Skip to main content

THE WRITER IN ME by Isabelle Andres

I was walking in the woods, introspecting about what it meant for me to be a writer…

All of the sudden this poem came to me. It happened pretty much all at once, and so I stopped walking, picked up my pen and the book I was reading at the time, and I let the lines write themselves in front of my eyes from the bottom of my heart. Writing poetry and fiction is a rather new thing to me and so I was quite amazed to see what my heart had to say about what it means for me to write.

The Writer In Me
by Isabelle Andres 

The writer in me tends to be solitary:
Armed with her rucksack bag,
Her pens and her note pads,
She embarks on her own adventures
Never too sure of what she will find,
She wanders around the globe,
Seeking new emotions, new worlds
Seeking the new in all its allure.

The writer in me tends to be solitary:
For she travels the spaces of her mind,
Attuned to the rhythms of her heart,
Listening to the calling of her soul,
Guided by the words of the Universe,
Carrying the heavy luggage of her past,
She forever treasures the nows,
For they are both her fate and new luggage.

The writer in me tends to be solitary:
She loses herself in the labyrinth of her life,
She knows her time here is no rehearsal,
For she is there to make sense of her maze,
For she is there to share what she finds.
She knows at times some doors must be shut,
So new chapters can have a chance to be written,
So her story can begin to take shape and begin to be read.

The writer in me tends to be solitary:
She loves to loose herself with herself,
For her inspiration alights while she is there,
But rare are those times she is truly lonely,
For she paints new worlds with her words,
For she meets new faces through her chapters,
For she feels new emotions through her stories,
For she creates magic with her ink.

The writer in me tends to be solitary:
Yet, she creates her big family on her journey,
She knows love is no matter of blood,
She knows all she meets hold something for her,
She knows she too has something to offer,
She knows that she is them and they are she,
She knows such meetings were meant to be,
She welcome all in her heart family.

The writer in me tends to be solitary:
Yet in secret she forever dreams,
That one day her worlds will be read,
That one day her stories will be shared,
Yet in secret she forever dreams,
That when she goes, she will for ever stays,
Through the bit of herself that she gave away,
So subtly yet so sharply throughout her stories.

The writer in me tends to be solitary:
But like all those who surround her,
She is after all also a human soul,
And there exist those odd chapters in her story,
Where she can truly feel really lonely,
When she loses touch with her worlds,
When she can no longer find her ink,
When she fears that gloomy blank story.

It is in those odd moments of her life,
She secretly wishes for her friends,
To seek the writers within them,
To gently embrace her with their worlds,
To gently cuddle her with their words,
It is in those odd moments of her life,
She seeks refuge out of her worlds,
Into the worlds of those who like her,
Like to call themselves writers.

Isabelle Andres: A few years ago, I decided to embark on a new journey, a rather personal one, one of self-discovery and so I began to let go of all I once was to become all I am and will be. Along the way, I have discovered myself a passion for photography, writing, reading and dancing amongst many other things. I find my inspiration in Nature and contemporary art and I love to explore the creative and spiritual spheres. From introspective journaling I somehow began to venture in the land of poetry. My first poem came to me whilst I was absorbed as I often am in a moment of Nature contemplation. Recently I have begun to venture in the land of fictional writing and I now secretly dream that one day I will be the proud author of a novel. I can be found on my website Belle Pan’s Maze and on my writer’s page on Facebook.

~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~


Popular posts from this blog

MY HEART SEEPS by Edith Lazenby

Courage is not only facing fear, but also looking past fear, to see what lies it tells and truths it saves...
Sometimes I sit at a computer in trepidation. The house trembles and I wonder what I will find. 
Truth is not a fact or a feeling. It may rest on love’s heart and walk with integrity. It may stand beyond humanity in ways we can only imagine. Truth can be solid as earth and fickle as wind. But a wind can know stillness and the earth can crack wide open.
Tonight I found a stillness in a crack and managed to balance there...

My Heart Seeps
by Edith Lazenby
I cannot hold on And I cannot let go. I walk a path I don’t know. I feel moonlight But cannot see Its orb midst The cloudy cold. My hands tremble. My eyes tear. My toes wriggle To grasp earth. I want to stand Tall in the light Yet fear shadows all. Inside I crumble Under the weight I cannot shoulder.

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness…
Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather all of life into your inner c…

DEPRESSION by Veronica Carpenter

Here goes my vulnerability A heart on a sleeve The typical person who looks at me May not see the same me that I live with daily The mind in the air, swirling with possibility When the darkness rallies/gathers/swirls When I am left to solitude This paper-thin garb unzips Here comes depression          
No I don’t want to advertise So flash a smile Those who are close get to see Through the veil, it’s really not that thick Circumstances in life like to stab at the rib Stumble, fall behind the door Shut out the world Feelings well and weigh down Strength hidden deep in the core So deep that sometimes it’s forgotten Here comes the darkness My old friend Sweeping through my every move  Doubts, fears, un-named masked men Oozing like honey, sticking to everything
Patience is required to get on this ride There is a cycle but its pattern is unknown Slowly my gift will unwrap itself Stay on the path Coming back to that which never truly left me Just laid sleeping out of exhaustion from the fight Dormant in winter…