speak.

But, even the stories did not help them. Something was missing in the stories and fables. While they distracted the mind, the very core of their being felt lost, alone, and very empty.

As the years went by, Fear and Death at times would remind them of their emptiness, but they would just talk to Reason and Logic and forget again. It was even worse for their children, because they grew up with only the stories about God. They had never had the experience of His presence. Their despair was far greater.

Finally, in their later years, and with the help of Death, they began to see that Pride, Logic, Reason, Ego and Fear had lied to them all along. They had promised a fulfillment they could not deliver. God had been right!

A horrible despair filled them both as they saw the choices of their life and realized the dire consequences. But while Death was showing them the truth of their condition, he also reminded them of the promise that God had given them with Death. They were to remember their hearts and that Wisdom, Understanding and Knowledge were there to lead them home again to God.

Tears filled their eyes as they realized that all their striving had been in vain. Through all the years they had been away from God. Nothing had ever really mattered, except Wisdom, Understanding, Knowledge and knowing the way back home.

Robert S. Cosmar is a writer, blogger and the author of four books.

The Magic of Love and Intimacy
Awareness: Being Fully Alive
Trilogy of Awareness
Big Little Book of Whispers

Visit Robert's Blog

"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Author School Visits: For Authors

School Visit
I'm often asked what constitutes a good author school visit.

From the school's point of view, they want to know what they can do to make it a success.

From an author's point of view, it runs more toward asking this question, "What should I expect and how can I make it a success?"

I'm certainly no expert, but I can talk a little bit about what (in my experience, anyway) works, and what doesn't. For this reason, today I will concentrate on school visits for authors. 

In another blog post, I will concentrate on what schools can expect and what they can do to make an author's school visit a success.

Address as Much as Possible When You First Set Up Your School Visit:

* Be honest and open about what you will do and what you will charge. State your daily rate and the number of presentations you will do for that rate. If you are only able to do two presentations per day, for example, make that clear in your first conversation with the school.

* Be clear about what you charge for traveling, room and/or board, and any other expenses you will incur.

* Find out when you will be paid, i.e., the day of the school visit, or in the case of Title One, how long you will have to wait for their approval and your check.

* Find out whether the local media (radio, TV, newspapers) will be contacted about your school visit, whether they will attend, and whether time will be set aside during that day for interviews and taking photos.

* Create an invoice with name, address and phone number of school, the name of your contact there, all charges, and the total for your school visit. Make sure your invoice also has your personal contact information. Mail it to the school, but on the day of the school visit, make sure you bring along a backup copy, just in case.

* Decide how book sales will be handled, i.e., when and where you will sign books, who will collect the money, if you will be discounting the retail price of your book(s), whether they will allow you to take pre-orders for books prior to the school visit.

* Tell the school what props you will need for your author visit, i.e., bottled water, coffee, easel, chalkboard and chalk, chair, stool, rocking chair, rug to sit on, microphone, podium, etc.

* Find out where your presentations will be, i.e., auditorium (stage), cafeteria, library, classrooms. Talk to the school about the maximum number of students you would be comfortable speaking to -- very important.

* Find out where you should park and what time you should arrive at the school to set up.

* Ask for your school visit schedule as soon as they can give you one, so you can plan, i.e., how long the school has allotted for each presentation, the ages of each group so you can modify your presentation, (should you need to), and to plan when you will sign books (During lunch break? After the last presentation?).

* Keep accurate records (copies of everything) for IRS: the total for the entire school visit, i.e., amount you received for the actual day, or days, of presentations, number of books sold and the dollar amount, any expenses incurred that were not paid to you, or for you, by the school.

* After you get home, be sure and send a "Thank You" note to your contact and to the school.

If you think of any questions you may have about things I haven't addressed here, please feel free to either call, or email me. I'm always happy to help in any way I can.

Happy School Visit!

"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Monday, May 17, 2010

Children as Our Teachers

Most of our life's lessons, we learn through those older, wiser and more learned than ourselves. We stumble through life collecting other valuable tidbits mostly through trial and error, learning also from the various bumps and bruises we sustain on the long hard journey to become adults.

When we become parents, the baton is quickly passed. Then, drawing on everything we know and have learned and experienced, we evolve into the first of many teachers our own precious children will learn from.

What is both amazing and priceless is that the most valuable lessons I have ever learned have come from the very children I love most and was entrusted to teach ... my own. One of the most important lessons came from my oldest daughter, Carrie, when she was five years old.

Like most parents, my protective instinct was highly developed. I would have literally given my life for any one of my children. Thank God, that was never necessary, but here is what I learned:

We were living at the time in a neighborhood in Elmhurst, Illinois. My two oldest daughters, Beth, three, and Carrie, five, played routinely with two little neighbor girls of about the same ages, who lived directly across the street from us. Their mother and I took turns having the girls play at our houses.

On one particular day, Carrie was riding her bike with training wheels on the sidewalk across the street with her friend who was on her own bike. Her mother kept a protective eye on them from the porch.

At one point, I noticed one of the young neighborhood boys walking with his mother towards the girls. The boy was known to be very rough and we had all experienced his bullying at one time or another. I felt the girls would be safe, but as a precaution, I kept my eye on them across the street, especially Carrie, by peeking out my front window every few minutes.

As the two mothers were talking, I watched the little boy walk over to Carrie on her bike. He put his hand on her handlebars and tugged hard on the bike. Carrie said something to him as she struggled to keep her balance, but he continued to pull on the bike even harder, obviously trying to pushing her off. Carrie again said something to him and I could see that she was getting agitated. My motherly instincts took over and I ran to get my shoes.

As I hurriedly jammed my second sneaker on and was tying it, I peeked out again. Carrie was now off her bike, looking up at the boy and saying something to him. Suddenly, he hit her. Like a bull, I saw red! I was on my feet and headed for the door, when the most surprising thing happened. She decked him! He fell backwards onto the grass, holding his hand over his nose. I stood in the doorway watching this with my mouth open. My chin, I'm sure, was on the floor. Then very calmly, Carrie walked over to the boy, put out her hand, and helped him up.

As hard as it had been for me to watch, I had learned a valuable lesson that day from my five-year-old daughter: children must be allowed to stand up for themselves and to fight their own battles. As a mother, I felt so incredibly proud of her, and so very humbled by her actions. What would she have learned, had I rushed over there and repremanded either the child for his bullying, or his mother for allowing it?

Knowing Carrie now as a woman and a mother, herself, I feel a grateful, overwhelming joy in all that she and her sisters have become.

I love you girls. Thank you.

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Sunday, May 16, 2010

Memoir: Sundays at My House: by CJ Heck

Stained Glass Window in Church
Happy Sunday, friends.

Another week is beginning and yet my thoughts have returned to my past and the wonderful memories of going to church as a little girl in a large family.

I remember in those days, people got dressed up to go to church and it was always a big production at my house.

Our dresses were all starched and ironed, the boys wore their dress shirts and pants, Daddy wore his suit and tie, and mama always wore a dress and high heels.

I can still hear the sound her heels made tapping on the sidewalk when she walked and as she climbed up the stairs into the church. I wanted to be just like her and make the very same sound when I grew up.

We always sat in the same pew, as a family, on Sunday mornings right after we children all went to Sunday school.

With six children, our family was large and we took up the whole pew in the front row of the balcony. Mama usually scooted in first, followed by the six of us, and then Daddy on the other end to complete the Parrish "sandwich".

Reverend Kaser was a wonderful pastor. By weaving the weekly Bible passages in with real life, he had the unique gift of grabbing and holding the attention of both old and young with his sermons.

I suppose it was inevitable, due to his shift work as foreman at the steel mill, but in spite of the uniquely talented Reverend Kaser, Daddy would eventually nod off ... indeed, it was a regular occurrence.

I wish I had a nickel for every time Mama would nudge the child next to her and say, "Daddy's asleep." It was then that child's job to pass the nudge to the next in line and so forth, until the child closest to Daddy poked him gently to wake him up.

It really wasn't so bad, except Daddy had a tendency to snore ...

Happy Sunday everyone.

"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Saturday, May 15, 2010

"Some days are diamonds, some days are dust, and some days ... well most days, are just a little bit of both." ~CJ

I really wanted to write something profound in my blog today; but I confess, since I first woke up this morning and saw the sun shining through my bedroom curtains, I've been filled with a childlike wonder of what all I want to do today. Thus, since I'm predominantly a children's poet, I decided to post a couple of poems to share a Saturday smile with you.

A Little Riddle
by CJ Heck

It comes in many flavors.
It comes in lots of smells.
It can keep a secret
and never, ever tell.

You'll know it when you hear it.
If you look you'll see it too.
It's everywhere around outside,
even there inside of you.

It can turn a sad day happy.
It can turn a mad day glad.
It will even be there
when you've been really bad.

It's something in both day and night,
every second every minute.
It's right there in your family
and everyone who's in it.

Did you guess my riddle?
Just a few things left to say.
If you want a LOT of it,
then give it ALL away!

It's left and right. It's all around.
It's under and above.
I think you've guessed the answer!
It's L - O - V - E love.

by CJ Heck

Mommy's on the couch.
Daddy's in his chair.
I'm in a corner on a stool ...
yup, they put me here

'cause I did somethin' naughty
that I'm not supposed to do.
I invented Permagosh
mixing things with their shampoo.

First a real long worm of toothpaste,
then a cloud of shaving cream,
then two glugs of mouthwash
('cause I love the color green).

I stirred it in a mixing bowl.
Boy it smelled real good!
It was even looking better
than I ever thought it would!

Could it be a cure for cancer?
Take the itch from skeeter bites?
Or maybe, heal a sunburn
when it hurts to sleep at night?

Two shakes of baby powder
made it WAY too hard to stir,
so I added Mommy's perfume.
Permagosh smelled just like HER!

Eww ... then the bowl tipped over.
Permagosh was on the floor
and when I turned around,
Mom and Dad were by the door.

Now Mommy's on the couch.
Daddy's in his chair.
I'm in a corner on a stool ...
yup, they put me here.

Enjoy your Saturday, my friends. I know I will!
~Hugs, CJ

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Thursday, May 13, 2010

Ode to a Barfly

Walk down a city street and look, I mean really look, at some of the folks you see there. Unless your heart has completely withered away, you can't help but feel compassion for those less fortunate than you.

Down by the mall the other day, I saw a man holding up a cardboard sign. On it was scrawled in black magic marker: "Not looking for a handout. Will work for food". Beside him and holding his other hand was a little girl with a dirty face, high-water jeans and a worn T-shirt, and a scruffy pair of sneakers. My heart went out to this man who looked so beaten down, yet still had his pride.

The same day, I saw a homeless family huddled in the doorway of an abandoned building just off the Boulevard. Their cardboard boxes, a makeshift home for the prior night's sleep, were damp and buckling under the light rain of morning.

It's so hard to imagine how this can happen in a country like ours, where even the illegal immigrants have more advantages than our own American families ...

Today something quite different caught my eye. I watched as a middle-age woman stumbled out through the door of a seedy downtown bar. She squinted into the bright morning sunlight and, losing her battle to stand upright, plopped down into a heap on the sidewalk. I tried to feel some inkling of empathy or at least some understanding, but all I could muster was pity. I couldn't help but turn my thoughts to the people I had seen earlier in the week who at least were trying ... and then my imagination got the better of me ...

Barfly: Woman in a Bar
by CJ Heck

A broken neon sign flashed "Mel’s"
atop a small darkened bar
on the edge of town.
The air, heavy with stale smoke and beer,
blended faintly with the odor
of dried spit on unclean bodies.

She sat at a small table alone
pondering the world’s problems,
two drinks past seeing
beyond the unkempt nails
on the chipped Formica in front of her.

The lines in her face
were knit as if by a palsied hand
dropping stitches here and there
where a pox scar decided to roost.

For her this was home,
at least until tonight’s john
with an empty glass
and full libido swaggered up
and invited her
to the nearest no-tell motel.

Life sucks
but it was her life,
and feeling in control,
a spider in her web,
she threw back another drink
and waited.

Have a nice day everyone.

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Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Another Why Is It ...

Why is it ...

Someday, I'm going to ask God a few questions, questions I've never found answers to here on earth.

Why is it that children are born into this world at times to parents who don't give a damn? They basically raise themselves, are slapped around and abused, and shown no love in their lives at all. Then on the flip side, there are couples who would give most anything they have just to conceive a child. They have love burning in their hearts to pour into a child, if only they were given the chance.

Why is it that prisons are overcrowded with really bad people who live out long and wasted lives? Then on the flip side, so many men, women and children die young, their goodness never to be fully shared nor realized.

Why is it that we women spend our lives and valuable time shaving various parts of our anatomy to comply with society's norms ... and then when we hit our golden years, the only places hair will even grow is on our heads and our upper lips or chins?

Why is it that there are people in the world that don't value life and who hate others, based purely on differences of religion, sexual orientation, or the color of one's skin? Then they spend the majority of their lives planning ways to unleash terror on innocent people. To what end?

Spiritual counselor, Gary Zukav, says that everything happens for a reason, and that reason is your spiritual growth. Maybe so, but still ... I'm going to ask ...

"Life is unfair, and it’s not fair that life is unfair."
~Edward Abbey, 1927~1989

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Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Tuesday, May 4

What could possibly be better than ... Christmas or my birthday, a sunny spring day, the gentle sound of rain while I'm drifting off to sleep, my first cup of morning coffee, walking barefoot on the beach, the blue blue blue of the warm Caribbean, the sweet smell of freesia ...

That could only be, the warm and fuzzy feeling that comes from being with my loved ones.

My oldest daughter, Carrie, and her two little boys are arriving today from Connecticut, and I'll be in Grammy heaven for a whole week. I'm going to be a little scarce for awhile, but I'm sure you'll understand.

After all, what could possibly be better ...

~Love, CJ

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Monday, May 3, 2010

Life Isn't Always Fair

I was savoring my coffee this morning, the bold, intoxicating aroma wafting up and combining with the even more delicious bold taste and I had to smile. Tell me, why is it that on most mornings, it tastes good and wakes up both body and mind, but on rare occasions -- like this morning, for example -- it tastes so-o-o much better? It seems to me that's the way it is with most things ... nothing is ever always good or always bad.

All through life, we're bombarded with all sorts of happy new beginnings, the joys of the middle for as long as they last, and the inevitable sad endings. It isn't really fair, but nothing lasts forever. Then again, no one ever said life has to be fair. I remember reading a quote once by Cherralea Morgen and I've never forgotten it. It goes something like this, "Life’s not always fair. You can get a splinter even sliding down a rainbow." It's an interesting quote, and so true.

I could just as easily apply that reasoning to my delectable coffee this morning. As great as it tastes, if I were to spill it, it would definitely burn ...

It all neatly translates into having to take a little bad with the good in most things. Although, I walked away from two marriages where that little factoid was flawed. We were like oil and water and, as everyone knows, they don't mix. A little good with the bad doesn't work at all. Thank God my Mama understood: "Honey, you have to do what's right for you, no matter what anyone says. It’s your life." Thank you, Mama.

Thank God, nothing is all bad all the time ...

When It's Over, You Just Know
by CJ Heck

You don't always know
how you know,
it comes slowly, the awareness.
With the certainty and final resignation
of a child learning there's no Santa Claus,
you just know

The breakfast table, once a venue
for long dreamy stares
and coffee-flavored kisses,
awkwardly becomes a silent stage
for reading the news,
eating breakfast, and
you just know.

The smell of his shirt
when you'd bury your face there,
the feel of his hands on your body
as if they had a life of their own,
all silently slip to a place
wherever memories go
to gather dust, and
you just know.

You miss the nights,
how his body and yours
breathed and moved as one.
Maybe it's those nights
and how they were
that give the knowing life, but
you just know.

Like ocean waves upon the sand,
love recedes
with all the other yesterdays
and you would trade
all your tomorrows
to have it back, but
you just know.

Transversely, in my present relationship, I haven't found any bad at all, nor do I expect to. It's as unique and good as my coffee this morning, and I feel so blessed ...

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Sunday, May 2, 2010

Poetry: Finding Your Voice

Why do you need to find your voice?

Let's face it, there are so many poets out there writing poetry, tomes of poetry. If you have any hope of ever standing out, of writing and publishing and then selling what you write, you have to stand out from the crowd. Dare to be different. Dare to take chances with your subject matter, and above all else, write with passion. Your personal voice comes from your uniqueness, the very essence of what sets you apart from everyone else.

Care about your subject matter. If you don't care about the subject you're writing about, you won't ever discover your true voice. It can't exist when you're trying to write in a genre you hate, or in a subject you know nothing about, just because everyone else is writing about it. It also can't exist in the shallow places of your heart or the emptiness of your soul. Voice lives in the deepest waters and the darkest recesses of your very soul. It will only venture out when you've recognized it, given it the passion to grow and then room to breathe, as you write it to life.

What IS voice? With poetry, it can be a combination of things:

* the genre in which you write: children, adults, eroticism, et al
* whether you write in rhyme or free verse
* whether you punctuate and/or capitalize
* first person narrative vs. third person, et al
* subject matter, i.e., pastoral, humor, satire, beat, etc.

Voice is putting yourself into the poetry. Voice is actually bleeding yourself onto the very page.

My own true passion for writing poetry comes from my inner child. That is my poetic voice. I also write poetry for adults, but my true passion lies within writing poetry for children.

The Child Within
by CJ Heck

Down inside this grownup
lives the child that used to be.
When I look in my mirror,
she stares right back at me.

Now that I’m a grownup,
it’s an older face I see,
but the child’s still there, just hiding,
way down deep inside of me.

Sometimes we work together,
that little girl and me.
She comes up from her hiding place
and we write poetry.

I like being grown up
and I wouldn’t wanna swap.
Well, maybe a little younger face
with no grey hair on top.

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