Sunday, December 14, 2014

Sound of winter leaves at night

Age is a foreign land I can't get used to. I want to go back home.

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, December 12, 2014

A girl with a pen and a passion

Still to this very day I feel flattered and giddy when someone describes me as an author, writer, or poet. Hawthorne was an author, Wordsworth was a poet. I'm just a girl with a pen and a passion.

—Terri Guillemets

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Nature's inkpen

Nature is a writer
Springtime is a poet
Winter – dull but brilliant prose master
Summer, butterflies for apostrophes
Autumn an artist, colors with words implied
Seasons have their inkpen
Broad, leafy journals
Sun an editor, no editing by candlelight
At night subdued is pretty.

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, October 10, 2014

With or without a ladder

Climb from the depths of your soul to the heights of your future.

—Terri Guillemets

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Feel it, live it

If you feel beautiful, then you are. Even if you don't, you still are.

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, August 15, 2014

Grape juice isn't wine, no matter how fine

A fine layer of dust must settle on literature before it's truly complete.

—Terri Guillemets

Monday, August 11, 2014

My mind ales me & I strain for words

Sometimes when I mean to pickup my pen
I pickup my beer,
and I write with my drunk—
the ink an intoxicant always,
more so than brew or fermented grape;
mind ferments momentarily—
      feelings, the fragrant raw hops
      words wizen into malt
      sudden fireworks of poetry
      effervesce out the bottle...

—Terri Guillemets

Monday, June 30, 2014

Empty nothings

The key to the heart. Is it different for everyone? Is it the same for anyone?

Lost in the words, lost in no words.

I smell like rotting discipline.

Do I need a plan? What is my plan? What would my plan be if I needed one?

The only thing that hasn't changed in my life over the past three decades is the "writer's bump" on my middle finger.

I need a storm.

Always trying to figure stuff out. Always. Rarely living. Always doing, but not the things that seem to matter. A day of "busy nothings" as they say. Sweet nothings, now those are actually something.

—Terri Guillemets

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Poeta insomnis

Who can sleep when all the words of the poem aren't just exactly right‽

—Terri Guillemets

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Gratitude of identity

I'm an HSP, INFj, Scorpio, worrywart, and vata-pitta. But it could be worse. I could be an extrovert.

—Terri Guillemets

Thursday, May 1, 2014

A morning in May

Spring breezes drift and tiny May birds chirp in morning's dawn-lit heart.

—Terri Guillemets

Surreality

For the INFJ, all of reality is surreal.

—Terri Guillemets

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Quiet time

Solitude coaxes magical things from our souls.

—Terri Guillemets

Monday, April 7, 2014

Too hot again

Oh puh-leeze, universe! This isn't even the first time *today* that I've burnt my tongue on melted chocolate. My will is 72% dark. Try harder.

—Terri Guillemets

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Family dinner

Homemade meals—especially mommy meals—are life's most pleasant fuel.

—Terri Guillemets

Saturday, April 5, 2014

A little after-wine ditty

Who put the flame in the crème brulée, brulée?
Who put the jam in the rama lama ding dong?

—Terri Guillemets

*Props on this mad silliness to George Jones Jr, Goffin & Mann

There are actually eight...

It's a sin to waste chocolate. It's in the Bible. Ghirardelli 3:17.

—Terri Guillemets

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

In our own little ways

Every day is a new opportunity to be grateful, and enjoy the world, and improve it — in our own little ways.

—Terri Guillemets

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Old books & fresh flowers

Old Books and fresh Flowers
Hot Tea, “thought in cold storage”
Brief the Verse, Reverie on hours
Poetry—her Mind's sweet forage.

—Terri Guillemets

* Quoted text is Herbert Samuel

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Pen & trowel

Her garden cries crimson roses
and laughs in spritely daisies.

Her poetry cries crimson roses
and laughs in spritely daisies.

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, March 14, 2014

Spring flight & grounding

Butterflies dot springtime with flitting airy kisses.

—Terri Guillemets

Falling out of a poet's nest

A poet builds his nest in the springtime tree of wild reverie, and ends up staying the year.

—Terri Guillemets

Word-blossom beautiful

A poet dips his words into springtime to season his poems with beauty.

—Terri Guillemets

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Bordering time

If your motto is carpe diem
wilted roses fit the theme
and rosebuds line every dream

—Terri Guillemets