where the writers are

Lisa Arnold's Writings

Poem
Aug.01.2012
JB Stillwater Magazine
From deep beneathcrushing smother,I pull myself from under. Sensing myself sinking belowearth’s surface, I grab holdand push myself on. Finally, I am coming to realizeI am capable of treading thesemany vacant miles. The depth of my wounds are healingand my once broken spirit is lifting,I am a survivor. Inner wealth, I have gainedand will no longer fall to the...
Poem
Aug.01.2012
JB Stillwater Magazine
earlymid-summermorning bronze-orangeskyshining brightly inside succulent winds lingers the scentof lavender eastern breezesroll off the seagently sprayingnature's mist upon vacant soulwalking aloneon white-sandbeach gracious memoriesof love's lost embracehas been awakened
Poem
Apr.09.2011
All Things Girl
Tapping my feet,feeling the rhythmof life’s beautiful beat. Tasting the wind.Keeping miseryaway and thin. Snapping my fingers,listening to jazz,rock-n-roll andHip Hop…well, maybe not. Loving the beatof the drums,twang of the guitar,thump of the bass,and the singer’sdeep raspy voice. Gliding downfifth and Mainin a bright redChevy sixty-eightragtop Caprice....
Poem
Apr.09.2011
JBStillwater Magazine
Excuse me mister,do you have a moment?My daughter has been missingfor five years. Look at this photo of her.Tell me, have you seen my child?Please do not walk away. Take a minute and look into her pretty brown eyes.Wasn't she a beautiful girl?She will be ten tomorrow. On the day, she was taken, she told meshe wanted to bea teacher like Miss Croft.She loved her...
Poem
Apr.09.2011
JBStillwater Magazine
Slipping further,I am immersedbelow earth’ssurface,my hands areblisteredand bloodiedfrom the crawl. Under veilof darkness,I wear thisthin smilehoping to maskagony of painnestled beneathmy soul's essence. Crystal raindropskeep in time withevery hurried footstepas I, frantically, searchfor proof of purpose. Refusing to believeI have walkedthese manyvacant milesonly...
Poem
Apr.08.2011
All Things Girl
  The teakettle is starting to boil on the stove. It is twenty past midnight. I should be asleep, but I am awake and alone. The sound of rain beating against my window reminds me of the day we met. It was a chilly and stormy early October morning. Do you ever think of that day? I often do. We got caught in a heavy rainstorm and found shelter in the doorway of a...