Neglect

It’s easy not to pick up the laundry off the floor

And let the piles lay like mountains you’ve never climbed

To allow papers to fill the trash bins with no plans to recycle

And it goes on this neglect, this allowance of lazy

But it’s not where I’ve been

It’s Instagram, editing, and working each day. A roller coaster of goals and no play

Then trying to fit in that tight wedge, to coexist, but get peace-d out instead

You’ve accepted your lot, tried to turn the tables, but they aren’t turning baby, and nobody is playing

There are judgments and haters, then maybe like two takers

Once in a while when I stand in the field they come up to watch me, bat

That’s the play that I get

~Angela K. Crandall~

©8/17/19

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~
©6/15/19

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
©4/13/19

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

Deep within

“And the beauty, she saw were in the tears they told her not to cry.

The pain that helped her withered flowers grow. When they threw her out of the garden, she found new soil.

It was richer, and she dug that ditch they wanted to throw her in.

She didn’t suffocate, no she took what the earth gave her, sucked its nutrients into her soul and rose!”
Angela K. Crandall
©2/28/19

Peace

Sleep is a place I go
A land I know
Where my unconscious travels
In and out of worlds unknown
Places I might have been
Wants and needs, they say
Exist played out in R.E.M.
Funny, short, long, monumental illusions
I’d often rather fight for
Than anything else
But I can’t sleep forever.
Angela K. Crandall ©12/6/18

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

Scattered thoughts

My dreams rescue me from negativity
They bring forth comfort in the company that resides there
An immense fortress of peace in a kingdom all of my own
Stillness, serenity, peaceful prayer in which I sit
My inner goddess
When I know I’ve said yes to those I should have said no to
My open heart is meant to be a treasure, but some see it as liberal trash
No one speaks of what I’ve done right
I don’t live within my past
It may be a piece of me
But it’s completed, done, over.
I’ve moved forward with the value of those who wish me success
Whose hearts I hope are open to mine as I allow them to keep their hearts open to their own Ideas I often can’t grasp.
I ask merely for tolerance
I won’t change my love for all people, LGBT, and various religions
I won’t promote the hate you prescribe
I’ll vote my way
But I do my best not to point fingers even though I don’t believe your way
I’ll keep being me
In spite of those who want to see me fall
I push myself not to dive into that hole I sometimes wish I could fill with sand
I find comfort in the castle I’ve created when I cannot walk outside my door and feel free.
Yes, I know at times-I’ll only be able to depend on me.
Why though should it give you the right to push me into seclusion
When I turn the other cheek to make me feel as if I’ve wronged you
And in the past, I would have fought you
Instead, I kept quiet.
My heart will heal, I’ll do my best not to poke the bear
Life will go on.
Still, how is one tolerant of intolerance?
It makes me hurt, sad, and angry
And so this is where I go
To my dreams to my computer to my poetry to escape
My comfort from which you cannot yet take.
My illusions that are so safe they wrap me in tranquility.
And do I care if you judge me for them-being unreal?
Go ahead, judge away because they keep me alive every day.
And I’d rather be here, exist to complete my destiny.
If there is a reason for you, there’s a reason for me.
I don’t understand why you don’t appreciate beauty in diversity.
Angela K. Crandall
©10/30/18