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Ten Things Not To Say To A Writer

If you're a writer, you've been there before. Getting your hair cut, nails done, or checking out in the grocery lane and you're asked, "So, what do you do for a living? Just get off work?" "Yeah, I'm a writer," I say and smile back at them after they respond usually with one of these ten… Continue reading Ten Things Not To Say To A Writer

80s Kid, Blogging, Childhood, Daily Prompt, Differences, People, Poetry, PostADay, Reading, Topic Ideas, Wordpress, Writing

Duckie   Duckie   Watching the boy across the gym, Dancing - making my way to him. His dirty shoes and pompadour hair. We'd make quite the dancing pair. What a prom it would be with him.   © Susan Reed   I never get bored of "Pretty in Pink" and would totally love to… Continue reading Duckie

Blogging, Broken Heart, Cancer, Childhood, Death, Depression, Growing Up, Memories, Poetry, Wordpress, Writing, Youth

The Graveyard

Good morning, everyone! Normally, after I've finished creating a piece of poetry, I'll post it up here for you to read without anything said beforehand. Not so much today. I wanted to throw you guys out some warnings. This particular post is in response to the #DearDepression tag that was written to encourage awareness for… Continue reading The Graveyard


“Is there nothing more anybody can do”…

Such an honor to be a Guest Poet on Eye Will Not Cry’s blog. You can check out J’s blog here:

Eye Will Not Cry

Please welcome Susan as my latest Guest Poet.

You can read more of her work here:

If you would like to be a Guest Poet, please email your words to

To those who have partaken, thank you!

Please bear with me as I work through all the recent submissions!


“Across The Tracks”

Curled up in the dead of night,
The sense of sight is stripped away,

The distant train warns to make way.
Shaking the ground, invoking fright.

Under the bridge, they sleep tight.
Garden of hunger, the bodies unfold.

In vain they struggle to ward off the cold.
How I pray, hoping they will be all right.

In the gallows of volition the cages sing,
“Where will my next meal come from?”

Their home where the shadows skulk;
Gathering blankets and all I can bring,

Across the tracks to the slum –
A failed economy, presented in…

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