Sunday, July 22, 2018

Running out of Time

I was thinking how lately I can't seem to find the time to write or paint. I continue to take daily photos, but I can't find the time to post/share them.

But the choices are mine to make during the day. I'm the one choosing to garden or writing emails over painting or working on my book-writing. I'm the one making busy work that doesn't fill my soul.

It's funny, but the older I get the longer it takes to get things done. Where I used to check off many items on my to-do list, now I'm happy if I can get to three. Sadly, those three or four seldom have anything to do with my books or painting. 

Such is life.




Running out of Time

My ship’s body
lies broken
on the ocean floor

Debris, the bits of me
still holding to life
floats upriver on the tide
into a silent swamp
sticks to reeds
and debris from others
also just barely hanging on

Slow decay
stagnant water
leaches the life-source
from my soul
there’s no energy left

My once-vibrant ship
now has only few bubbles
rising from its broken hull
sea life already takes hold

What went wrong?
Why couldn’t I fulfill my dreams?

The papers of my stories
photographs of the many things
that caught my eye
the paintings and drawings
that made me feel alive
dissolve in salt water

I drown in my own tears.

--Sasha Wolfe

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Where Does the Joy Go















Where does the joy go
when life lays me out flat
when every little thing is an obstacle
when things just seem to go wrong?

Where does the joy go
when getting up gets harder
when life gets lonelier
when I reach out and get slapped down?

Where does the joy go
when the choices I make turn into mistakes
when decisions are mine alone to make
and I can’t think straight?

Where does the joy go
when there’s no one to share
no one to lean on
and everything comes back to haunt me?

I sink into the pits of despair
allow myself to feel the pain
but then something fans the flame
and the fires of creativity roar again

I am not so all alone,
Joy returns!

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Fire Bomb

My soul opens and the fires pour in
a huge downdraft rushes 
through my inner core
igniting the embers of my creativity

I roar in combustion
my mind explodes in a burst of flames
which quickly scorches fingertips
and forces me to hurry

This fire bomb of words and feelings
too strong, too powerful 
comes from every direction
pounds me to the ground

I’m suffocating in a fury of words
I can’t write fast enough!
I can’t breathe!

Because, of course, I’ll die
if I can’t get the words down
if I forget anything
if I misinterpret the message

But I don’t die and 
suddenly it’s over
the fires go out
leaving me drained and exhausted

I can breathe again 
and in a few seconds of rest
I relish the emptiness
As my scorched soul quickly heals

I inhale … exhale …
my mind kicks in again
I pick myself up, 
sort through the debris

The editing begins
words forming an article or a poem 
What amazing accomplishment!

Once more, I am filled with a marvelous joy!

Embers in My Soul


My gut churns 
with longing
Embers deep in my soul
barely glow
Breezes of thought
stir the coals
But not enough to fan 
the fires of creativity

A word, a thought, a sight
a spark glimmers
Emotions jumble
clamber to be free
My soul falls on paper
in words, in color
Sometimes painstakingly slow
other times a rushing flood

A poem or painting
an intense brilliance of joy
Cries to be seen, shared 
its light … my light …
casting a balance 
with the shadows of life
Not just for me
but for all

Initial burst over
my mind quiets
Flames recede
to smoldering embers
while my soul
rests in joy and emptiness
until the next flare up
the next creative flash























Sunday, January 21, 2018

Stampede

Thoughts, ideas
excitingly rush through me
like a herd of stampeding cattle

Thundering hooves
shake the ground
freeze me on the sidelines

All I can do is stare
as words and impressions
rush by in speeds
too fast, too strong
too dangerous 
to grasp


















With great courage
my mind reaches into the melee
to grab bits and pieces

Pen to paper
I slowly put together fragments
place words on a page

Form them into a cohesive plan
the latest, greatest idea
gathers momentum … but
too late, too old
too busy
to make happen.

-- Sasha Wolfe 


Saturday, December 23, 2017

Do You Hate Me?

First, an explanation:
Sometimes words just come to me. One simple thought can be the key that unlocks the flow, an opening of a door to something greater than just me. It’s not planned. There’s no pattern. I can’t control it. It just happens and can happen at any moment.

It often starts from my own self ponderings, one small thought that becomes much more. It’s as if the self ponderings slip me into another realm and I connect to a greater whole; that web of emotional energy floating around the universe.

At that point, it isn’t just about me. It’s a connection to others who have similar struggles. The feelings become mish-mashed between mine and other. Poetry puts words to feelings; feelings that are often hard to express or talk about. We can’t escape from our feelings. They hide at the bottom of our wells growing like mold if we don’t shed light on them.

These words flowing through me and up out of me help release the emotional ups and downs of life. Seeing the words written helps me better understand the humanness of life and brings light to my darkest sorrows. I find forgiveness for myself and others. As I dare to speak my truths, and acknowledge and heal my darkness, I hope my light can shine in the world to help others. 

Below is such a poem, and as many of my poems, on the outside it seems sad, but for me, it’s a wonderful release. It’s shining light on my darkest fears, and that, my friends, is a big step in healing and a reason to feel joy.

Do you hate me?

Do you hate me?
My mind knows the answer
as the question
slips into my being
as I sit here 
alone
feeling unwanted

Do you hate me?
as I blame myself
for staying away
for isolating 
for avoiding those
who might love me

Do you hate me?
as I steel myself
from love
keeping it at a distance
because it hurts too much
up close

Do you hate me?
As I struggle
to not hate myself
for being different,
as I fight off
feelings of guilt
for not being
who I think others
want of me

Do you hate me? 
Because my choices
take courage
to choose my own path
to avoid the norm
of what might 
be expected of me

Do you hate me?
My mind knows the answer
as the question
slips into my being
as I sit here 
alone
feeling unwanted
yet alive
in my creativity.






Tuesday, December 19, 2017

A Poem for Mourning

Your heart breaks
a thousand times
your soul rips to shreds;
the pain so bad
you feel you can’t
take any more

How can you
go on?
How can you face
another tomorrow?
You want to die, too …
but you don’t

You get up in the morning
put one foot
in front of the other
get through another day …
another night …
another day …

You go from intense pain
to feeling numb
sometimes the loss
is too overpowering
sometimes it hurts so bad
it feels the sorrow
will eat you alive

You feel alone
you feel no one understands
no one can know your loss.
sometimes it feels like
you’ll never get over it
that a part of you
has died, too.

You know others love you 
but they have
their own lives
they go home
to their togetherness
and you feel alone














But you go on …
slowly … day after day
and one day you pick
up the brush
paint a sky 
with your tears

Flowers and leaves
blossom from the shattered
pieces of your heart
and fall like raindrops
onto the canvas
the landscape dotted
with budding ashes

You stand back
look at your work
see the beauty 
beyond the tears
the life in the pain
comfort in sorrow

To know true love
is to feel the deep pain 
of intense loss
To know true love
is to find the courage 
to live

Healing will come
For now, allow the sorrow 
Remember others care
others are just a call 
or a prayer away
you are never truly alone.