tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98471512011-08-02T11:39:25.167-07:00This page will be dedicated to writing. Much of it will be my own, some of it will be from author's that inspire me. My philosophy is that anyone who can articulate their thoughts on paper is a writer, whether that makes you an author or not is another story. I hope you will enjoy, share and comment. ENJOY...Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.comBlogger1021100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-31424155508205923702010-10-10T18:06:00.000-07:002010-10-10T18:07:09.419-07:00

Dear Gracious Lord,I’m on the edges of the adventure. I see you beckoning me into the wilderness where it is wild & untamed. The ground is desolate & jagged. The enemy encamps all around us & you are asking me to go into the middle of the fight.I envision myself in my little row boat. I just recently watched “The Perfect Storm” again & I envision the waves mounting and cresting stories above my

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-44391129197163328872010-10-03T17:40:00.000-07:002010-10-03T17:41:03.086-07:00

The hanger swings on the back of the bathroom door as she slips into the little black dress, her soft pale skin pricked with freckles looks almost like rich cream against the dark fabric. She surveys the damage in the long mirror in the bedroom. “This will do,” she thinks as she steps into six inch pumps, her tall frame heightened by the arch of the shoe.Hair gathered high, warm ringlets encircle

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-71408767340746701472009-08-24T15:13:00.000-07:002009-08-24T15:14:56.080-07:00

Princess Ann: an unlikely fairytaleby Melissa DarseyThis fairytale doesn’t begin, “Once upon a time in a land far far away…” No, this fairytale, and I assure you that is exactly what it is, begins with a young woman named Ann. I won’t try to impose that Ann is one of the fairest amongst the land, but she is beautiful; big golden eyes, soft lips, rosy cheeks, slender waist, porcelain skin, with

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-55723958358821754932008-12-21T19:04:00.001-08:002008-12-21T19:04:38.388-08:00

The hanger swings on the back of the bathroom door as she slips into the little black dress, her soft pale skin pricked with freckles looks almost like rich cream against the dark fabric. She surveys the damage in the long mirror in the bedroom. “This will do,” she thinks as she steps into six inch pumps, her tall frame heightened by the arch of the shoe.Hair gathered high, warm ringlets encircle

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-45500252347502990132008-06-28T16:56:00.000-07:002008-06-28T16:57:57.745-07:00

To you, O LORD, I lift up my soul; 2 in you I trust, O my God. Do not let me be put to shame, nor let my enemies triumph over me. 3 No one whose hope is in you will ever be put to shame, but they will be put to shame who are treacherous without excuse. 4 Show me your ways, O LORD, teach me your paths; 5 guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-15815882008401231872008-04-06T19:04:00.000-07:002008-04-06T19:08:44.481-07:00

1 The vision concerning Judah and Jerusalem that Isaiah son of Amoz saw during the reigns of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz and Hezekiah, kings of Judah.A Rebellious Nation 2 Hear, O heavens! Listen, O earth! For the LORD has spoken: "I reared children and brought them up, but they have rebelled against me. 3 The ox knows his master, the donkey his owner's manger, but Israel

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-33574724584727398372008-03-31T18:08:00.001-07:002008-03-31T18:08:18.408-07:00

1 The LORD is my light and my salvation— whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life— of whom shall I be afraid? 2 When evil men advance against me to devour my flesh, [a] when my enemies and my foes attack me, they will stumble and fall. 3 Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me,

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-10777291554583574512008-03-16T18:21:00.001-07:002008-03-16T18:21:56.590-07:00

I, Patrick, as sinner, am the most ignorant and of least account among the faithful, despised by many…It was not any grace in me, but God who is victorious in me and resisted them all, so that I came to the Irish people to preach the gospel and to bear insults from unbelievers, to hear the scandal of my travels, and to endure many persecutions even to the extent of prison; so that I surrender my

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Psalm 84For the director of music. According to gittith. Of the Sons of Korah. A psalm. [a] 1 How lovely is your dwelling place, O LORD Almighty! 2 My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God. 3 Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-41023332864869273112007-11-07T07:43:00.001-08:002007-11-07T07:53:15.034-08:00

By: Melissa Ann Darsey

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-85354724450501133012007-11-07T07:41:00.002-08:002007-11-07T07:54:11.355-08:00

Some paragraphs and spacing may have changed due to the length and copying from Word to Blogger. Please excuse this minor flaw. If you wish to have a hard copy of this work, please send an email to handofprovidence@hotmail.com and I will return it to you as a Word attachment.MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-10517833969889513592007-11-07T07:41:00.001-08:002007-11-07T07:41:22.761-08:00

I. Thanks and GratitudeII. SynopsisChapter 1: A Painful Memory………………………………P.2Chapter 2: Dark Days………………………………………..P.7Chapter 3: The Stranger……………………………………..P.10Chapter 4: Different Times…………………………………P. 13Chapter 5: Broken Pride…………………………………….P. 15Chapter 6: Unexpected……………………………………...P. 18Chapter 7: Letting Go……………………………………….P. 21Chapter 8: Nate……………………………………………...P.

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-50231216225799790032007-11-07T07:40:00.001-08:002007-11-07T07:40:50.223-08:00

To the very heart and definition of Christmas who spins magic, wonder, and hope into this holiday season, may I always find shelter in the shadow of your wings. Thank you for creating such a loving and rich character as Nate, it truly was unexpected. May I learn to dust myself off, fix my eyes on you, and surrender.Thank you to my family and their love and patience with me. I am truly indebted to

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-16792612738397807092007-11-07T07:39:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:40:13.637-08:00

I am thrilled to be presenting the brand new story “An Angel for Christmas.” I thought it might be nice to give some backdrop on why this is so special for me. Ten years ago in December of 1997 I wrote my first Christmas story with this very same title. Last Christmas I went back and read the 1997 version again. I was utterly embarrassed that I had even made multiple copies of this less than

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-87605016192138471762007-11-07T07:38:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:39:09.083-08:00

“Tell us the story Grandma; tell us…P-L-E-A-S-E!”Little Andy tugged on Cindy’s skirt hem all the while looking up at her with that shock of red hair and three year old grin. Audrey sat quietly on the floraled couch reading “The Night before Christmas”, her long flowing red curls glistening from the hour spent with Grandma’s brush. She broke from reading to see her Grandmother; Andy still stuck to

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-90766160948146433962007-11-07T07:35:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:38:37.687-08:00

Chapter 1A Painful Memory…It was Thanksgiving Day November 26, 1953 and I was 18 years old. My sister, her husband, and their brand new baby girl, Eliza Christine, were up for the holidays. The ground was hard from an early frost and snow flurries were scuttling here and there outside the window. The turkey, stuffed overflowing with dressing, made a beautiful center piece on our dining room table

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-80885516342031054172007-11-07T07:33:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:35:23.586-08:00

Chapter 2Dark Days‘Wrap-tap-tap’ a knock on my bedroom door floated through my confusing thoughts. The funeral that had followed that horrific night was somewhat of a blur to me……I remember watching the large machines trying to break the frozen ground where my William would lay. Sally and I had come from the wake and I just sat there staring in dumb disbelief that those men were working up a

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-89182691712747402072007-11-07T07:32:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:33:17.280-08:00

Chapter 3The StrangerMegan had helped me sweep up my mangled red curls and kissed me on the forehead before she made her way downstairs to tend to her now screaming daughter. I pictured Roger’s bewildered and relieved look as she retrieved the screaming child from his arms. The house was once again filled with silence except for the clanging of Mama gathering up the supper dishes and the soft

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-90371297021993007932007-11-07T07:30:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:31:49.326-08:00

Chapter 4Different TimesCindy drove the squeaky wheeled grocery cart down the canned food isle of the grocery store. She perused each label to find just the one she wanted. She thought about Nate and the local market back then and how things had changed. There was rarely any customer service these days. It was all upon the customer. Cindy sighed as she seemed to be missing what she needed. She

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-85867182731747416362007-11-07T07:28:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:29:55.607-08:00

Chapter 5Broken PrideI sat in the cold dark dining room looking out the frosted window at the winter wonderland outside. I was hugging myself and blowing my hands to stay warm to stubborn and ill to go light a fire to warm the house. Large pools welled just under my eyelids but I refused to let tears fall. I rocked back and forth and wrestled with the horrible dream I had the night before. It was

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-59739542693377403292007-11-07T07:27:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:28:10.281-08:00

Chapter 6UnexpectedBy Tuesday I was forced out of the covers and back into real life. I took an extra long time getting ready and by the time I came downstairs Jeremy had left on a job. I was relieved. In fact, everyone had gone out that day. Papa and Mama had gone Christmas shopping, while Roger, Megan, and little Eliza went to visit friends. There was a note on the counter from Mama telling me

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-43029411877691747052007-11-07T07:25:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:26:45.776-08:00

Chapter 7Letting GoTuesday December 23, 1953, the day Jeremy was returning home. I had spent the proceeding days helping Mama prepare the pies for the great tree lighting celebration the town held every Christmas Eve, buying gifts for the family, and reading my Bible. Papa and Mama were thrilled when I started attending Sunday services again. I had even agreed to help with the pageant the

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-23707369089031589862007-11-07T07:23:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:25:10.175-08:00

Chapter 8NateA foot of snow glistened like crystal under the sun’s radiant beams. The sky breathed blue, as if to say, ‘look at what this day holds, don’t be wasting it’. I jumped from my bed barely able to contain myself and rushed to get ready for the days festivities. I took the stairs two at a time and gave a little bounce at the bottom. There before me was Jeremy’s satchel all synched up and

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-64732040567881467972007-11-07T07:21:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:23:01.602-08:00

Chapter 9Restoration“Cindy, oh Cindy!” My heart gave way to its emotion when I saw Sally running towards me. It had been so long since I had seen her. She wrapped her warm arms around me in a firm embrace, “How I have missed you my dear friend!”Tears poured freely from both of us as we blubbered exaltations over the other. “I’m so sorry Sally,” I finally managed. She looked full into my face. “

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-3266832593874024552007-11-07T07:20:00.000-08:002007-11-07T07:23:18.448-08:00

Chapter 10Audrey’s GiftAudrey awoke in the still hours of the night. She couldn’t remember the dream that had awoken her from her slumber or why she had an uneasy feeling that surrounded her restless sleep. She was sitting straight in the bed watching the curtain blow as the warm puffs of the heater caressed the delicate fabric. Her breath caught as she scanned the room catching the sight of a

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-18727862477669831292007-11-07T07:19:00.001-08:002007-11-07T07:19:33.234-08:00

A group of children of all ages sat bunched near one another breath held, anticipation tangible and rich. Giggles and gasps came from all in attendance as a slender woman with short red curls sat reading a tale of magic and richness before her adoring audience. The applause reached the gates of heaven as people stood to their feet with childlike wonder. Tears glistened in Audrey’s eyes as she

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-83494331359764287452007-09-02T11:25:00.000-07:002007-09-02T11:28:54.499-07:00

By: Casting CrownsSomewhere between the hot and the coldSomewhere between the new and the oldSomewhere between who I am and who I used to beSomewhere in the middle,You'll find meSomewhere between the wrong and the rightSomewhere between the darkness and the lightSomewhere between who I was and whoYou're making meSomewhere in the middle,You'll find meJust how close can I get,Lord, to my surrender

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-26452872408233600582007-08-09T11:17:00.000-07:002007-08-09T11:20:21.809-07:00

1 "Say of your brothers, 'My people,' and of your sisters, 'My loved one.'Israel Punished and Restored 2 "Rebuke your mother, rebuke her, for she is not my wife, and I am not her husband. Let her remove the adulterous look from her face and the unfaithfulness from between her breasts. 3 Otherwise I will strip her naked and make her as bare as on the day she was born

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-32614484479963392622007-02-14T11:01:00.000-08:002007-02-14T11:05:27.663-08:00

Just for Valentine's...IThe first night my black knight came to visit mehe stood at the end of my bed starring with those eyes of emerald.The second night His lips hung close to my ear.His breath smelled like vinegar and rose budsand he whispered lies and what-nots that seeped into my soul,until the taste of rosebuds resided in my mouthand the stinging vinegar coursed through my veins.He vibrated

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-17130498114700854612007-02-05T17:56:00.000-08:002007-02-05T17:58:09.991-08:00

"Pulsating"Pulsating, moving, breathing, living art,Rhythm, blues, classic, rock,Life, breath…talent from God.Strength, slender, towering tree,Dreads, Color, Black, a King!Heartbeat, rhythm, moving me to my knees!Sensual, Masculine, Feminine, LiFe……MoViNg fluid through space and time.Mother Earth, Father Time, RhYThm in syncopated time!Spirit, Soul, those long ago,Keep moving, moving, moving feet

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-52535828091492105492007-01-17T12:40:00.000-08:002007-01-17T12:41:04.137-08:00

Dear Beloved,How I have wanted to share with you my feelings for the longest time? What a blessed treasure you are to me. I deeply love you and long for you to trust me completely. I know how easily you can get heavy laden with the little mundane tasks. Life so often comes and interrupts my desire to commune with you. Heaven is glorious and I am daily preparing the place I have for you here. I

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-75168915039976254762006-12-09T13:53:00.000-08:002006-12-09T13:56:15.333-08:00

I wrote this story about three years ago for my church. I wrote it in about three hours. I unfolded on a beautiful drive home from a church service. I was thinking of a way to stay thank you and the story just spilled out. It is the first time I felt God writing the story and I was just typing it. It is one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy...Old man winter shivered across the Earth stirring up

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-41436965206848641322006-12-04T17:29:00.000-08:002006-12-04T17:35:47.032-08:00

This was my third Christmas Story I ever wrote. It was in a time when I was trying to give a little edge to my writing, edge and Christmas don't really mix. A fact about my writing...I HATE to write dialogue. It pains me to do it. I love descriptive writing. I would rather lay out a landscape, tell you what smells you are smelling, and the feeling you are going to get, than to dialogue. So,

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-72295973169089863482006-11-25T14:04:00.000-08:002006-11-25T14:06:51.958-08:00

Each year around Christmas I would write a Christmas story that I would pass out to family and friends. I have just recently gotten back into this tradition. I would like to share with you the second Christmas story I ever wrote. While not the best, it still holds importance of the season in my heart...I hope you enjoy...Four-year-old Sally Marie waited patiently for the snow to come. The smell

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-81906876902990275092006-10-22T18:02:00.000-07:002006-10-22T18:03:19.812-07:00

Dear Mr. Landon,I feel this letter needs to be met with some form of perfection, which it will never be. I suppose I should begin at the beginning. I was a fan of your Dad’s, still am in fact. I wasn’t around when “Little House on the Prairie” was actually on the air, after all I wasn’t born until 1980, but I have watched the re-runs of the show ever since I can remember. In fact I cannot

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-35567243628277638622006-09-26T13:49:00.000-07:002007-07-31T08:54:46.605-07:00

Name: Melissa AnnOrigin & Meaning: Melissa = (Greek) Honey Bee & Ann = (English) GraciousBirthdate: August 27, 1980Current Residence: Winchester, KYFamily: Dad: Charles; Mom: Loretta; Sisters: Meredith & Michelle (two of the most important people in the world to me!)What type of child were you? Weird, still am, or maybe a better term would be imaginative. I was always creating games we could play

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-29487891715509971602006-09-11T13:40:00.000-07:002006-09-11T13:43:35.960-07:00

I've been thinking about it for awhile now...I'll turn the corner and you'll be there...That brilliant smile, those dark brown eyes...The Son casting your shadow on the pavement...I'll hold my breath, uncertain that you're real...you'll look at me with a smile and a tip of your ball cap...I've been thinking it will be soon...With each new turn...Each change...brilliant, terrifying, and small...I

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1156433212264704892006-08-24T08:26:00.000-07:002006-08-24T08:26:52.266-07:00

IThe first night my black knight came to visit me he stood at the end of my bed starring with those eyes of emerald.The second nightHis lips hung close to my ear. His breath smelled like vinegar and rosebudsand he whispered lies and what-nots that seeped into my soul,until the taste of rosebuds resided in my mouth and the stinging vinegar coursed through my veins.He vibrated in me and I wanted

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1156432829178935782006-08-24T08:19:00.000-07:002006-08-24T08:20:29.190-07:00

Jeremiah tell me about the fireThat burns up in your bonesI want to know I want to know more nowThe burning of ambition and desireIt never could come closeTo that fire To that fireVerse 1: I was looking to myselfAnd I forgot the power of GodI was standing with a sparkler in my handWhile I stood so proud and profoundYou went and burned the whole place downNow that’s a fireVerse 2: I was caught up

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1152148311447555392006-07-05T17:54:00.000-07:002006-07-05T18:11:51.460-07:00

I had a rant a couple of months of go. It is so long in fact and some of it simply isn't appropriate to put in the blog that I've had to shorten it. I just kinda wanted to share a little of it to show you guys where I am right now...I'm feeling a bit displaced at the moment...Like the ground has slipped from beneath me and I have no memory of it or how I got here. I've been living in a haze of

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1150847014576987712006-06-20T16:43:00.000-07:002006-06-20T16:43:34.593-07:00

Perspiration drips from tiny pores sticking T-shirt and jeans to sunburned skin. The evening breeze cuts through the humidity like a knife while the whining buzz of an amp stings the ears like a bumble bee on soft pale skin.Sound check: “Check One, Check Two!”…”one, one, two…two”…”Check One!”…”Check Two!”Percussion…the crowd swells as if the drummer tuning up is a beacon call to those sojourn

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1146442227394695622006-04-30T17:02:00.000-07:002006-04-30T17:10:27.406-07:00

*I don't think I visualized what this poem would be, but God saw fit to make it what it was, may you be blessed...My fairs skinned beauty, goddess with Amber waves, Emerald-eyed Gypsy...Why is life so hard for you?I catch tears in sky blue bottles and save them for rainy days.Dance in the rainbow that I pour out on you...How my heart does sing to watch the sun-kissed colors illumine your face!

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1143083454775881002006-03-22T19:10:00.000-08:002006-03-22T19:10:54.790-08:00

Beloved,I AM the Lover of your Souls. There is none that compares to my love and the love I have for you. I want you to realize that. I know how easily you can get heavy laden with the little mundane tasks. It is all in my design. I have things under control. Please believe me when I say that. I care for you so deeply and I want to pour out that love and care all over you until not only your

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1142550988630288902006-03-16T15:15:00.000-08:002006-03-16T15:16:28.656-08:00

Loving Child,I heal the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds. I am fighting for you. I will win the war and when the arrows beat down I will cover you as a shield. You do not need to bear your grief or sorrows for I hold them in the hallow of my hand. Do you realize that when you dwell on the things that you do not do well or the sins you have committed that you bar my very blood from reaching

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1142474296280797192006-03-15T17:57:00.000-08:002006-03-15T17:58:16.293-08:00

Blessed Soul,I do not need the bulls you sacrifice or the blood of goats. What I want instead is your true thanks to me and a remembrance of the vows you made to me. I want you to trust me in times of trouble and I will rescue you and give you my glory. Basically, I want all of you. The very breath you breathe. I want it all. I desire it all. I will have it all for I am Sovereign and just. I want

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1141696832463830882006-03-06T17:59:00.000-08:002006-03-06T18:00:32.476-08:00

My Precious Sheep,How are you today? Are you feeling weary? I am still with you on this journey. I have never left. I have been closer than a brother. I’ve relished in your triumphs and wept in your defeat. Thank you for listening to my calling and following me. I know that it must be very draining at times but I am here for you. I will give you the strength that you need. Are you at peace? Is

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1141591984827970952006-03-05T12:52:00.000-08:002006-03-05T12:53:04.853-08:00

Cherished Bride,You have stolen my heart plain and simple with one simple glance of your eyes. I will make a lasting covenant with you a bond that will never be broken. I will betroth you forever in righteousness and justice. I am filled with love and compassion for you. I love you completely and deeply. My creation displays my love for you. A blessed sunrise is a beloved kiss from my lips. The

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1141267941266467912006-03-01T18:51:00.000-08:002006-03-01T18:52:21.276-08:00

Oh My Beloved,How blessed I am to commune with you this evening. All I ask is that you allow me to love on you a little. Do you even realize how my heart delights in you? You are my beautiful masterpieces orchestrated by my very hand. I did not craft you by mistake and there is no room for junk in my art gallery. When I see you displayed on my wall my heart flutters and my lungs fill with pride.

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1141078700465867772006-02-27T14:17:00.000-08:002006-02-27T14:18:20.493-08:00

Hello Blessed Creation,Do you know that I sing over you? I was there when you took your first step. I was there when you began the planning, prayers, and preparation for this journey. I send a band of angels and create a hedge of protection for you. My eyes are ever on you. There is not a moment that you are not in my care. I desire to protect you, to lift you up, not to harm you. I will provide

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1131920741227369112005-11-13T14:25:00.000-08:002005-11-13T14:26:16.790-08:00

Sue Ann awoke with a gasp! Her pretzel contortion had cut off her need for oxygen, and she unfolded herself in order to fill her lungs with much needed life. She had slept fitfully dreaming weird incoherent dreams, her leg muscles were soar, and her tiny back ached. She looked around the small room, her fuzzy eyes melding the room in a blanket of haze. She rubbed her tiny fingers across her eyes

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1130949699442336082005-11-02T08:40:00.000-08:002005-11-02T08:42:41.900-08:00

Bellies full, dishes washed and put away, Sue Ann lay like a knotted pretzel on the end of the couch dreaming about sugar plumb fairies and far distant lands. Mary sat in the hand carved rocking chair her Father made for her as a wedding present knitting a new sweater for Sue Ann. Chris had gotten more wood for the fire to cut the chill of this brisk March evening, and was now placing it in a

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1130618862910097212005-10-29T13:36:00.000-07:002005-10-29T13:47:42.930-07:00

I.The charred sod breathed deeply of death.The forest lay with a thickness of black glass on uncloaked branches and parched clay blistered by the amber liquid that spilled flaming hot across this barren land.The glowing ground lay agitated...Sizzling, Sputtering, and Quivering...devoured in the savage flames.The barage was not laid out with faithful artileryA beast of this kind is only

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1130336057836172862005-10-26T07:12:00.000-07:002005-10-26T07:14:17.846-07:00

Mary checked the roast, green beans, yams, bread, and cake for the third time. She paced back and forth back and forth, ringing her hands in her apron. She kept running the words she would say to Chris in her mind. Sue Ann set at the kitchen table; paper and pencil scattered along and underneath it. She no longer drew her picture of her dog Lucky playing in the grass on a warm summer day. She was

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1130174360269317012005-10-24T10:14:00.000-07:002005-10-24T10:19:20.276-07:00

There is a good chance that this will not be the title of this story since my mind has recently taken a turn in the plot. When I right I usually just have an idea whether it be a title or what have you and not until I'm actually pounding away at the keys does the story begin to unfold before my eyes. Literally as you are reading it for the first time, when I'm typing it, I'm actually in a way

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1129935952288354912005-10-21T16:01:00.000-07:002005-10-21T16:05:52.303-07:00

By Michelle DarseyInspired by: Kyle who passed away 10/3/05Michelle left this on my clothes this morning in the bathroom...she is so talented and this touched me so deeply I thought I would share it!Little girl, why do you cry?Too proud to ask for help, you hold your head up high.Little girl, why are you laying down with a cement angel at your head.Woman of independence.Do you believe in love?

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1124481068978684202005-08-19T12:40:00.000-07:002005-08-19T12:51:08.990-07:00

Yes, this is a little Christmas in August! This actually when I start getting the Christmas feeling, and anyone who really knows me knows that I'm a diehard Christmas fanatic, I wanted to wait until Christmas to show this to all of you, but you know what I've got plenty more Christmas stories where this came from...I wrote this last Christmas for my church family, and my immediate family fell in

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1123786293009091122005-08-11T11:48:00.000-07:002005-08-11T12:12:05.873-07:00

Here it is guys! Both the story and the psychoanalysis below. I think this will give you a far more well rounded idea of the purpose for everything in the story:A StoryBy: Melissa DarseyThe waves lick and kiss the large rocks, smoothing the rocks with their sensual touch, while whispering a melodious tune for the dead lovers the sea devoured with its veracious appetite. Sitting, snuggly embraced

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1122580004934632822005-07-28T12:35:00.000-07:002005-07-28T12:46:44.943-07:00

The soft sunlight dripped from the languishing tree ever so slightly obscuring the delicate etching on the colorful glass. Where was I? The red brick, as if it had been molded from Georgia clay, sat strong hugging this ancient creature giving the window a feeling of being encased in blood. The tints of glass in shades of blue, purple, gold and aqua were a stark contrast to the bleeding brick. Its

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1118708537196973292005-06-13T17:15:00.000-07:002005-06-13T17:22:17.216-07:00

Oh guys you will enjoy this...my beautiful amazing friend sent me this poem, she is soooo talented and gifted and I just couldn't resist but sharing it with all of you, I read this like 5 times...I hope that you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think so I can pass it onto her...It Is GREAT...Children of GodThe midsummer sun was overwhelmedby the beauty and thickness of the treesthat

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1116966340428564922005-05-24T13:20:00.000-07:002005-05-24T13:25:40.446-07:00

In a way I always wished that I had begun blogging before I met Melissa Gilbert, because this is exactly the kind of stuff that I would want to put in here. I have loved Melissa Gilbert for as long as I can remember. My favorite show of all time is Little House on the Prairie, and I found myself not only being drawn to Half-Pint, but wanting to be her. “Laura” captivated me and I loved the rich

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1116530998617915832005-05-19T12:28:00.000-07:002005-05-19T12:29:58.620-07:00

I really need to take the time to get in here and write something soon or no one will ever read what I write. I have just been so busy...coming soon...my account of meeting Melissa Gilbert and more fun exciting things...hopefully I will be able to really write when on vacation...Love y'all!

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1112902640888536022005-04-07T11:55:00.000-07:002005-04-07T12:37:20.893-07:00

I find this work particularly a little disturbing...my writing prompt was simply to write how a broken plate would feel and this is what I wrote. I honestly find dark writing refreshing sometimes, it breathes in me at times, so I hope you like it, and don't find me to crazy...She stopped stirring the stew when she heard a hard shatter of the crumbling plate on the tile floor. A shiver of

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1112646513325531612005-04-04T12:48:00.000-07:002005-04-04T13:28:33.333-07:00

Dearest Friends and Collaborators,I wrote you some time ago about the "major" and "minor" themes found in scripture. The major theme is resurrection, life, breakthrough, triumph. The minor theme is crucifixion, suffering, darkness, loss. Both have a place in scripture, because both have a place in our lives. Yet one is to be major, the other minor. I reported with sadness that in our post-modern

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1112318083032005922005-03-31T17:06:00.000-08:002005-03-31T17:14:43.033-08:00

This is the last and final entry of the sea lion, now I'm going to have to get creative and start putting my original work back on here...I hope you have enjoyed the Sea Lion Story...Three weeks after the wind ceased to blow, the sea lion had a dream. Now, as I told you before, there were other nights in which he had dreamed of the sea. But those were long ago and nearly forgotten. Even still,

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1112211207237973982005-03-30T11:21:00.000-08:002005-03-30T11:33:27.240-08:00

Here are a few pieces of work I found in an old journal. It was when I felt I couldn't write, going back and reading them I found that they weren't all that bad. They are not complete, but I thought you might enjoy them. I found I did and that even when I thought I couldn't write, Christ was writing for me...THE NUMBINGThat sweet melodious humming slithered into my brain the other day sending a

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1112210429815838542005-03-30T11:12:00.000-08:002005-03-30T11:20:29.816-08:00

It was in May that the winds began to blow. The sea lion had grown used to wind, and at first he did not pay much heed at all. Years of desert life had taught him to turn his back in the direction from which the wind came and cover his eyes with his flippers, so that the dust would not get in. Eventually, the winds would always pass.But not this time. Day and night it came, howling across the

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1111855075934514492005-03-26T08:24:00.000-08:002005-03-26T08:37:55.936-08:00

The sea lion was not entirely alone in those parts. For it was there he met the tortoise. Now the tortoise was an ancient creature, so weathered by his life in the barren lands that at first, the sea lion mistook him for a rock. He told the tortoise of his plight, hoping that this wise one might be able to help him. "Perhaps," the tortoise mused, "this is the sea." His eyes appeared to be shut

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1111463860054598252005-03-21T19:51:00.000-08:002005-03-21T19:57:40.056-08:00

The Sea Lion loved his rock, and he even loved waiting night after night for the sea breezes that might come. Especially he loved the dreams those memories would stir. But as you will know, even the best of dreams cannot go on, and in the morning when the sea lion woke, he was still in the barren lands. Sometimes he would close his eyes and try to fall back asleep. It never seemed to work, for

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1111007574385573362005-03-16T13:07:00.000-08:002005-03-16T13:12:54.386-08:00

Had you journeyed in those days through the barren lands, you might have seen the sea lion yourself. Quite often in the evening, he would go and sit upon his favorite rock, a very large boulder, which lifted him off the burning sand and allowed him a view of the entire country.There he would remain for hours into the night, silhouetted against the sky. And on the best nights, when the wind

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1110933899556143292005-03-15T16:44:00.000-08:002005-03-15T16:44:59.556-08:00

Try back Tomorrow!

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1110813517353547702005-03-14T07:15:00.000-08:002005-03-14T07:18:37.356-08:00

There was a time, many years back, when the sea lion knew he was lost. In those days, he would stop every traveler he met to see if he might help him find his way back to the sea.But no one seemed to know the way.On he searched, but never finding. After years without success, the sea lion took refuge beneath a solitary tree beside a very small water hole. The tree provided refuge from the burning

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1110555259349873892005-03-11T07:25:00.000-08:002005-03-11T07:34:19.353-08:00

I wanted to do this for a while. Throughout the book Journey of Desire there is a story about a sea lion, and I want to incorporate this story into my Writer's Corner, so for the next several days this will be what the Writer's Corner will be dedicated to. I promise new and original work from me will return soon, but this story is profound, so stay tuned for each new entry. Thanks and Enjoy...

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1110509261410792892005-03-10T18:41:00.000-08:002005-03-10T18:47:41.413-08:00

We must do battle with the enemies of our hearts-those sirens that would seduce and shipwreck our desire and those arrows that aim to kill it outright. And we must journey forward, toward God, toward the Great Restoration and the Adventures that come. How awful to reach the end of life's road and find we haven't brought our hearts along with us.So let me say it again: Life is now a battle and a

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1110208935926734802005-03-07T07:21:00.000-08:002005-03-07T07:22:15.926-08:00

I promise new entries to come soon...please stay posted!

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1108671299658976822005-02-17T11:37:00.000-08:002005-02-17T12:14:59.666-08:00

...Her nightmares returned.She was running, night closing around her. Heavy footsteps echoed in the alley behind her. Before her were the docks, ships' masts filling the horizon. She ran from one to another, pleading that they would let her come aboard. "Sorry, ma'am. All filled up," the sailor said, one after another. She ran down the last pier and saw below her a carbage scow. The ropes were

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1108428932892706232005-02-14T16:37:00.000-08:002005-02-14T16:55:32.903-08:00

I think it is appropriate to share some scripture from the Song of Solomon for this Valentine occasion. It is important not only to look at it as the love between man and wife, but a representation of Christ for us, His Beloved, afterall marriage is the ultimate representation of that love...How beautiful you are, my darling!Oh, how beautiful!Your eyes behind your veil are doves.Your hair is like

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1108239122188555792005-02-12T12:10:00.000-08:002005-02-12T12:12:02.273-08:00

This is a silly little fun story...I'm a big goober and I'm not ashamed to admit it...The chill of the frosty morning was fading away, big plump dewdrops hung on blades of flowing grass, transforming it into a green glassy sea. I sat nervously on the front porch swing. Tiptoes planted firmly on the porch, I tipped slowly forward and back, the wind caressed my face, and twirled my ringlets into a

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1108070964300639042005-02-10T13:22:00.000-08:002005-02-10T13:29:24.300-08:00

A little something from my favorite author Francine Rivers, from her book "The Scarlett Thread", I often pray both of these as prayers... Oh, Lord Jusus do that for me. Please. You know me better than I know myself. Open my doors and windows and let the Holy Spirit move through me. You are welcome in my house. Come into me, into my foyer and my living room. Wander at will through my parlor and

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1107541814849119962005-02-04T10:23:00.000-08:002005-02-04T10:30:14.850-08:00

In the silent dead of night the soft moonlight shown gently on the fresh fallen snow. A very tiny angel fell from the sky. A very tiny angel with a very big mission. She went straight to her work without a bit of fear. She carried a tiny little box in her small fragile hands. This was the most precious of gift of all. She traveled day and night, up hill and down until she finally reached the end

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1107360253519487872005-02-02T07:53:00.000-08:002005-02-02T08:04:13.520-08:00

Let me take a small moment to write about some people that are dear to me... She walks with grace and elegance of the day of old. She lives in brilliant black and white, she is the illumination. One of the most amazing spirits on this Earth, so is Krystal Swick. A raging storm, a quiet babbling brook, a life lived, a journey unfolded, a blessing to my soul...Teresa. She is mother earth gentle

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1107286903151466492005-02-01T11:39:00.000-08:002005-02-01T11:41:43.150-08:00

I wrote this poem when my cousin Tracy Rowell died. I have given it to several people since to try to comfort their pain in a time of loss. I hope you enjoy the words and are comforted... If I could I would walk in front of you with the lantern of hope to guide the way and lead you to a place just over the hill where the trees of peace and comfort grow, and say here they are ripe and ready to

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1107209669748396792005-01-31T14:03:00.000-08:002005-01-31T14:14:29.746-08:00

New Work... The reflection of self ends up hallow somehow incomplete in this tangled web I weave. A shadow slipping through the cracks. The music stops, the mask crashes to the ground. The masquarade over. What lies beneath? Are you there? Do you bleed in me? What moves me? What captivates me? A little girl insecure and unsure a young girl looking for the secret in the garden a beautiful swan

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1106773693852547042005-01-26T13:07:00.000-08:002005-01-26T13:08:13.853-08:00

This poem has gone through some major revisions, for better or worse here it is... The blinding darkness. The chilling wind blows through my soul. I search for light, but my eyes only behold darkness. My heart burns with fear. Tears blur my sight. I try to walk, but my legs feel numb. I AM LOST! I grab at the dirt like a starved savage. My fingers slip around a smooth surface. I grasp and lift

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1106681140105739992005-01-25T11:23:00.000-08:002005-01-25T11:25:40.106-08:00

A purer simpler poem...I love its innocence. Enjoy... SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! Went the three-thrift store dresses on bare scraped knees and invisible breeze. PLOP! PLOP! PLOP! Went three little girls two of curl on the weathered green bench. CHOMP! CHOMP! CHOMP! Went the grape bubble gum between teeth and tongue. SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! Went the grape gum goo on freckled white noses and smudged

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1106593629830319192005-01-24T11:05:00.000-08:002005-01-24T11:07:09.830-08:00

This is one of my most personal and thought provoking short stories I have ever written. It moves me powerfully and I truly feel that it is God breathed. I am blessed that God gave me this and I hope it blesses your heart as much as it has mine. Enjoy...

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1106593525726820352005-01-24T11:04:00.000-08:002005-01-24T11:05:25.726-08:00

There was a thick chill on the back porch that evening. Her body ached with the long journey, while she huddled under a hand made quilt of insecurity and guilt. The patchwork of the past keeping her warm. This was a safe place to be, away from the frosty night. She waited in fearful anticipation. Trembling, she pulled the blanket tighter, desperately trying to block out His love.

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1106320610320476352005-01-21T07:16:00.000-08:002005-01-21T07:16:50.320-08:00

In a small and quiet room kneeling before the Lord, The musty smell is sour to the nose. The tattered pages of the soul search for healing, Pleading on the selfish need and insecurity. Touching self the breath never reaches God. The prayers are used to strengthen vanity. The touch of God is never felt in the musty room of the soul, the cobwebs grow thicker. They bar the blood from the soul. The

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1106255834728779002005-01-20T13:46:00.000-08:002005-01-20T13:17:14.730-08:00

Something New... Anger suffers as grief withdraws into the cold pit of a man's soul. How does one live on this Earth with so much suffering and grief. Grief that can split a man's insides and make him bleed. No! It was better to allow the writhing hot painful grip of grief to be quietly snuffed out by the cold dark presence of anger. Anger made a man feel justified. Anger made it alright somehow

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1106253971059234682005-01-20T13:41:00.000-08:002005-01-20T12:46:11.060-08:00

something old...this poem is dedicated to my Grandfather...I never got to know the strength of his character because we lost him to soon...enjoy... Smokey warm beers Drank in air conditioned sheds, Away from warm houses and nagging wives. Brimmed caps pulled on baldheads, Sweat soaked shirts, Wasp stings, tractors, cowlicks, Unrelenting farmlands. Standing strong and working hard. The

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1106161706467051302005-01-19T10:29:00.000-08:002005-01-19T11:08:26.466-08:00

HOT OFF THE PRESS, A BRAND NEW STORY. ENJOY.... Pine, cedar, birch and many other fragrant woods intermingled their breath throughout the small workshop. Shavings littered the floor, discarded waste torn from the creations of beauty that were etched into the wood by the carpenter's strong hands. Everything about him was strength, yet a gentle sort of knowing infused him and every piece he

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1106068009243589832005-01-18T09:04:00.000-08:002005-01-18T09:06:49.243-08:00

This is just a fun piece and, in my opinion, powerful piece.... WHEN I WAS BORN I DRANK HONEY OUT OF ROSE GLASS BOTTLES AS A TODDLER I PULLED HARD ON THE MANE OF MY LION AND FLEW TO PLUTO TO PLAY HIDE AND GO SEEK WITH HERCULISE A GYPSY IN MY TEENS A QUEEN IN MY TWEENTIES AND A GODDESS IN MY SECOND LIFE FREEDOM TO BECOME ANYTHING I WANTED TO BE WHEN I PASSED FROM THIS LIFE I BECAME VAPORS

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1105976041642973552005-01-17T07:32:00.000-08:002005-01-17T07:34:01.643-08:00

This is just one of those fun poems that I love, it doesn't really make much sense, but I still find it profound in some manner... SMELL THE FEAR HEAR THE BOOM SEE THE WOUND TOUCH THE PAIN TASTE THE BLOOD you climb the stairs to reach the bottom the tragic solution of whispers crawling down your back. Jasmine drinks the idea of heaven while Patrick follows his own demise, stretches his arms

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1105632982312048332005-01-13T08:15:00.000-08:002005-01-13T08:16:22.313-08:00

A little bit of a depressing poem, but it was the first poem I wrote in my poetry class and I was proud of it... Rain filled clouds lick the blackberry sky. The mournful voice of the wind seduces the trees into a melodic dance of death, Sorrow hisses, curls, and writhes over the blood soaked ground; The needle of grief has pricked another mother's heart. A soul and a body sit conversing over a

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1105459984053439072005-01-11T08:06:00.000-08:002005-01-11T08:13:04.053-08:00

I wrote this in my Psychoanalysis class. I was inspired by Angela Carter's work of adapting fairytales in her own language. I encourage any of you to read her fiction. It was a wonderfully fun story to write and I enjoyed analyzing it as much as I enjoyed writing it. The analysis is not included on this blog however. If you are interested in my analysis I would be happy to email them to you or

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1105240112993430102005-01-08T18:53:00.000-08:002005-01-08T19:08:32.993-08:00

I am long on staying I am slow to leave Especially when it comes to you my friend You have taught me to slow down And prop up my feet It's the fine art of being who I am And I can't figure out Why you want me around I'm not the smartest person I have ever met But somehow that doesn't matter No it never really mattered to you at all And at the risk of wearing out my welcome At the risk of self

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1104858424417496502005-01-04T08:28:00.000-08:002005-01-04T09:07:04.416-08:00

FOR MARY K (and ashlee) There's always just one more thing There's always another task There's always I just have one more small favor to ask And everything is urgent and everything is now I wonder what would really happen if I stopped somehow I'll be there in a minute Just a few places to go You wake a few years later and your kids are grown And everything is import But everything is not At the

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1104765102715677112005-01-03T10:07:00.000-08:002005-01-03T07:11:42.716-08:00

This poem didn't turn out exactly as I had intended, but nevertheless here it is... "Black Knight/Prince Charming" I The first night my black knight came to visit me he stood at the end of my bed starring with those eyes of emerald. The second night His lips hung close to my ear. His breath smelled like vinegar and rosebuds and he whispered lies and what-nots that seeped into my soul, until

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1104593036496891562005-01-01T07:17:00.000-08:002005-01-01T07:23:56.496-08:00

So this particular poem was one of the first I ever wrote, and one of the ones that I am still most proud of. I am grateful to God for giving it to me and I hope that you enjoy it. (A little note I do have some short stories, but not that many, at least not that many that are not Christmas, so I am trying to place those in sparingly.) Enjoy... I hold the shredded pieces of my Purple Robe in hand

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1104507374394979002004-12-31T07:31:00.000-08:002004-12-31T07:36:14.393-08:00

Many people believe that this poem is about an eating disorder, but that is not my intention. It is about change, and how it has to happen to all of us. You sometimes have to discard those things that are holding you back from change like waste. I hope you enjoy... In the emerald eye I am what others perceive me to be. This journey Becomes my own. Wherever I change I find what is missing. As I

Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9847151.post-1104458149725773322004-12-30T17:55:00.000-08:002004-12-30T17:55:49.726-08:00

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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14662596896674291525noreply@blogger.com0