Friday, February 6, 2015

Children's Poem: "Caterpillar"

If you're like me, your inner child still remembers watching a fuzzy caterpillar as it undulated across something.

They seemed to always be in such a hurry to get somewhere.

I watched in awe, fascinated by their perfect coordination, in spite of having so many tiny legs and feet.

They never seemed to get theirs tangled up like I did ...


by CJ Heck

Fuzzy caterpillar
with your million-jillion feet,
how do you know which foot should go,
as you're walking on that leaf?

You make it look so easy,
right-left-right, the way you do,
sometimes MY feet get tangled up
and I have only TWO ...

("Caterpillar" from the book, "Me Too Preschool Poetry", by CJ Heck)

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

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Poem: When I Finally Close My Eyes


To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk feeling pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken.  The greatest misuse of a life is to die never having risked at all.

When I Finally Close My Eyes

by CJ Heck

When I close my eyes
for the last time,
I want to have lived,
really lived.

I want to know I've tasted
the smorgasbord of life,
having relished the good
and spat the bad back out,
knowing at least I tried it.

When I'm done here,
I don't want to wonder
whether someone caught
the kiss I threw,
I will know.

I don't want to leave this life
with my heart as empty
as my pockets have always been.

I want to know, without a doubt,
I've left something of me behind,
something that's good, not regret
for never making a difference.

When I close my eyes
for the very last time,
I would like someone
to remember
... I was here.

[from the book, "Anatomy of a Poet"]

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"In the end, these things matter most:  How well did you love?  How fully did you live?  How deeply did you let go?" ~ Siddartha Gautama

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

Monday, February 2, 2015

Flash Fiction: "Waiting for a Greyhound"

“Men who flatter women do not know them; men who abuse women know them even less.” 
–Constance de Theis

by CJ Heck

In the early morning hours of a Baltimore Monday, I saw you -- just another nameless lady sitting quietly by herself on a dirty bench in the Greyhound Bus Station.

Like me, you were waiting for a bus; unlike me, you wore a long red coat on a warm spring day and your hat was pulled down to hide a swelling monument of love.

The matching handbag, you gripped two-fisted, leaving only the sleeves of your coat to wipe the sadness from your eyes.  I am so sorry.  I couldn't help but see ...

My God, how could so much misery share that old dingy bench?

What was it in your world that hurt you?  What, (or who), made you feel so beaten down?  What could have happened to make you cram your whole life into a suitcase?

I'm thinking it must be a man and not a very nice one.  No one could ever blame you for leaving.  Maybe wasting minutes feels better here, crying silently and waiting for a Greyhound with your suitcase between your legs, instead of him.

It's merely speculation on my part, but I suppose yesterday's hopes and tomorrow's dreams all die just as easily in a one-way ticket to somewhere else -- and anywhere's a better place than where you were.

Greyhounds may be late, but they don't punch or yell.

(from the book, "Bits and Pieces from a Writer's Soul", by CJ Heck)

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