Stuck in the Mud (a poem)

I feel so stuck in the mud.
It is disheartening.
I tell myself
to move on
to let go
to have hope
and to love again
but those things
are easier said then done.
Rejection takes such an ugly toll.
Fiery darts to your soul.
Part of your heart feels forever wounded
and the healing is so painfully slow.
So tired of this world.
Guys want a girl’s body
but that can destroy her heart.
I wish more guys
were walking in honor and seeking
a woman worth waiting for
rather than pleasure for the moment.
But some things should be sacred
and in a lifetime commitment.
Marriage is a sacrament,
but society mocks the holy
and people of faith
and that makes me
want a revival of passion
and purity.
Maybe my guy is out there
amidst the billions of people
in this world.
But he keeps passing me by
and thus the longing in my heart
makes me cry.

New Year, New You (a personal poem)

A new year full of promise and secret dreams.

A new year, a fresh start, and hidden deep waters.

The dazzle of potential is blinding.

The beauty of a clean slate

is liberating,


and causes happiness to permeate

my forlorn melancholy.


Light always shines in the darkness.

Light always is beautiful.

Light always shows the way.


My theory is thus:

I need to learn to make my own decisions

and stop over-analyzing and questioning


My hopes.

My dreams.

My heart.

And I need to safeguard myself from the voices

of those who would make my decisions for me

when that is not their choice,

and they should not be allowed to do so.


It is a new year.

I am a new me.

I want to break free

and go down a new path

(yes, I read that Robert Frost poem)

even if no one will join me.

I hope to find someone on the way,

because I am not meant to always be alone,

and God knows

I would make a horrible nun

(even though Mother Teresa is one of the women

that I admire the most).

Besides, I am not Catholic,

and I think marriage is the epitome of cool.

The world may dismiss it, but I won’t.

Marriage is beautiful.

“She Paints in Blue”

She paints in blue

with brushstrokes deep and symbolic

of her heart.

Sometimes the blue is

the color of the ocean

and the beauty speaks to her

in a way that words are not quite

eloquent enough.

The calm.

The peace.

It soothes her soul

and echoes throughout her being.

Sometimes the blue is a melancholy blue

as it was today.

That shade of blue she paints

with an unsteady hand

and an intense gaze,

missing moments that she should not have missed.

Her inner Eeyore

Poked his sad ears down,

droopy and discouraged.

Twisting her ankle in the morning,

she was glad the pain eventually went away,

but it seemed one thing unfortunately led to another

and somehow Eeyore momentarily turned

into Oscar the Grouch.

Not her finest day.


The last blue that she paints with

is a vibrant electric blue.

It excites her.

It inspires her.

It is one of her favorite colors.

Whenever she sees that blue

it makes her happy.

It is the shade of blue that she likes best.

She thinks electric blue is the color of

a man’s perfect dress shirt

or her dream Mustang.

It just seems perfect effortlessly.

She paints in blue

and a window opens to her soul.

*Poet’s notes: I used to love to paint when I was young, especially with oil paints. While I don’t really paint anymore, this poem was inspired by the beautiful color blue. I find it a shade that conveys so many things emotionally and aesthetically.

Purple Toes and Black Hair (a Poetic Ode to being Bold)

She decided she wanted to write

a poem about purple toes and black hair.

She is not usually silly

or prone to fluffy things,

but light-hearted poetry

seemed a distraction to her

from discouragement

and the problems in her life.


She got a pedicure recently.

It was by a sweet Asian young woman

who did not speak much English,

but did a good job with painting

her toes a bright, pretty purple.

She picked it out to be

different and a bit funky.

She has a slight alternative side

that sometimes she hides well,

because some don’t see it as professional

and there are lots of different styles

that she enjoys.


She once dyed her hair purple

and helped her friend dye her hair

green and then blue

when her friend hated the green.

They were going to the Tooth and Nail tour

to see two bands that they liked who were uber-cool.

The purple dye was only for one day and temporary,

but sometimes she wouldn’t mind

making it more permanent

if only she was younger,

or if she didn’t care what people thought.

That thought makes her sigh,

because people like to judge based on appearance,

and society’s fashion rules for women

can sometimes be quite oppressive,

confining, limiting, and immodest.


She really wanted to be bold

so with her birthday she decided to dye her hair black.

She had never done that before.

It was a light, pretty black that she was drawn to.

But she got sick right before her birthday,

and thus her friend could not dye her hair.


Time went by,

and she had second thoughts,

but it bothered her that

she didn’t take that bold step.

She almost took the hair dye back

but, even if she hated it,

even when someone told her she may look like Elvira,

she just knew she needed to try it.

She needed to not live her life in a box

or worried about what other people thought.


She liked it, once it was done.

Black and bold

in her estimation.

But for some reason it quickly faded

and came to look more like a dark brown.

Still pretty, but not bold.  Not black.

Not the pretty black she had hoped for.

Funny, though, she observed that

many people did not even notice,

and she had thought it was so obvious

and so BOLD.


She is quite glad that she tried purple toes

and black hair.

She keeps telling herself

that change can be good

when she feels stuck in a rut

and like she can’t feel her dreams anymore.


*Poet’s note: Most of my poetry is personal, however sometimes I like to tell a creative story.  In the case of this poem, it is a true story, and I am the girl with purple toes and black hair.

Before hair dye picture of me (Rosemary Case, photographer)

Before hair dye picture of me (Rosemary Case, photographer)

Before black hair dye picture (Rosemary Case, photographer)

Before black hair dye picture (Rosemary Case, photographer)

Mid black hair dye (Rosemary Case, photographer credit and my Mom)

Mid black hair dye (Rosemary Case, photographer credit and Mom)

Instagram photo of me and my brother, Kevin (two days after black hair dye; Lyle Smith, photographer)

Instagram photo of me and my brother, Kevin (two days after black hair dye; Lyle Smith, photographer)

Toes are not the cutest subject, but I want to show off my purple toes and pedicure (Julie A. Smith, photographer)

Toes are not the cutest subject, but I want to show off my purple toes and pedicure (Julie A. Smith, photographer)

“Hopeful Girl” (Original Poetic series after “Shy Girl”)

“Hopeful Girl”

The hopeful girl stares down at the blank page

and ponders the fresh promise of a new year.

Sometimes, like a bird, she needs to soar out of her cage,

and stop being afraid of the unknown fear.

The hopeful girl jots down some poetry

as she ponders her resolutions of the new year.

She wants to embrace life, love, and be free,

and seeks lasting love to forever draw near.

The hopeful girl seeks fresh dreams,

passion, purpose, love, faith, and renewal.

Seeking the tarnish to rub off of her edgy seams,

her hidden desire is to shine like a beautiful, pure jewel.