Scraps-From my poetry group.

Sawdust gathered on the rusted iron wheel near the wagon. I touched it’s terra-cotta handle reminiscing of the rides down hills trying to stop before we hit the next street. Years passed, many Marigolds planted in my yard, trees grew, and I cut them down never finding the fountain of youth. But I saw an elephant looking sad at the fair. I wanted to save him. That was the year my wisdom tooth pained me. When they pulled it I tried to remember the elephant, his sad eyes, and that my pain wasn’t nearly as bad.

Pain it comes and goes.

We fall and rise.

The agony of that elephant will never leave me. 

Angela K. Crandall ©May 16th, 2019

Love inside out

Soft clouds drift by as I lay in the summer sun while the whole world comes undone. My music on my phone it sings bringing me alive. Thus hopeful I stand; begin to sway to the beat, dance out to the hope inside my head. They probably want me to give up instead. I won’t let them stomp out my passions, reactions, or satisfaction. I turn off the fear they attempt to create with all their static noise and hate. I see no boundaries but open field’s ways around their exploitations, destructive games of arrogant violence. I claim peace, rainbows of beauty, and if we all could stop the judgment, they claim only one could do, then maybe they could to end the silly battle of who’s wrong or right, and just let us all live our lives and move on. No one can choose what’s right for you. Are you a dreamer too? Or do you want a government that defines it all, one that will push you against a wall? How can we be genuinely free except inside our heads, when those offensive words are read..- in a democracy…- in a world we once called free? Will we soon only be free inside our minds? We will only know in time.
~Angela K. Crandall~

Justice of June

Will the storm rage

Whipping up a battle as my heart does floundering

I gasp for breath each time I see a headline.

My heart breaks for those shot.

Losing choice

Choked up by the lack of compassion, action, hope

Hate rises 

Fear Explodes in our faces like bombs.

Everyone running to grasp their right

Without looking

Choices are what give us liberty.

To demean, void options extinguishes our faith in free will.

Puts power in our governments’ hands you claimed you wanted less of 

Yet here we are

Some doing just that

Women’s rights nixed but no way to ensure contraceptive rights, the mother’s life rights, the child once it’s born rights, or who will raise it, and one answer is not the answer. Between you and God to them isn’t the answer! 

Immigrants seeking asylum, fear pain, anything to escape the hate intolerance of their country, our country with hope, yet we starve them, separate them, treat them like cattle, to us they are not human, yet we say God loves the little children, all the children of the world, Then Why! 

Lost youths in sexual identities, Girls-love Girls, Boy loves Boy, Girl loves boy, loves Girl, and so on, but you judge! Love and fear rejection=Suicides, Self-Harm, when you could let love be! This is Freedom!

How is it liberty to take away that which allows us a choice?

How is that justice and freedom for all?!

How is it those who are hurting the most are those you Shun!

Oh, I ask you, how would you like this to be you!

And if we cannot put ourselves in one another’s shoes.

We are no longer humans, but monsters!

Angela K. Crandall



(This poem in no way is for me to impose my religious views on others. I believe in the right to be an atheist or any religion anyone chooses. It is to promote choice, love, democracy, and FREEDOM!)


Love remains in turbulence
Drafts of doubts from time to time
Then back it comes in reassuring waves
That strength between two surging
Connectivity linked
Again in sync
Dancing slowly in the darkness.
Angela K. Crandall

Early morning musings

   Simple songbirds sit singing while I lie in bed running my hands across the sheets. I put my pillow over my head to drowned out their happiness, joy, cheerful banter. Late evenings don’t mix well with wildlife in the morning. Perhaps next time I’ll tell my friends’ goodnight before the clock strikes an unsavory hour. I’ll have the will power to pull back and say no. For now, I’ll get up, and dress my coffee with a generous amount of creamer.

Angela K. Crandall


Mercy of Philanthropy

My heart swells with hope when I see hands reach out to help.

When kind words are exchanged between those who hold different views, but love is shown.

Humanity is: holding compassion for those who believe, love, look and are different from you.

Allowing them to be themselves without using who you are to judge them.

That is what true coexisting and equality is.

The only way to peace is through permitting people choices, not denying them the ability to make those decisions for themselves.

To be one world in agreement that all are authorized to have our own truths and live by them, not to suffer others to live as we say, or under a law that forces people to choose a religion, god, or forces non-belief or belief onto one another.

But to each of us an allowance to be that person inside we feel we are without hurting one another.

Angela K. Crandall ©4/29/19

The Faith of a writer

         I keep opening doors one by one, but nothing leads outside.

                     There is no destination before me, so I turn back.

            In the middle of the room, a typewriter sits on a table with sheets of paper and corrective tape.

           I sit down, clicking away hoping that if I write the correct story one of those doors will open.

                     If I use the right keywords to engage the readers, they won’t put the book down.

                That someone will open it, and it will speak to them.

                 That is what it takes to open someone’s eyes, to give them hope is to write in a way that it tugs at the soul.

It’s what all writers are reaching for.

Each one of us hopes for so that a door will open, and we won’t be stuck in the middle of the room with all the doors leading out-blocked by so many things: Doubt, writers’ block, the perception of others views of us.                              These ideas must be pitched in the trash like a manuscript you were unhappy with.

 Angela K. Crandall

Mid-Day Ramblings

Everything feels the same
No forward momentum
There is no change
But everything is changing
Even I am moving further into my life
Each step leading to aging
I am writing, serving what I feel is my purpose
Still, it is stagnant
Not, ripening like an apple
But I will rot
We all die
I attempt to live in each moment
And when I’ve risen
Someone pulls me down
Their words, thoughts actions I’m told to ignore
And when I rise above them, the hope lasts maybe a month
If I’m lucky I can brush their thoughts or views aside
Exhale and try to make things matter
This voice that screams for you to listen
And then you’re told you want attention
We all want attention, to be heard
Or would we rather
Sit back and turn on the television
Ignore the things turning around us
It’s hate, beauty, and the uniform we are forced to wear
Society’s standards are not mine
And I type on my machine
I’m in no race
Click, click, click
Words with meaning to sometimes only me
And I wonder if they glimpse at all, peak at what is underneath this skin
Of a beating heart that would bleed
For those who wish to speak
I know what it’s like to linger in the sidelines
To stop, not speaking, to not interrupt, to be polite
Because if you stumble over them, push them, or try
You have no manners
While neither will I.
Angela K. Crandall