Here’s another one of my art therapy drawings. Like many people, I love old churches, especially ones with big steeples and clocks. I also like this drawing because of the wide expanse of the grassy area.
Continue readingWas it your fate to be imprisoned here?
You sit in the lotus position, clear your mind,
practicing techniques The Collective taught you –
remember that Project Z must be defended,
Portia will penetrate your puny brain, drain
your memories to catch a glimpse of vital data,
the antidote to utter control over Techno-City.
Continue readingThis bookstore is a place of dreams and wonders:
step inside, be transported to worlds both earthly and intergalactic,
away from a hum-drum existence, into something sensational.
Continue readingI’ve been writing a series of poems that are inter-connected around the same narrative. This series started with the poem “Portia,” which was published in Bewildering Stories and which I’ve posted on the blog.
Continue readingWhen democracy died, I was reading Kafka –
gunshots blared + factions fought for ideals
they thought worth dying for –
TVs tuned to Washington +
the White House went dark,
troops marched + destroyed dissidents.
Continue reading
Here’s a drawing from my sketchbook from about a year ago. I like how this one turned out! I have a small Buddha statue in my bedroom, which was the model for the drawing. I like how calm and serene the Buddha looks in this drawing, and I also like how the coloring turned out.
Continue readingWhat happened to the woman who
was nearly stoned to death?
Jesus said to not sin again,
but if she’s like me, she was
back in sweaty sheets later that day,
engaged in sinful acts – it’s a fact that
we’re far from saints + sainthood is
a hatred of humanity
but Jesus was half-God,
so it’s not so odd to believe
He died for me + whether I sin today
or tomorrow doesn’t matter much
because grace is free
(Photo by Laura Allen on Unsplash)
A teacher told my mother I’d join a cult –
that was in the ‘90s + twenty years later,
I was a recovery zealot, driving through
snowstorms to share my sorrows with
strangers, always thinking I was in danger,
fighting my impulses + a mind that
seemed to want me dead.
(Photo by Karl Fredrickson on Unsplash)
Buried deep in this sea, there is ancient treasure –
it’s been hidden for ages, from a sunken ship
that carried gold and human remains,
but all that remains
are brittle bones, skulls + chests filled with fortune –
I’ll dive deep + discover it, even if it kills me,
bring it back to this sandy shore so I can
explore this coastline dotted with land mines
from a distant war – the war that took my father + tore
this island nation to pieces: the woman wailing,
lonely in their huts without their husbands +
the children afraid of the night
when mutant-men prowl swamplands of death
+ devour human and beast alike.
(Photo by Max Okhrimenko on Unsplash)
I want to trace my family’s history,
go back + find out how we got here –
there was a suicide in the ‘70s, a wound
we carry but do not discuss –
secrets hide in the shadows
+ who knows how they affect us.
Continue readingThe writerly musings of Connie J. Jasperson, author, blogger and medieval renaissance woman.
In-depth, long-form reporting about Canada-wide topics.
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A quiet sanctuary for the drowning mind
Sacred Paths and Detours
An Exploration of Human and Divine
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