Poetry for the soul — There is nothing as sensual as a torrid summer’s day. There is nothing as sublime. too hot for rouge and lipstick — too hot to even think — my eyeballs soaked in steaming sweat — through summer’s scorch and stink. just seeking an oasis in the desert — razor blade…

Poetry and night dreams — Poetic is the night but I lie in paper chains unable to break the powerful hold. I’m tumble-dried and far from perfect unlike the wildest moon that’s rising lost in the shadows tumbling to the ground rolling in the ashes where even the deceptive truth is capable of lying and I can no longer trust…

Scribe’s Writing Prompt: Childhood Memory. — My fondest memory of childhood was a recycled glass jelly jar that I filled with pennies. I kept changing its hiding place, hoping no one would find it and dip their nasty paws into my treasure. In a way, life is just like having an empty jar that gets filled…

memories of yesterday still live on — I was not there for the original Woodstock music fair nor have I been to Coachella, but I’ve been friends with Deadheads and Pearl Jammers and RedHotChiliPeppers. One thing is certain throughout the land, music and history go hand in hand. © Connie Song 2022. All Rights Reserved. grace notes…

But I’m wondering if it’s worth it — I got an email from Medium, telling me it’s time to renew my membership. I cannot believe a year has passed already. But is it worth it? Maybe I need a break. Or maybe I’m feeling this way because the readership on Medium is just not the same as it…

An Extension of Pre-Millennial Existential Poetry — [poetry set to a rap beat] I didn’t mean to be such a disappointment to my family, I’m just a fly in the ointment, didn’t mean to be. I didn’t mean to be the one who loves and leaves you, take my vanity and spit it in the ocean, if I thought for a…

Learning to grab the readers’ attention in a meaningful way — Some of us live to write. We may be spending anywhere from three to forty hours a week pouring our words onto a screen. Or is it more like sixty minutes? Ok, let me tell you what we’re doing wrong. No, I’m not talking about syntax. Ask yourself this question: Is your writing actually verbal vomit?