From Stephanie Platter

THE MUSE
Writing is instinct, impulse, catharsis. It’s wordsmithing the poetry of every day happenings mixed with the prose of perfect wonderment. How does anyone deal with anything in life without a pen in hand? Stephanie Platter is a teacher, writer, singer, film critic. She learned to love coffee on the rain-stained street corners of Seattle. She learned to love people in church. For her, nothing beats fresh mountain air and sunrises, except maybe a meltably well-crafted sentence or a movie that makes her cry. Visit her movie review site: splatteronfilm.wordpress.com

Hope is Gold

RETREAT IS ESCAPE from the clutches of have-to Indulgent reward for the business of must-do The harrowing footsteps down library corridors Chasing down knowledge from book binds and test scores     Success is revision of many mistakes So summer the swimming of so many lakes Retreat is retrieving the bygones and times Of floating…

What He Fought For

I WONDER WHAT HE THOUGHT as he walked onto that cold grey-washed battleship. The gangplank long and ominous from shore to dock to deck onboard with tiny windows evenly dotting each level. Smoke stacks tall and towering met rails with lined edges and rope cords hanging like jewelry.  The Pearl was an odd concrete brick block…

The One With the Steak Dinner

I love the Y. Early in the morning, almost empty, I’m the youngest one in the changing area and the first one in the water. They like to call me “little girl.” Could be derogatory. I choose to believe it’s endearing, that they think I am endearing. The water is cold at first. Slow wade…

I am the tree fort

THE SHIRE SITS mid-mountain on the rise, home to my sweet hobbit parents. It’s there in the woods where I learned to make camp, play house, and build four walls with my imagination into any space available. A giant evergreen grows in front, jutting out from the ridge. It used to scare me in its…

Keeping Time

WOE TO THE waiting The riskers for taking For thinking too seriously I’ve mustered and busted And cornered and clustered And wrestled with moments like these The stuff of life begs and it pleads for attention The thief steals creativity That cruel spy is timing To ruin and live by I’ve rushed and I’ve hustled…

Book Ends

GOG AND MAGOG. THE PORCELAIN NOSES of the two opposing lions posed staring at the ceiling for what must have felt a decade. Their postures sure. Their motives steadfast.  First and last, beginning end, alpha omega. Never the leaders of any pack, they preferred to sit and ponder the world. Philosopher cats. The interior worlds within…