Poem: When I Finally Close My Eyes

CJ

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

Poem: "A Treasure in the Attic"

Mama - Joanne Parrish

A Treasure in the Attic

by CJ Heck

There's magic in an attic
when you're patient enough
to wade through
the spiderwebs and dust
to discover it.

I found a picture of Mama there
in an old camel back trunk
crowded with forgotten relatives
pressed in albums,
between dried rose bouquets,
and size six shoe boxes
with old love letters
bound in faded ribbon.

How I wish
I had known her then --
young and pretty,
living in a world
filled with Daddy,
before children and cancer.

The photo was crackled,
its corners dog-eared,
but there she was.

A tied bandana
struggled to hold
the whispy curls
reaching for their freedom
in an ocean breeze,
pants rolled up mid-calf,
their cuffs barely
skimming the water,
and she looked so happy

and from a trunk in the attic
I unearthed a treasure,
a love that had shaped me
throughout my life.

How terribly I miss her.


[from the book, "Anatomy of a Poet"]

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

Poem: "The Adonis": by CJ Heck

Loaded Birthday Cake

"Beautiful young people are accidents of nature; beautiful old people are works of art." ~Eleanor Roosevelt

How strange this whole aging thing is.

Every year we celebrate a birthday, then another, then one day, we are suddenly my age.

It seems like it all happened so fast, but the truth is, "life" happens.

Between the birthdays, life captures all of our attention, moment to moment, day by day, and in its grip, we are so emotionally invested, we are unaware of time passing.

I can't say I ever think of myself as "old".  The mind, which is supposed to be the smartest part of us, takes a lot longer to wise up.

I still feel the same age in my mind as I did at eighteen; however, a word of caution:  Avoid Mirrors!  Mother Truth hides in them.

Jimmy Buffett put this line in one of his songs:

"... wrinkles only go where the smiles have been ..."  

Smart man.  I must be a happy lady ...

Here is my new outlook on getting even older ...

An Adonis-Type of Guy

The Adonis

Young god,
head held high,
proud mane blowing
in the city's dirty breeze,
clothes just enough wrinkled
to make a woman believe
you just climbed out of a quickie
or stepped off of page 42
in this month's GQ.

Do you mind
that I turn and look
as you walk by?

No, of course not.
You don't see me as a threat.
You don't even see me at all.

But just give me
another ten years ...
by then, I'll be old enough
to reach over,
give your butt a squeeze
and say, "Mmmm ... nice buns."


... life is good.

(From the book, "Anatomy of a Poet", by CJ Heck)

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

Children's Poem: "To a Snowflake ..."

To a Snowflake ...

by CJ Heck

Hello there, little snowflake.
Where are all your friends?
Should I expect a lot of them
before the morning ends?

I love it when you visit me
and you all fall down together.
I get dressed to visit you,
toasty warm in cold, cold weather.

It's fun the way you all pile up
outside in my back yard.
I like to roll you in a ball
and make a snowman -- it's not hard.

Or maybe, I will build a fort.
All my friends will come and play,
and if you plan to stay awhile,
we'll come see you every day!

Sometimes, I make snow angels
and their arms and legs look puffy,
but I can only do that IF
you come down light and fluffy.

Could I ask you guys a favor?
White is nice, but nothing's duller ...
Could you all please -- just one time --
come down in hearts, or colors?

[from the book, "Barking Spiders 2", by CJ Heck]

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

Poem: Taps for my Soldier

Douglas "Doc" Kempf

In Loving Memory

Douglas Scott “Doc” Kempf

KIA Vietnam
September 5, 1969

Sp4 US Army
Combat Medic
199th LIB D4/12

7/12/1947 - 9/5/1969

Taps for my Soldier

by CJ (Kempf) Heck

A gentle breeze chatters the leaves
as birds sing their greetings.

The sun shines 

on a day like any other,
and yet like none before.

Two mirrored rows of uniforms
line up like blue dominoes,
white gloves holding rifles at the ready.

A lone bugle cries. 

Twenty-four notes.
Each note, slow as a tear,
blankets ears and heavy hearts.

In the silence between,
even nature holds its breath.

Gone is the breeze.
Gone are the bird songs.
Gone is her hold on composure,
all lost in the bugle's lament.

Solemnly a soldier approaches.
White gloves present a tri-fold flag,

and in one final mournful note,
legions of silent voices unite
to call a comrade home

and a young wife weeps.

[From the book, "Anatomy of a Poet", by CJ Heck]

  

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"Taps for My Soldier" was included by an invitation from Master Sgt. and bugler, Jari Villanueva, for The Taps Exhibit, “The Taps Project”, Arlington National Cemetery, May 29, 1999.

"Taps for My Soldier" was included in the book, "The Other Side of Sorrow", by Cicely Buckley, Edited by Patricia Frisella (Poetry Society of New Hampshire, 2006).

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

Poem: Anatomy of a Poet

Poetry bares us to the soul ...

A poet is a lonely being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music ... and then people crowd about the poet and say to her: "Sing for us soon again;" that is as much as to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul." ~Soren Kierkegaard

Anatomy of a Poet

by CJ Heck

Go in through the eyes of a poet
deep into her alphabet mind.
Ideas like flotsam and jetsam
dodge poetry fragments and lines.

Beware the dark shadows of memory,
knife-sharp and bloodied by time,
or gentle, orgasmic and sensual,
swirling eddies, some without rhyme.

Softly notice the spirit in hiding.
Tiptoe past the bruised heart mending there,
knitting poems, pearls strung on a necklace,
unfinished jewels everywhere.

Take note on your tour of this poet
the outside no different you see,
but inside, my God, a passion's abyss,
the poet, the woman, the me.


[The poem which gave the title to the book, "Anatomy of a Poet", by C.J. Heck]

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

Poem: Full Circle

Playing Dress Up

If I was asked to name the one thing I'm most proud of, it would be my three daughters.

Being their mother was the most rewarding experience of my life, and they've grown into the most exceptional women that I know and have ever known. I thank them for such a prestigious honor.

For Carrie, Bethany and Heather, my 'mirrors' ...

Full Circle

by CJ Heck

A little girl clops in mommy's heels,
her dress, a floppy hat.
The borrowed pearls she's chosen
dangle halfway down her back.

Her face a shining rainbow,
ruby lips, cheeks tinted pink,
blue splashes on both eyelids,
powder snowflakes in the sink.

She'll go twirling in a ballroom,
a princess with her knight.
Or better still, be mommy
out with daddy Friday night.

In a child's imagination
everything is crystal clear,
yet the truth beneath the surface
is revealed in mommy's mirror.

That little girl is all grown up,
clothes and shoes are now my size ...
but the mirror of maturation
is now my daughters' eyes.


[From the book, "Anatomy of a Poet", by C.J. Heck]


I love you, girls.
Mom

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

Poem: Waiting for a Greyhound

Lady Waiting in Bus Terminal

"You may trod me in the very dirt. But still, like dust, I'll rise." ~Maya Angelou

Waiting for the Greyhound

by CJ Heck

Red-coat lady
waiting for a bus,
your hat pulled down
to hide a swelling
monument of love,
handbag gripped two-fisted,
leaving only the sleeves
to wipe the sadness
from your eyes.
So much misery
shares your dingy bench.

What happened
to make your life fit
inside a suitcase ...
and why is it the only thing
between your legs
at two a.m.?
Maybe wasting minutes
feels better here
with your suitcase between,
instead of him.

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

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


[From the book, "Anatomy of a Poet", by C.J. Heck]



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

Now I'm Three and I Know ...

CJ at Three

Pretty much all of the honest truth-telling there is in the world is done by children. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

A couple of years ago, I spent weeks trying to come up with an idea for one last children's poem so I could finish a preschool poetry book that I wanted to self-publish.

I was having no luck at all ... that is, until I started thinking about my eleven grandchildren when they were about three years old. Children try so hard to make sense out of the world around them.

One by one, all of the funny, goofy, things they used to say began to pop into my mind.

Gratefully, I started to write ...

This poem sounds best when you read it out loud in your best 'three-year old' voice. Oh, and when you get to the long run-on sentence, say it fast! 

I would give just about anything to hear you read it ...

Now I'm Three and I Know ...

by CJ Heck

I know never touch fire, that’s hot,
but I can touch ice, 'cause it’s not,
and puppies are soft and kitties are too,
(so’s most of the stuff moms and dads give to you).

I know never tell people they’re fat.
(It will hurt them, if I do that).
I know rocks aren’t for throwing at others
but it’s OK to throw pillows at brothers.

I know daddy says swears I can’t say,
and I have to wear clothes out to play,
... 'cause one time I went outside naked and Mrs. Johnson saw me and she called Mommy and Mommy came outside and got mad (sniffle) and she yelled at me (sniff-sniff) and I had to sit in a chair for a time out and ...

I know cookies smell better than cheese,
and to get one, I have to say please.
I know how to go pee in the potty,
but not in my pants, 'cause that’s naughty.

I know flowers don't needs any feet,
and no dessert, if I don’t eat my meat.
I know I got to blow boogers in tissue,
and don't wipe off where ladies kiss you.

When I wake mommy up, never holler,
pennies are not more than a dollar,
and scissors are never for cutting my hair,
(the barber does that, but I hate going there).

I laugh 'cause it's better than cry,
and you can’t squeeze a worm, it will die.
I know Daddy will laugh when I burp,
and Mommy’s kiss helps if I hurt.

I know SO many things, now I'm three.
This stuff helps me be a good ME.
I know lots more than I did when I’m two,
all the stuff that I can and I can’t do.


Hugs from the little kid in me ... to the little kid in you.
~ CJ

From the Book, Me Too! Preschool Poetry








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

On Writing Stinkers and Gems ...

A Real Stinker ...

Stinkers and Gems

Sometimes, I write a real stinker ...
sometimes, I write a nice gem.
More often than not, it’s a mixture of both
that somehow escapes through my pen.

I know what to do with the good ones,
& the stinkers will all crash and burn,
but what do I do with the ones that are both?
It's something that I can’t discern ...

Right now they all go in drawers,
(male and female, they must multiply),
when I open the drawers, it seems there are more
than I recall putting inside.

I hope there’s a poetry warehouse.
If there is, I must go there some day,
for I’ve run out of drawers & some smell pretty bad,
yet they’re too good to just throw away ...



[from "Anatomy of a Poet", by CJ Heck]
Available at Amazon

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

The Climbing Adventure

A Little Boy Climbing a Rock

I love watching a child who is deep in the world of pretending.

You can usually tell they're pretending, because the expression on their face says they're someone somewhere, anywhere other than who and where they are.

Sometimes it's obvious:  rescuing a princess from an evil castle, fiercely thrusting a cardboard sword, wearing mommy's kitchen strainer on their head.

Other times, they might only be taking a little longer to climb the stairs up to bedtime, but you can tell they are into the moment ...

Climbing

(A Preschool Adventure)
by CJ Heck

Climbing-climbing up the rock
through the woods, my hands are locked
on the rope so prickly-prickly
past a pine tree, tickly-tickly.

Climbing-climbing, higher-higher,
muscles feel like they’re on fire!
Through the dry leaves, rustle-rustle,
feel the wind push, hustle-hustle.

A long long way to the tippity top.
Hold on tight or flippity flop!
One foot here, then one foot there,
wish steps in rocks were everywhere ...

Huffing-puffing, not quite there.
Look out! There’s a grizzly bear!
Shhh-shhh, use tippy-toes ...
He’s turning now. See, there he goes ...

Snakes beside me, gliding-sliding!
Need a place for hiding-hiding!
Danger-danger! I can see
the snakes are esss-ing after me!

But no, they’re going in the ground
through those holes going down-down
Oh no, growling-growling from behind!
If I turn, what will I find?

A grumpy-grumpy scary thing?
I wish I had a bell to ring!
It’s getting dark! It's hard to see
the something else that’s chasing me!

Oh my gosh! I’m at the top.
I guess for now, I have to stop.
That was fun. I love pretending
but I wish stairs were never-ending ...

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

Why Do Poets Write Poetry?

Poetry Isn't Easy

A friend once asked me why I write poetry.

She had a creepy look on her face that told me she secretly equated writing poetry with juggling snakes, or worse, licking a germy fly swatter. 

Well, maybe the look on her face wasn't quite that bad, but her expression did remind me of someone sucking on a lemon wedge.

I don't know why poetry gets such a bad rap. I write fiction, non-fiction, flash fiction, memoirs, essays, and three blogs, and I can tell you honestly that poetry is much harder to write.

When you write most anything else, you have a lot of leeway -- pages and pages to tell a story.  Not so, when writing poetry. A poem has to be condensed, without straying from the main theme, and it also usually has a beginning, middle and end.

I can only speak for myself, but I'm reasonably sure other poets would understand. Maybe they can't explain the 'why they write it' any better than I, but they can certainly understand the love for writing poetry.

A poet writes poetry because they love poetry.  It is a challenge -- and not everyone can do it.

While I'm convinced writing poetry is not a disease, it could be called an addiction -- and with no twelve-step program for recovery.

Based on my friend's question, I asked myself, "Why do I write poetry?" I mean, other than the obvious, which is that I can't NOT write poetry. If that's an addiction, well then, I enjoy my addiction. In fact, I actually revel in it.

(You can often find me scribbling thoughts and ideas wherever I am, on whatever I can find, if I get a sudden inspiration.)

To be honest, I probably should have explained to my friend that for me to hold back a poem would be like trying to hold in a sneeze. When I finally let out, it just feels good. Again, other poets would understand what I'm talking about.

I simply explained to my friend that there are thoughts and ideas down inside that I have to get out. They're uncomfortable where they are.

I told her to think of it like having a mosquito bite you can't quite reach. When you finally find someone to scratch it, it just feels good.

So I will continue to live with my addiction, no matter what friends, or anyone else, may think.

But Geez-Louise, I've got to make this short.  I feel a poetic sneeze coming on and it's gonna feel so good when I finally let it out ...


CJ's Poetry for Children:
Barking Spiders (and Other Such Stuff)
Barking Spiders 2 (sequel)
Me Too! Preschool Poetry

Poetry for Adults:
Anatomy of a Poet


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

Swinging Song

Baby in a Swing

When my grandchildren were tiny, I had the cutest baby swing. It was molded plastic and it had a safety bar across the front to hold them in. 

I hung my swing inside a screened-in porch, so mosquitoes wouldn't be a nuisance if the baby fell asleep --like they usually did.

One afternoon as I was swinging a grandson, I started to hum to the gentle motion of the swing.  He started to nod and as the motion of the swing slowed, I also adjusted my humming softer and slower to keep with the motion of the swing.

Later, I added words to the melody and what resulted is the following song.   I miss those days ...

Listen to Swinging Song

Swinging Song

Bye oh bye up, 

bye oh bye down. 

bye oh bye feet, 

way off the ground.

Swing-ing, swing-ing, 

I love swing-ing. 

Bye oh bye high, 

bye oh bye low. 

Bye oh bye faster, 

look at me go. 

Swing-ing, swing-ing, 

I love swing-ing. 

Bye oh bye fly-ing 

up to the sky. 

Bye oh bye push me 

higher than high. 

Swing-ing, swing-ing, 

I love swing-ing. 

Bye oh bye eyes 

are closing now 

bye oh bye head 

is nodding down 

Swing-ing, swing-ing, 

I love swing-ing. 

(whispering as  swing slows down)

Bye oh bye gent-ly, 

bye oh bye slow. 

Bye oh bye, sh-h-h-h-h . . . 

to    sleep    I    go. 

Swing-ing, swing-ing, 

I 

love

swing-ing.

[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

Daddy's Boots

Daddy's Boots 

Daddy left his boots for me 

and here I have to stay, 

'cause daddy is a soldier. 

I'm in charge while he's away. 

In daddy's boots, I can pretend

that now I am the man 

who does the things that daddy does 

as only daddy can. 

I help with little brother, 

I help with folding clothes, 

I help to set the table, 

and I hope daddy knows

that every day I wear his boots 

so I'll feel close to him 

and I try and keep mom happy, 

till he comes home again. 

I know that he's protecting us, 

that's what soldiers do, 

but his boots are way too big for me, 

and my job being him is, too. 

When is daddy coming home? 

I miss him all the time. 

 Mom said daddy's proud of me 

... and his boots fit me just fine.

[From CJ's Book, Barking Spiders 2]

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

A Box for Goodwill

A Box for Goodwill

As a friend, I had come to help

yet one more time

and I watched as she set 

the cardboard box on the floor.

It was labeled for Goodwill, 

penned in large block letters.

From deep in the closet, 

she brought out an old blue suit.

It had faded over the years, 

but I saw in her eyes

the memories still had not.

Softly, she smoothed the sleeves 

that dangled flat and empty.

Then she stroked the slack trousers

on the smooth wooden hanger.

Gently, she brushed 

the dust from the collar and lapel, 

and then I heard her sigh.

Her resolve had melted away.

Again we talked and remembered.

We spoke of long ago, 

how the sleeves encircled her

in warm secure hugs, 

and the trousers had covered 

lean muscular legs, 

legs slightly bowed, 

legs that loved to dance, 

and what she missed the most

--the heart that beat below

the lapel of the old blue suit, 

the heart that beat with love for her.

For over forty years, 

the suit had stood sentinel, 

loyally guarding both her

and those memories, 

and I watched as she carefully

replaced the suit and closed

the closet door.

Through quiet tears

she asked once more

how all of that could ever fit

in a box for Goodwill. 

[From CJ's Book, "Anatomy of a Poet"]

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Reviews:

"I have only recently become aware of this author and her work and am amazed not only with the diversity in her writings but also the resiliency she has exhibited over her lifetime. One fine author and a magnificent lady. I highly recommend this book with its compilation of meaningful and thought provoking poetry.~Tom C.

"I would recommend this book to all lovers of poetry and, especially, to those who think they are not."
~Mrs. C. I. Campbell

"Heck is very sensual, very honest, and writes in a very lucid manner. I find in myself [with most poetry] an impatience, "Oh for crying out loud, just say it," leading to lassitude and eventual cerebral failure. Not so with this work, her raw emotions and sensuality had my attention. I believe this is the only poetry book that I ever finished." ~Henry Le Nav

"In the pages of this book, you will find powerful, thought-provoking, sensual , and beautifully written poetry from the heart." ~Susan L. Parkins

"I just finished reading C.J.Heck's, book last night and enjoyed it very much. She definitely has a way with words, that will make you laugh and cry, and feel things deeply. She writes from her heart and soul, and her words will definitely make a lasting impression." ~Rebecca Carden

"Totally open and honestly expressed in a variety of poetic styles, each matched to her emotions of the moment. A damn good and honest work." ~John David Lionel Brooke

"I came away from reading this book, the first time, with a peace about my life and how I have lived it. I keep going back and rereading parts of it ... and then rereading the whole section. I better understand the lessons I have been taught and have more faith about the path I am following. A whole lot for a little book to accomplish." ~MaryAnn

"This book has the most amazing and true feelings I have read. She put into words what most of us are afraid to put in writing." ~Margie

"A truly wonderful read, that I recommend highly! You won't be disappointed." ~Joyce Bowling

"Here we have a collection of poems by a woman who writes from the heart ... The headline poem, `Anatomy of a Poet' fulfills the writerly code to go into scary places or don't go at all. "The poet, the woman, the me." completes the poem, throwing back the covers in a heated final exposure. Heck's reference in her signature poem is good advice for any aspiring poet: "swirling eddies, some without rhyme," often come across better than stylized word searching or stretching for rhyme ever could.

...`Anatomy of a Poet' may have been written by a children's book author, but it's poetry for grownups." ~Byron Edgington [Author of The Sky Behind Me: A Memoir of Flying & Life]

His Hands: by CJ Heck

His Hands

I was thinking, you can tell so much about a man by looking at his hands. 

Hands are so expressive. They can be kind, generous and loving, or they can be tough and aggressive and very unkind.

Are they working hands, calloused and rough, yet gentle?

 Are they hands that live at a desk, always clean and smooth and forever busy?

 Are they well-manicured and neat, or nervous, their nails chewed to the nub?

Are they wild and expressive, flying this way and that in a conversation?

Or, are they shy and pocketed, subdued like their owner?

However hands look, they seem to have their own personality.

And, maybe, just maybe, they're magically connected to a man's heart ...

His Hands

His hands should have

their own identity,

a name, perhaps,

befitting each vocation

they enjoy:

Skillful Hands --

Finely tuned,

they hold every tool

with equal panache.

Each callous earned,

a trophy,

but self-aware

and gentle

as they browse

my every curve.

Comical Hands --

The right one

scraping whiskers,

razoring down

a field of white

revealing trails of

pink-skinned angles.

I laugh at the silly poses

skewed by the left

so the right

won't miss a spot.

My just reward,

a foamy kiss.

Angry Hands --

His driving hands,

hands that slap

the wheel

as assholes

go too slow

or cut in front,

turn signals

up their butts

with their heads.

I'm glad the

angry hands

are only known

to live in cars.

Those hands --

I love his hands.

[From the book, "Anatomy of a Poet", by CJ Heck]

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

Book: Anatomy of a Poet

You've probably been wondering where the heck I've been for the last couple of months, and for that, I do apologize.  I was working hard to get my first poetry book for adults finished.

Introducing:  Anatomy of a Poet:

Format:  Paperback and Kindle

Anatomy of a Poet - Poetry for Adults

About the Book

As Bri Maya Tiwari said,  "There is a brokenness out of which comes the unbroken; a shatteredness out of which blooms the unshatterable; a sorrow beyond all grief which leads to joy, and a fragility out of whose depths emerges strength. There is a hollow space too vast for words through which we pass with each loss, out of whose darkness we are sanctioned into being." 

That one quote astutely describes not only my life, but the poetry in Anatomy of a Poet.

One of six children, I grew up in a small Ohio town and married my high school sweetheart at nineteen. A Vietnam War widow at twenty, I went on to marry and then divorce two times.

I made a lot of choices, some good, some not so good, but as one of the poems in the book ends, "...at least I made choices. How sad for those who merely hitchhike along, never daring to choose at all." [from the poem, "Choices"]

Anatomy of a Poet was written over a period of forty years. The poetry is rich with memoir, humor, and at times is sensual in nature.

Poetry can be daunting and hard to understand, but it doesn't have to be. I feel a poet has an obligation to write in a way that everyone can understand. Poems should flow softly through a poet's words, their meanings easily touching the heart and mind of its reader. If a poem comes from the heart, it will reach other hearts.

Read a Preview of "Anatomy of a Poet"

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Book Introduction:

"Like a rose with many petals sharing its sweet aroma, this is how I see and feel about the love of my life, CJ Heck. She is my electric blue-eyed girl. 

She can be both a little girl, or a strong woman, whenever and wherever the situation calls for it. She is both sensuous and exciting, and soft and affectionate. 

Tragedy struck her life early with the death of her husband in Vietnam. This experience laid open the very core of her heart and soul and opened the channel to a well of compassion and sensitivity that waited deep within. Her pain was the fertilizer that helped her bloom as a writer.

CJ's poetry is not a surface observation, but a soulful interpretation of the events and people that inspired her. She writes both eloquently and simply of things that touch her heart, things she wants to share. She is gifted at painting a picture with words on the heart and imagination of others, thereby communicating not just an image, but a life experience. 

I feel very honored to have been asked to write this introduction and share my feelings about CJ Heck. She is the water for my soil, the sunlight for my petals and the nurturer of my growth. 

Sit back, open your heart and enjoy the journey as revealed through her words, images and emotions. You are blessed by this opportunity to know her in words, as I know her in life."  

~Robert S. Cosmar [Writer, Blogger, Astrologer, Author of four books]

Comments:

"This is my kind of poetry. Direct, beautifully expressed and without a hint of pretension." ~Allison Cassidy

"CJ is predominately viewed as a writer of works for children, but CJ now carries over her approach to more adult themes. In doing so, she presents a profound world that is deeply sad, incredibly humorous and sometimes very intimate." ~Joseph Daly

"CJ's writing ability is a testament to talent and passion. Her ability to craft words into emotion and movement is remarkable." ~Lexy Page (Owner/Freelance Photographer at GA Page Photography)

"CJ is a writer that comes through as a great communicator but you also have a strong feeling of friendship with her and her pen. She touches your heart in special ways. She makes you feel like you have lived this story." ~James McCraney (Owner, James McCraney Financial, LLC)

"I love learning new words, especially when they are explained with such diaphanous clarity. Whether she talks of love, children, life, or any other subject, CJ's words are always clear and harmonious. She makes us forget that easy to read is hard to write." ~Marc Mimouni (London, United Kingdom)

"CJ Heck is a very talented author. Her words are enlightening and charismatic to people of all ages. It is a privilege and honor to read her prolific pen." ~Janet Caldwell (Managing Editor, Inner Child Magazine


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