Mid-Day Ramblings

Everything feels the same
No forward momentum
There is no change
But everything is changing
Moving
Going
Growing
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
©4/2/19

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Nano-Writer

I’ve been away typing.

Writing

Stories

Dreams

Scenario’s

Wondering if the outcome will be

Played

Made

Born

Into illusions in heads bringing them to life.

Will you feel every fear she faces, hope, needs, or desire?

How about welcoming these strange events with open arms?

Or will you toss the book aside wondering why you started at all?

Will you be appalled or fall in love with the main characters wishes?

These are my questions I ask myself as I write what’s inside, put it all down, daring to be the writer I wish to be.

Angela K. Crandall

©11/13/18

Visions of Life

When I want things I can’t have I close my eyes
Breath deep and exhale
Then count to ten.
I reach to the sky stretching my body as I would my mind.
Then let my arms fall to my sides.
I open myself up to what’s within and use it to write.
My imaginations-The life I couldn’t have
And I can re-invent it
Over and over again.
I can make it perfect, unlike reality
Or make it as imperfect and crazy as I like.
My fingertips, they hold-worlds within my mind.
Angela K. Crandall
©7/12/18

Afflicted

“What’s in my heart is what you hate.

 Freedom allows choices, the press to speak their mind.

Since January all I’ve felt is suffocation in the land of the free.

 Is brave, now pointing guns at those you disagree with and blowing them away? Why is it right for some and wrong for others.

 Don’t speak of morals for they are being lost as each star falls.

 And they are not only journalists but all of us.”

-AKC ©6/28/18

From pain comes art.

“Everyone matters and has something to give.

For those hearts that see this seeking out others with the same.

I bow to you in acknowledgment of wholeness, understanding, kindness, and yearning to connect.

Inside my soul burns to meet others who wish to collaborate in this search for universal light.

Let no one take your candle but instead let’s hold it together up high so that all can see. Let us heal each other in spite of the hate and lies surrounding us.”

Angela K. Crandall
© 1/3/18

My life

I’ve been away

I’m not playing, on vaca, or trying to deceive you.

My heart is in my last novel, a beloved series inside of this soul.

Still another idea side swept to evolve soon.

A poetry book I yearn to press into true pages that can be held by hands.

A deep passion that often at times must climb, dive, drive, and shovel pain into action.

Throughout my daily life of confessions…

Day job

Husband

Me, the wife

Family

Oh gosh, this is life?

A cycle of balance sometimes falters.

Please understand while I am away…

I’ve been wishing my fellow authors, poets, and readers the best.

Xoxo

Angela K. Crandall

 

I’ve been gone….

 working every day in many ways

I am a wife, writer, non-profit retail worker

A friend to a few

Each day I attempt to take it in 

Not waste a minute

Give and get, then give again

I’m not  free of imperfections

are you?

The cycle of the circle

In 24 hours 

The sun rises and falls

And someday we fall to

How do you want them to recall you?

Will you struggle for your dream? 

Give up something for passion only you can see.  

Then hope when someone opens the book, reads the words, they too will be touched.

It’s why I’ve been away.

And Poetry…

I’ve been writing it, just for another book.

Anticipating that someone will understand what I have to say

If not today perhaps tomorrow, or much later when I’m gone.

Angela K. Crandall

©6/1/17