TJ White Writes

This is definitely not award winning poetry and certainly requires some work, but a fun little poem nonetheless. Lock Me Up Twelve times a year, or more sometimes, I completely lose my head, I'm nuts, but don't you tell me that or you'll take back what you said. My husband knows, my parents know, I'm sure the kids do too, Look out, she's back, it's PMS, what the hell we gonna do. This womanhood we all go through is worse for some than others, It's part of life for all us girls, our sisters and our mothers. The sad thing is it's not just gross, there's the hormones, and the tears, I cry and yell and scream and shout each month of every year. My husband thinks I'm crazy and wonders what he's done, One week a month I'm an evil bitch and never any fun. My kids can never figure out which mommy they're dealing with, Sometimes I swear they want to find another place to live. Don't get me wrong I'm still just me, their m...

Sometimes when I write I close my eyes and just type. Whatever words, rhythms and rhymes come into my head I just write down. This seems to be happening more and more often over the past few days.  Today, during some down time I sat down with my coffee and computer with the intention to write something though I was unsure what exactly. I took one sip of my much needed (and well-deserved I might add) coffee before setting it down to begin writing. Before long, my musings transformed into what you see below and a cup full of cold, not so delicious, coffee.  Although this is still a work in progress I thought I would share it here. Please feel free to comment and share some feedback.  For now, I think I will try again with the coffee. Perhaps this time I will drink it while it's warm.  UNTITLED Go ahead, walk away from us, take it all in stride. Don’t look back I’m just your girl, can’t say I never tried. You say the grass is greener on the far sid...

Almost The creases have yet to fall from these curtains I have hung, Fold lines that intersect, infinitely straight. Crisp. Not hung long enough to transform the starched rigidness, For them to loosen and to drape. Folded. The dust has barely settled on the shelves above my head, Books lined like soldiers; spine to spine and row by row. Straight. There will be no silhouette cast in grey powder when they’re gone, No stories read or words inspired with memory in tow. Closed. The pictures hung upon the wall have not faded or discoloured, Some frames still remain unhinged and rest upon the floor, Unhung. Artwork unseen by guests or I, turned to face these walls, Never stared upon with hungry eyes begging ever more. Wrapped. The home that never was a home, just a place I came to stay, A door, these walls, a window and some things, Stable. A place I will remember, but not dwell upon in time, A place that didn’t give me much, but he...

SAY You say you angry, the rage inside ya’s burnin’ bright, You say it’s in your blood, something just ain’t right. You say it ain’t cause of me, then you change yo mind, You say it makes yo head hurt bad, pain that make you blind. I say I can’t take no mo’, cause you drivin’ me away. I say I’ve had enough yo shit, no good beggin’ me to stay. I say I’m gone cut you loose, leave you on yo own, I say I’d rather walk on out, I’d rather be alone. Then we say we love each other, but we screamin’ down this place, We say we can’t never be apart, but we beggin’ for some space. Then we say we ain’t gone walk away but we turn the other way, We say we gone talk it out, but there ain’t nothin’ left to say.                                           ...

It's been so long I can't remember what I wrote in the last blog entry. BUT, here we are. Writing. Again. It calls me. I swear it's like a voice in the night (and the day) that beckons me to the keyboard. I may have said this before, but I will say it again: Please don't read too much into my personal situation when reading my work. By all means take from it what you will, but don't make assumptions on what my life must be like . I have to say this because some of my work is... well... dark. I don't always write based on personal life events. Sometimes I just write. It's what comes out. For example: the next blog entry, which will immediately follow this one, came to me in a voice (no I am not schizophrenic) I had never heard/felt before. It was just there. It's not my usual style, but I like it. I think others can relate. I digress....the point is.... don't worry about me. All's good in the hood as I often say. ;) On another note: ALL WORK...

*** A short time ago, I started this other blog called The Upside of Down. I intended on writing about all the things in my life that have and will go wrong. After some consideration I have decided I'd much rather stick to one blog cause, let's be honest, I don't really have time for two. This blog, T.J. White Writes, allows me the freedom of writing what I wish. Although I am unsure as to the audience this will draw, I am sure that it will provide the outlet I need, regardless of readership. This is an exert from my previous blog. I will not be elaborating on this post.  *** I was born a Murphy. I am certain this imposed an automatic curse upon my very soul, despite the fact that I did not remain a Murphy for very long. My paternal donor hit the long and winding road, or should I say the bright blue skies, for his idea of greener pastures and better beer back in England when I was just two years old. It wasn't long before the Murphy name went with him. ...

*** So, I suppose I should explain myself... This blog stems from some work I have done over the past 4 or 5 years. I was wandering around Chapters one day and stumbled across a book called "Old Friend From Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir" by Natalie Goldberg. Although at first glance this book appears to be a novel, it is not. Instead each page walks the reader/writer through the business of writing your memories. It is an entire book devoted to unearthing, uncovering the essence of you. I have been slowly working through these exercises over the years and kept my musings tucked away until now. Each blog post is the result of a ten minute exercise. Ten minutes. That's it that's all. So, although these entries are far from perfect, they do offer you some insight into my somewhat chaotic brain.  With all this said and so many hours spent plunking away at a keyboard putting words to thoughts and letters to paper,  I do encourage anyone w...