….drip plob


my window is crying tonight

or at least

catching the cloud’s sadness

or at least

watering the ground          &

making the earth wake up.

the rain is my eyes


darkness –

or even

light –

there’s no reason not to cry.


I enjoy human emotion

more than the blankness of feeling

more emotion

stronger world


but what about ugly emotion?

the one that destroys peace



hope –

is that beautiful too?


are only some emotions worthy of a pedestal




hop              lop

earth is showing emotion

and it’s landing on me

rolling of my roof                &

into the grass

never to return.


What do I absorb?

….Where do my feelings go…




blop                pop

tears of joy




my window is cold against the

cloud’s sadness

yet morning will come

in rays of translucent warmth


How could my window feel the sun

if it didn’t first feel the rain?





empty poetry books

Poetry is something to enlighten the mind and encourage the human experience. It shouldn’t be written to be complicated or confusing–however sometimes this is inevitable. Your thoughts are not my thoughts and what you feel is not how I feel. I perceive feelings differently than another and this can lead to ambiguity. It’s natural! Uncertainty is natural. But lately while reading poetry, I find myself grasping for any source of meaning or fulfillment. Sometimes there isn’t a meaning, I get that. But poetry should change the reader’s conscious view of the world in some way, shape, or form. Even if you just take the reader on a journey for a few minutes, that’s enough to change their world. But a poem has to have some kind of connection to each person that touches its pages…right? What do you think? Can poetry be meaningless and still be good?

words of clutter

……cloud the senses

words of nonsense

…….distract the heart

words of failure

……..leave me dead

no close to understanding

what the dead man wants




letters arranged in loops of shapes

in                &


– I’m left to myself.

Another Love Poem?

Do I dare introduce another love poem into the world on this glorious Valentine’s Day? Well… being an aspiring poet, I must.

I wrote this poem to my boyfriend, now husband, a few years back. It means a lot to me sentimentally. I know that my little love poem won’t matter in the grand scheme of the internet, but everyone has a voice. And everyone should share that voice. Everyone thinks, talks, loves, laughs, cries, and dreams differently. So each person should be given a chance to speak. Even if it’s just a moment of recogition.

Since this was original written to someone, it will seem like I am talking to someone directly, go figure. I usually don’t write my poetry this way, but I wanted to share this poem since it’s dear to me. Sometimes I enjoy using rhyming couplets – frees the mind a bit.

To a lover,

Upon grace, upon light

you have granted me a sight.

A new life, a deepened dimension of mind

as sorrows and cries become blind.

In my cascade of mountainous emotions

peace rolls like sea glass washed beneath the oceans.


A fire is kept illuminating within my soul

flames scorching, embers warming the coal.

You are the heat to my being,

the essence to my freeing.

Capturing my entity, I am now faithfully yours,

for the living of existence

to the falling on eternity’s shores.


Empty hearts were once the tales

but rapturing to a stop, we closed our searching sails.

Magnificent to behold, bewitching in the sight,

you sent my heart’s longing in flight.

One glimpse saved my lost vitality,

an endurance for life began again on this road through mortality.


Oh darling if you could but see

the delicate sensibility you bring to me.

If I had to live without you in these years

the heavenly stars glimmer dull compared to the shine in my tears.

You are worth more to me than all the queens rubies,

more than Cinderella’s sparkling glass booties.


Someday we’ll live by the sea,

simple sweet yearnings I hope to be.

Let’s dream together of the brightest imaginable future,

God will be there to strengthen, encourage, nurture.

And our prayers to Him with praise His everlasting name

for the opportunity He granted you and I the same.

The blessing of meeting you will silence every complaint, worry, trial,

you’ll be walking right along every tittle, step, and mile.

And with this I solemnly vow

I’ll carry you half the way long –

as much as my strength will allow.


Today is the beginning of a new memory with you

Our passionate love strictly in view.

“I love you” is a simple phrase

to describe the phenomenal affection locked in my daze.

But these small words are quite simply true,

The person I will always love, adore, cherish

is you.





Love is the thing with thorns

For my poetry class, we were assigned to consciously imitate a famous poem and it took me quite a bit of digging to find the right one for me. I love Emily Dickinson’s poem “Hope is the thing with feathers” and I wanted to try and imitate and make it my own. It was an interesting exercise to do and I highly encourage trying something like this for yourself.


“Hope is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,


And the sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.


I’ve heard it in the chilliest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.


My rendition:

“Love is the thing with thorns” by Rebekah Shepherd

Love is the thing with thorns

That pierces the inner soul,

And scratches the skin without remorse,

And never stops at all,


And the sharpest in the garden is picked;

And sore become the fingertips

That are poked, prodded, and left to bleed

That throb from the immensity of rips.


I’ve felt it in the happiest times,

And in the years of bliss;

Yet, never, had a thorn,

Been a forgotten miss.


She burns like a flaming fire,

dancing and singing to the crackle of her own heat,

consuming her surroundings.

Her blazing personality

captures the hearts of many.

She radiates brilliance –

light shoots from the top of her head down to her toes,

bursting like the golden sun.

She is the essence of warmth.

Humans gather around her for wisdom and love

They worship every beat of her heart –

if she’s alive, the world is safe.

She brings others life,

her tender voice beckons salvation,

the touch of her hand brings solitude.

Oh! how lost the world would be!

Without the presence of such an individual.

The mystery remains, however,

she believes herself to be lost,

her modest nature is a plea for help,

a summon for something greater.

Her head swims with the stars and

her heart dwells with angels.

She believes herself to be searching still…

sailing away on the ocean of uncertainty .

The desire to always be better

is not a failing fancy,

but if she only knew…

Oh, if she only understood,

that she’s beautiful.

She’s inspiring.

Every movement of her soul

is electrifying.

She’s a masterpiece of true radiance,

her spirit is a safe haven

for the troubled ones.

But she wouldn’t know,

she wouldn’t know any of this.

Clocks of January

Silence pours over my eardrums

Talk to me? No — not tonight

For I am in a curious state of being

I’m feeling my blood rush through me

It’s swirling and dancing in my veins

Life is pumping from my fingertips

I pause a breath

Wait…two, now more

Hold my breath to hear the clocks

Feel time slip away

Each tick a moment faded

Into what?


Where does time go when passed?

I check my empty closet

Behind my bathroom door

Venture to the woods and pray

Not here a voice calls

Search somewhere else today.

In the meadows

Up the ally

“No.” said the drunken man

“You missed it, kid. Keep runnin’ ‘til you’re dead.”


Ah, I found it yes

Not to earn back

But my earnings here lie

Clocks are not the enemy

But what the seconds mean

Do you see?

Chasing, running, flying by

Catch it — no

Let it go

And fly with it

One secret to an old wives’ tale

Do not throw away clocks

Do not hoard them in a drawer

Do not watch it turn

Do not try to turn yourself

Lay it there

Touch it not

Do not look at all

Just feel the moments giving life

And give back something more


I Am Here

Starting out is hard. On the outside, I appear calm and collected. However, my insides are frightened to their core. I’m entering the world as an individual, alone. I’m as if a child in the dark; not sure where I’m exactly going or how to place my footing. Most times I try to avoid making confrontation with the world as much as possible. Truth is, people scare me. Not because I’m afraid of judgment, but for the reason that I don’t know what I am doing half the time. I know who I am in an eternal sense, but my character is still to be unknown, even to me.

But that’s the great thing about starting something new for the first time. Isn’t it? The uncertainty of it all gives me a chill of thrill. In a good and frightening way, but mostly one that shocks every nerve in my being with fantastic delight. For the longest time I’ve been a pile of wishes. And never making anything happen. And not because I lacked the courage or the fear of commitment, but I just had this thought (and still do at times) that what I have to offer the world doesn’t matter. And truthfully, I can’t change the whole world with my little blog, but maybe, just maybe, I can change a pool of people. Even if that pool just includes myself.

I am here because I am tired of waking up every day wishing that I would be able to express my passion in some way, shape, or form. I love writing! And when I came to the conclusion one day, I asked myself… Well, why aren’t you writing then? And dang it, I mean to. I mean to. But it’s been a struggle to realize that I don’t have to be famous or even known at all for my words to matter. And I think this is the biggest problem with mankind – that you have to be “somebody” to attempt the unknown. Why can’t everyone be a somebody? A really good mom. A really talented 11th grader. A super hip dad. Why can’t an average person by realized for the miracles they perform everyday?

The miracle I performed today was simply this: I got up from bed, I went to school, and I kissed my husband goodbye for work, and now I am here. At my humble writing desk, pondering on where I want to lead my life. Even in the smallest, simplest of ways. I don’t want to be a forgotten voice. Even if no one listens, I know that I at least made an effort to pursue a life dream. And that will be enough for me.

Disclaimer: Now I have the tendency to philosophize about life quite a bit. Should my counsel be heeded? I highly discourage it. Half of the words that spew from my ill-used mouth do not make much sense at all. Somehow in my head, they do though. But when I try to justify my thoughts, my words betray me. I’m not mighty with words, be fair-warned. Writing is far from crowning, also. But what I can say, I will. With whatever words I can curiously find. Will I make a difference in this universe? Maybe not, but maybe so. I know it will make a difference in my life. On this path to self realization, I will create a better person of myself then I was the day before.

I send this message of thought out into this vast void, hoping for a better tomorrow. What are you hoping for?