Newsletter August-September 2026

Posted on by sereichert

Hey kids,

It’s Newsletter Time! I know it’s your favorite. Who doesn’t love reading about some weird-ass author who ironically pretends that this is something people care about. Let’s get started shall we?

GARDEN UPDATE:

Shit is drying out. It’s hot. The tomatoes have put a little too much effort into foliage and less into fruit so I’ve done some pruning. The rain we had last week was welcome and I hope there’s more. Also–why have we suddenly started calling this “monsoon season” in Colorado. Monsoons are not the same weather phenomenon. Are we also seeing King Cobras on the dry-ass hiking trails? No. Language matters. Don’t be misleading or sensationalist. Anyway, here’s some evidence of me not killing a few things.

I’ve always just loved the leaves on nasturtium and the blossoms are edible

Of course the only squash producing is fu*king zucchini. The bane of my existence. If a bag mysteriously ends up on your doorstep, as Shaggy says, it wasn’t me.

I ate this one after washing it with the garden hose. Because good microbes, and things.

Soon, I will have more tomatoes than I think I’ll be able to responsibly eat. So, please feel free to come by and pick some over the fence. The goddamn bunnies and squirrels have eaten a lot of my flowers (nipping the buds off the echinacea is an interesting choice, I guess they’re warding off the flu).

But the coolest news by far is that over the course of a month, I’ve managed to befriend two crows. It’s slow going and consistency is the key but this morning I heard one calling (their names are Merry and Pippin of course) and when I opened the door she was on the front steps, waiting. So we sat and I had coffee and she had nuts and Ritz crackers and it was a lovely time. One step closer to being an old bog woman living completely off grid and giving my remaining days over to the forest.

OTHER STUFF:

School is starting this week for my youngest and next week for the oldest. I don’t know why the end of this summer feels so much sadder. I think they are both trying some new stuff and there’s a little hint of anxiety in the air that is hitting different. If you know about my youngest, you know last year was a struggle. Eating disorders are nasty, and terrible, and if you’re the kind of person who posts skinny-culture shit on your social media, I kinda wish you’d go to hell. The biggest lie society ever sold us was that being smaller, weaker, and skinny was attractive and that being attractive to men is all we are good for. Anyway, beyond my soapbox, my kiddo is taking on a new semester with a full class-load and lunches on her own and that might not mean much to most people but to us, it’s a big deal. Send your good thoughts, your prayers if you pray, your hopes that she remembers to love herself and her beautiful body more than the pressures of skinny culture in a white-affluent-entitled school.

The oldest is having the normal issues of if they’ve picked the ‘right’ field/major/concentration, and what if they’re wrong. I told them life is 90% about being wrong. You don’t learn anything when you’re right. Weird that the world puts so much pressure on them to know exactly what they’ll do and it better be lucrative. Fuck capitalism by the way. They had a breakdown about living at home. And how that made them a failure. I reminded them, that in my college days, an apartment cost me $450 a month, I had a paid internship, and college was 1/3 the cost that it is today. They’re not failing anything. Society is failing them. Man…sorry I could go on about things that aren’t really relevant to my writing life, but these are things that are important to me, and probably to a lot of us. Our economy sucks. Really rich people are to blame. Anarchy and revolution are justified for survival. Let’s move on.

Writing and Editing:

Heir to Time came out! It always feels particularly satisfying to be done with an entire series. Usually I feel a little bittersweet, but this beast was different. I’m glad it exists. I’m glad I wrote it. I still love the characters. But I’m also glad I can move on.

I’m in my final round of edits for “Eight Nights in Everpine Valley” my anti-Hallmark Holiday novel about a Jewish Carpenter living in a Christmas town, who falls into cahoots with a Feminist Studies professor. It’s ridiculously a middle finger to the schmaltz of the holiday frenzy, but despite that, it’s also really heart forward and sweet. There’s a cranky aunt, a has-been cheerleader, shenanigans, and a little spice. I hope you like it as much as I do. I felt like myself again getting to write it. The tentative release date is September 28th? I’ll let you know for sure if you check out my socials.

My edits for “FaeSpawn” (mythology-based, contemporary fantasy, set in the Ornkey Islands north of Scotland and south of Scandinavia) were interrupted for the proofreading for the holiday novel, (you might recall last month they were delayed for Heir–always the book in pipeline, never the book) but I have made it through one whole round and I’m killing my darlings in this next one. Listen…there’s a little bit of “why choose” and a little bit of “fated mates” and a main Woman Lead who is tough as shit and has lived a hard life. But she’s also a Fae with a little secret that will save (or ruin) the fate of the world. Plus–Y’ALL, I’ve never written a red-headed male lead and I’m having SOOO much fun with it.

Here are some teaser pictures from my Pinterest Board

I’m in the process of transcribing all of the poetry I’ve written over the last few years for an anthology out next year (possibly from a publisher). My lovely friend Nina texts me almost every week to check in. She’s the most lovely, beautiful soul and if you don’t have a Nina in your life, get one. So far I’m up to over 50 pages of work. With about 60 more poems to get into the file. Then the editing starts.

Reading:

I’ve started “The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin”, by Alison Goodman. The first was such a fantastic romp, with adventure, humor, and romance. Plus to get to read something, albeit fictional, about women in their forties destroying abusive systems that hurt and imprison women is pretty satisfying. It’s great so far. Please check her out. It’s great writing.

I finished “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”. It was a fun and light read with still some interesting thoughts on society as a whole.

I’ve been thumbing through, pausing, and sighing a lot over Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. Because he always has something to say that ripples out through time.

I finished a middle book of a series that I picked up at The Lioness Lane Bookery in Riverton over my stay in Wyoming. Called “The Headmaster: Lessons from the Rack” by Tara Sue Me. It was a light/semi-dramatic book about the world of BDSM and Dominate/Submissive play. She is a New York Times Best Seller, and I’m not saying the book wasn’t good, but… something felt flat about it. I’m super interested in the world and the dynamics and psychology. She did well at writing the intimate scenes, but I just never connected or cared much for the characters. So I picked up this:

because I want to write something that’s not just the naughty shock value selling it, but the dynamic of power structures, the deep seated trust and love that needs to be part of the process. I feel like, as a character writer, I could bring something deeper than 50 shades or The Rack academy into play. Something that feels like a heartfelt exploration of what it means to submit and what it means to dominate.

Events

Eight Nights in Everpine Valley is nearing completion. This book should be out at the end of September. I’ll keep you posted on the details as I have them. I do know there might be a book signing of the available 5 Prince Publishing Holiday novels at the Tree-Lighting ceremony in downtown Fort Collins. It could happen.

WRITING HEIGHTS WRITERS RETREAT

Mid September I’ll be up in Winter Park cooking for, and hopefully inspiring a group of determined writers to spend three days working solely on their projects and getting those word counts in. There are still three spots left and to be honest, this is the cheapest retreat I’ve found out there. So, please, think about signing up. They are good people, it’s a time just for you, to invest in yourself and your writing, there are no pesky ice-breakers or critiques (unless you want them). It’s just time. The only commodity you’re not getting any more of. Here’s the link. I’d love to see you there:

WHWA FALL RETREAT

Closing:

I was told this week by a male acquaintance that they didn’t know how I put out novels as quickly as I did. The source of the question sort of made me second guess the intention and wonder if it had something to do with quantity over quality. Then came the imposter syndrome and the questioning if it’s all just fluff. I get it, I don’t have an MFA and I’m not making any major lists. But then I sat down to really think about my process. Most of the books coming out for my publisher were books I started and nearly finished writing over the last 15 years.

I didn’t just start them in one year and bang out twelve. They were all shaky seedlings I’d planted years before and had shaped and trimmed and worried over for years. Some do get written fast, like the holiday novel. But that’s because I am passionate about writing, and I’m passionate about my characters, writing feeds me–it breathes inside my lungs and gives me life when the rest of this fucked up world is falling apart around me. And a deadline will do a girl wonders. And despite whatever else is happening in my life, I will make the time. In fifteen minute increments throughout the day, or up-til-midnight sprints. When my characters talk, I listen and take notes. That’s how it’s done.

So instead of taking the bait of I write dime-a-dozen books, I realized that I have a fire inside of me, and not everyone has the skill or drive to write like I do. Along with that, there is an acknowledging that I won’t be around forever. I know I’ll die, probably sooner than I should. I’m not so much upset about my own demise as I am all of these characters and stories dying with me. I feel it’s important to also note that it was a man who asked the question. And my first thought was to respond, well, if you want something done, give it to a mom (aka the world’s busiest human), because we won’t hem or haw, we don’t have time to pussy-foot or stall. We don’t have time to fuck around. Other shit needs done. So if you’re gonna write you don’t get the luxury of waiting for a muse, or the right ‘vibe’, or an idea you think is ‘worthy’ of the New York Times Bestseller list. You just write. I just write. Some authors are faster than me, some are slower. But the process and the love invested is the same. It’s always, everything.

Take care of each other, take care of yourself, love.

Writing Frequently Asked Questions

Posted on by sereichert

I’m on a bit of a respite this week, out of town and putting myself in a mandatory time-out while one of my kiddos is learning all about Paleontology and hopefully making some cool memories. So I’m sitting in a hundreds-year-old farm house, that may in fact be haunted, and catching up on some work and some rest…mental and physical.

Because of that, I’m rerunning a blog from about 4 years ago, updated to reflect what’s happening nowadays. Oddly, not too much has changed except the projects I’m working on. So, enjoy. And if I don’t call or email you back right away, just know that I’m retreating from the world in a healthy manner.

In the course of my career, as soon as people know I’m a writer, I’ve gotten a lot of questions, ranging from the concerned “What did your parents do to you?” to the outright rude, “Oh, so what restaurant do you bus tables at?” But some are genuine and interested.

I’ve picked out a few questions not just to give you my personal answers but as a way to think about your own journey as a writer and why having the answers to some of them is important, whether you get asked or not.

Writers Frequently Asked Questions:

How do you come up with your ideas?

I dunno man. It’s part magic and part just paying attention. Sometimes it’s a character from my childhood that I want to reformulate and expand upon. Sometimes I’m watching a nature show on octopods and flip the station to an expo on genetic research. I will say this for the good writers I know. Ideas are everywhere, and it’s all about paying attention to why each story, article, factoid, or fungi is interesting and how they could be moreso. Even though tropes and genres rarely change, the situations, characters, and actions are an endless pool of inspiration.

I’ve written about space captains and cowboys, Krampus’ nephew and Bacchus as a modern-day AA member. I’ve written about a nurse with OCD and a child who was the reincarnation of Peter Pan… Ideas are everywhere. Go on line, find prompts. Read the newspaper. Watch people. Read. Think about what makes a good story—a character you care about, an impossible situation, high stakes, dynamic growth. And give your brain down time to think and daydream (walking the dog, in the shower, at your kid’s soccer game—don’t look at me like that it’s okay to zone out for those once in a while too). Play with the What-If and don’t self limit.

Also—buy a small notebook and a pen (or you could use your phone, ugh) and write down things you notice, articles that were interesting, conversations you overhear, even the strangest ideas from out of nowhere. You never know…

How many hours do you write a day?

Pshhh… Listen, if all I needed to do in a day is write, I’d probably say at least 4 to 5 hours or more. But I don’t know any of us who don’t have some other job, a family, or otherwise adultish tasks to complete. So, I’m going to be completely honest and watch die-hard writing theorists gasp in shock.

Somedays I don’t write at all.

*gasp! How does she even call herself a writer!?*

Somedays I’m so plagued with class planning and familial obligations and oh-my-god-whats-growing-in-the-bathroom-sink, and teaching, and making dental appointments that I don’t get to sit down at my computer until late in the evening when my brain is effectively mush.

But it’s not always about the quantity.

Because sometimes on those nights, in the span of twenty minutes before bed, I can bang out three or four solid pages. Sometimes I only stare bleary eyed at what I wrote earlier in the week. The point is, it isn’t about the hours and hours of singularly devoted time you put in. It’s about concentrating and working with focus for every minute you do get and making it impactful over time.

So—on average in a week, I maybe write 1-2 hours a day. If you factor in editing and rewrites and marketing and advertising my stuff, that probably gets bumped up to about 3. It’s not as much as some…but for now, it’s what I have to work with and I capitalize on all the moments I can.

What are you working on now?

I’m not like other writers. I’m a goddamn, flighty scatterbrain. So my answer is…complicated *wheels out an old chalkboard packed full of a complex theory, diagrams, and stick figures*.

At any given moment I’ve got multiple projects and I’ll tell you why.

Because I get bored. And sometimes I’m tired. (hahahahaha—ah…that’s funny because I’m ALWAYS tired)

I’m not saying I can’t sit down, focus, and write a novel, end to end in about a month. I can. I have. I usually reserve all of November to do that. Or on projects with co-authors as there are expectations and deadlines to meet.

For me, having multiple projects that I enjoy helps to keep me engaged and inspired and lets me cater my writing to the state of my life that day.

Maybe I only have twenty minutes. So I write a poem, or submit a poem. Or both

Maybe I have an hour, but I’m not feeling very fictional—I work on my weekly blog or catch up on emails from other writing projects. Or get a solid chunk of editing done.

Maybe I have an uninterrupted afternoon, I’ve been daydreaming about my characters and what I can do to torture them…I’ll bust out a few chapters on my novel.

Being a writer is a career best done when diversified.

One, we learn how to write better when we give ourselves more variety.

Two, we will burn out less often when we can take breaks from something that’s got us stuck—AND, AND AND…sometimes being able to put down ‘stuck’ projects and work on something else will lead to that magical AHA moment of unstuckness, because your brain has stepped back and can look at it without so much intensity.

Three, in terms of getting paid? You might love your novel, but its your magazine articles that are paying for your PB and J’s while you wait for the next publisher to realize how amazing you are (and you are amazing)…so have something more lucrative if you want.

Four, I hate to say it, but marketing, editing, and submitting count as writing. It’s the new and best chance way to really make it as a writer these days.

So—what am I working on?

A new series. Tentatively: They Eynhollow Series. About an orphaned Fae who discovers her destiny was a lot bigger than a boxing ring in Detroit. I’m through the first heavy rounds of edits and will clean it up further to hand into my editor by the end of August. The next two in the series will follow in the coming months so that (she said fingers crossed) both will be completed and handed in by the end of the year for publishing in 2027. I’m also working on a new novel (that’ll get some extra love in Writing Heights Novel in a Month challenge). Midlife romantic comedy.

Getting ahead on my blog posts

10 poems planned to write in my little ‘mental reset’ vacation.

Organizing about 50+ poems for a new anthology that I’d like to shop around to publishers next year

1-2 Submissions a week (leading to new poetry and flash fiction pieces)

Marketing for my third novel in The Time Keeper Series out AUGUST 11th

Journaling every day

You make any money at that?

No.

Not at all.

After editing, marketing, and website fees are factored in, I’m actually, constantly, in a hole. In fact, I love writing so much, I started working a part time job just to afford it.

But this is important to know about yourself as a writer. Why do you write? For the money? Because there are ways to do that—freelance, magazine articles, content writing, textbook editing. But you should also know that getting published right away, with a good book deal and royalties is not common. It isn’t impossible but you’re going to have to work for it.

My suggestion is to write because you love it. Because if you do that, and you throw it out into the world to see if it lands with someone, and it doesn’t get picked up, then at least you loved what you did, enjoyed what you made, and created something that was meaningful. And that’s not nothing.

If you don’t enjoy it and try to meet a trend, or publish some MFA tome that you hated every minute of, I honestly believe that the chances of it ‘landing’ and being picked up, are less.

Stories with heart and passion behind them, are just better stories.

Do you get writer’s block?

I go back and forth about those two little words. Yes, I believe that writers can get blocked. but I prefer to call it “Life Blocked”.

Writing doesn’t get blocked. We block ourselves. We get in our own way. Life gets in our way. The other worries, concerns, judgments, conflicts, and comparisons surrounding us get in our way. The writing is always there, just waiting to come out. It’s not beyond our reach. Until we put up walls of insecurities and excuses in our own path.

Somedays the inspiration isn’t there. Write anyway (see my answer from above about switching up projects, doing something that is still writing but not what’s got you puzzled). Somedays you are burnt out. Take a day off. Watch stupid movies. Take a nap. Keep your hands off the computer until you’re gnashing to get back to putting words down. Writers forget that inspiration is always there, you just sometimes have to clear out the path before it will flow. That might mean writing that scene you’ve been dreading until it turns into one of your favorites. Or sitting in the chair, writing the worst shit you’ve ever written nonstop for thirty minutes via a timer until you realize that it’s not all bad and that you were just afraid admitting that we all write shitty stuff sometimes.

Don’t believe in writer’s block. Believe in normal human emotion and limitation, give yourself grace but don’t give yourself excuses.

Where can I find your work?

Always know this answer and, if possible, have a card with your info on it. You can find my work on Amazon, libraries, in some journals and newspapers as well as on my website. www.sarahreichertauthor.com (and yes, get a website). Also this reminds me to update my website, which I’m TERRIBLE at.

How do you finish a book, I just can’t!

How do people climb Mt. Everest? How do people raise children? How do people retire comfortably after 45 years of work?

One step at a time. Always forward. Never giving up. Pause if you need, catch your breath, remember why you’re putting in the work, eyes on that distant horizon and keep moving. You will get stuck. You will want to quit. There will be stories you do have to quit or rewrite completely. Just don’t stop writing. One page a day. One sentence. Six chapters. It doesn’t matter. People who don’t finish their books have let the world win. They let their doubt win. They let the aspect of editing and cutting out what wasn’t working win. They let the fear of finishing a book and what that might mean for expectations on them win.

Don’t let fear or hard work stop you. Just write. Because you love it. Because you love the character. Because you love the journey. Because you love being lost in that world. When it gets hard, shift course, skip over the dark and come back after you’ve written through some light. There are a million ways to quit. But there are at least as many to persevere. Find what makes you keep going and do that.

Poetry: The Truth of Elliana Byrne

Posted on by sereichert

Good morning. Wednesdays are what I affectionately call “Therapy Thunder Dome” (would have a better ring if it were “Therapy Thunder Dome Thursdays” but we work with what we have). So since my little peabrain will be too tired to blog well (as if my rested brain does it ‘well’) I’m recycling an old poem from a supposed former contributor. Here’s what I what once wrote:

“Today’s poetry comes to us from a former and continuing contributor to The Beautiful Stuff’s Poetry Anthology. Ms. Byrne has a knack for gripping the guts with her poetry and, as an almost graduated student at the University of Boulder, she is finding her way with a powerful voice in the world.

Elliana spends her days reading (sometimes for fun…most times for class), daydreaming, and writing. She studies English Lit and dabbles in short stories and poetry when possible. She enjoys life best curled up with a good book and her cat, Gil. You can read her work in last year’s anthology “No Small Things” (https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1692331558/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1“

The truth is that I am Elliana Byrne. And I used the pen name because some of the poems I had written felt too visceral to put out into the world. But after having gone through this last year, I’ve realize life is nothing but visceral and I don’t have a problem trying to hide the gory truth of what it sometimes means to be human in all of our messy failings. So…please enjoy, and think about what masks you’ve worn, and if maybe, in light of these lives of ours being unbelievably short, if it’s time to take them off, and just be unapologetically you.

And now this:

Clean Slate

I want to wipe away 
the grievances of your skin
and its heated strokes against mine
and darken the unforgiving universes 
of your eyes
that know and
do not know me

But the treasonous mind
casts wayward glances,
over shoulders turned cold
and the love and ache of wounds
that should be healed over
still echo in weakening heart beats

this disloyal heart
casting out lines 
into currents that have battered the boards 
of my ship
and sunk it deep, 
where it now lies 
desolate and quiet a tomb
on the ocean floor
waiting, in vain,
for a tug of interest

treacherous
and dissonant soul 
vibrating in time
to the sound of yours
even when the harmonic waves
shake my teeth and
dislodge my brain
and seize my nerve endings

I will sit in this heavy deep
and wait
for reason or worse
divinity
to tell me how
to clean you off
by needle or by blade
I will close my eyes,
turn my back
and huddle in
to the shipwreck of me
and cut lines
until
i bleed clean
again


Life and a Bit of Poetry

Posted on by sereichert

I have to be honest. I didn’t get a post written this week. I’m actually surprised I’m even getting it done the day of. But if nothing else, I believe it’s consistency that builds skill, trust, and a life in total. So here’s a slap-dash post.

First, I’ve been truly busy this week working on a labor of love: The 2024 Writing Heights Youth Anthology (Name to be revealed soon!) I’m the Youth Coordinator and every month I plan out a lesson and writing prompts and load my heart up with lots of joy and compassion to teach a free class to teenagers about writing. We have about 15 in person and virtual students and the class varies in size depending on the stresses of school and life and other activities. But the work and I are always there (see above about consistency)

So far, the group has put together nearly a hundred pages of poetry, prose, fiction and non fiction pieces about life from their perspectives and stories from their imaginations. And its pretty damn good, if I do say so. Along the way, they’ve learned how to explore different modes of writing, critiquing and editing and what it means to communicate with each other and the world. This anthology is about more than just their first publishing credit, and getting paid for words. It’s about trusting in their voices, and learning that speaking up and speaking out is one of the greatest tools they will ever have to change their world and lead their own unique and beautiful lives.

That being said, I struggle with formatting and arrangement so… the majority of my time has been in trying to get each font just right, within the proper margins, and editing those pesky lines a few more times. The book should be out in July and I’ll let you know when the big release date is. Until then, if you’re interested in donating anything to the organization, you can contact Amy or Jess at director@writingheights.com . It’ll help us offset the costs of publishing, make sure the kids are paid for their hard work, and get the good word out about the program.

Now, I’ve gotta go try to make a table of contents *shudder*. Here’s some poetry.

Reluctant Hope

Every morning I wake 
with a shuddering light of hope
in my chest

Weary from the day before
denied sustenance and light in kind
Yet, somehow...
I still wake with it

It strikes me as foolish
to hold on to this frail bird of a thing
in the dark cavern of my chest 
neighbor to the empty heartbeats 
that pump sanguine rivers
to heavy limbs

Still, she settles there
a stray who found warmth
on an otherwise rough
and dirty-guttered street

And when my eyes open
she blinks too
pulls my granite limbs up
like stringed fingers to a puppet
and whispers
a wind through grasses
from far away shores
of better days
That today
today 
this day
will be better

Shuddering, flickering,
a loose bulb swinging in a dark room
making an arched smile as she dances
we'll make today better

Poetry 6-13-2024

Posted on by sereichert 
Her List

let’s make a list
of all the things
I didn’t do
of all the tasks
still uncrossed
the boxes
unchecked
and measure my worth by them.

How it had been months
since I last dusted well
and when some fog of
depression lifted
and I stared in disgust
he breathed a sigh 
of ‘finally’ relief
and happily let me scrub them down
even seeing my obvious self-loathing

what did you do with your day?
I erased months of my skin cells
erased months of myself
with disgust at the oily build up
of what I’ve become…

but no matter how much grey brown filth
I rinse down the drain
I’m still here

were that my cells finite,
and every time I shed
I just became smaller
and smaller
and smaller
until one day
I would blink out of existence.

a last checked box
disappear, 
check.

Poetry 6-29-2023

Posted on by sereichert 
Distance

There is a particle of smoke in the air
a memory of a tragedy
carried from miles away
from a place where someone's world
was lit on fire
and nothing but the traveling ash
remains
now an infinite shudder
rippling across the world
of their universe, destroyed
muted with the distance
into one particle

and I wonder
who is tasting my tragedy?

on some distant shore
does someone lift their nose to the breeze, 
close their eyes inhale and think

There's a bit of heartache in the air
I wonder who's world burned down
I hope they're okay.

I hope I'm okay
Guilt

Someone said to me today,

not all guilt is bad

she said, 
you feel guilt
because you stood up 
for yourself

because you showed someone
that you matter too

that this guilt is learned
when we constantly put others' happiness 
in front of our own
we feel guilty 
for not giving away our light
to help them shine
we feel guilty
for not allowing them
to dictate our actions 
out of fear for their feelings

but this guilt
should be unlearned

and maybe the true source of the guilt 
should be reimagined

that we feel guilty 
because it took us so long
to stand up for our own heart

Poetry 5-1-2023

Posted on by sereichert
Photo by James Frid on Pexels.com
Full Stop

Have you ever fallen
tumbled so terribly hard
that when the ground comes up
to meet you
it knocks your soul out
so you lay 
dead for a full moment
without air in lungs and 
blood stopped
staring into the thin blades of grass 
and the tiny loose pebbles of concrete
the smallest of worlds
in sharpest of view

full stop

world stopped
no more spinning
in dizzy laughing love
an idiot comprised of chemicals 
and false hope

and the ground beneath 
certainly has broken 
your kneecaps 
and cracked your sternum
into your faulty heart 
and bruised your hip bones
in ways he never did
and the bleeding of your palms
is communion to the earth
paid in full 
for the first reality you’ve known
since the daydreamy excursion
that robbed you of self

I have fallen
and I see the ground for what it is
and the weightless joy of you
is nothing more than
the precursor of pain
one more round on a faulty
merry-go-round
with rusty handles pulling free 
and rattling with 
uncertainty
until it tosses me off 
into the grave of ground

full stop

I stare at the grass
the small pebbles
and make myself soak in the shock 
as it rides over my body 
like waves
and I open my arms wide
to each salt spray of pain
until they pull back

full back

into the sea

and I remember

to

breathe
in full

don't stop.

Poetry 5-11-2023

Posted on by sereichert

Hey kids, I’m getting things ready to format the upcoming (and much delayed) “Beautiful Twist” Anthology. A big thank you to the contributors who’ve been so patient and understanding as I navigated through the complexities of compiling all of the different works coming in. I’ve been fortunate this year but also very busy. Preemptive release date for the anthology will be July 2023. Here’s a little smackerel of poetry.

When Last Did You Sit In Silence?

When last did you sit in silence
only the oceanic rush 
of your own breath
filling the tide pools of your lungs
drawing back out 
into the world

When last did you sit in silence 
and feel the crushing weight 
of a world decimated
in human destruction 
and did you wonder
how much better it could be
without your clumsy footfalls
your grunting breaths
 and dripping sweat
as you toil to leave behind the reckless
hurtful fire of man behind

Didn't you feel so small?

When last did you sit in silence
a speck below a billion stars
and feel the 
unbearable lightness of being
insignificant
the silence a reassured shush
of our mother
reminding you that
you are just a moment
 a stardust burst
in a vastness that will
soon forget you
if it ever knew you at all

Doesn't it make you feel 
so small?

When last did you sit in silence
and feel this freedom?

Don’t forget to check out The Writing Heights Writing Conference this May (tomorrow is the LAST DAY to register for in person sessions so get on it!!) The link is here: Conference Registration.

Also, for more of my poetry or my novels, visit this site: S.E. Reichert Novelist

Poetry 4-20-23

Posted on by sereichert

Today I’m going in for a root canal, after a rough week both personally and professionally. So…while I’m ‘enjoying’ all of my experiences, please enjoy this.

Let it seep beneath your clothes, let it draw out memories, a needle to the dark blood, and wash you clean again. Let it remind you that you are still here. A breath at a time. Through all the pain, the rough days, the personal and professional losses and gains. You’re still here.

So this isn’t a poem for the broken hearted
it is not for those who were left behind
or ghosted
or dumped
or abused
or disregarded

This is a poem for those who watched
as another soul walked away
or preferred their silence to truth
or was released from another person’s life
faced pain at their hands
or were simply ignored
into nothingness…

You are the warriors of time
you, who have felt the sting
of heartbreak 
and disappointments
revealed as new skin 
while hope lay, a the shed skeleton
in the dirt

you are the carriers of grief
and the bodies made of scars
and you have lived through
every burning cut
and every lonely night

This is not for the soul they thought 
they broke,
this is for the you that survived

I will not preach from some high tower
that you are stronger for it
that you are braver because of it
that you are a better person
a heart bigger, with cracks to let the light in

But I will tell you what I know

You survived.

You packed up your heart and your mind
and you moved on
You accepted their silence
you treated your wounds and closed the door
you started paying attention to yourself 
when they no longer did

and that carries weight
self determination
and the ability to move past
the fickle and soft-seated lies,
of a love always perched to flee 
the very second things got hard

Your feet remain grounded
and you endured

You heart is a seasoned warrior
and it may never let another in

but it doesn’t need to...

It might not even have the space

because in their absence
 
beyond the echoes of their abuse
the pain of their mistreatment,
you’ve filled your heart,
with the unfaltering love
of yourself

they can’t ever move back in

there isn’t room any more.

Letters To Ourselves

Posted on by sereichert

Of few things I am certain.

Change is inevitable.

Babies and puppies will always cause some kind of visceral, deep rooted reaction.

You need a night sky, devoid of city lights and full of stars to feel your appropriate size.

Fewer sounds are more calming than a river flowing, rain hitting your rooftop, or a dog snoring nearby.

Nothing tastes as good as when your grandmother made it.

Nothing comforts like the right pair of pajama pants, and

procrastinating cleaning the bathroom always takes longer than actually cleaning it.

Time is finite and infinite. It’s a construct without construction and we know so little in our tiny human brains about what happens, how the universes expand, and where our consciousness ends up in the grand scheme of things that we are little more than specs of stardust in a grand swirling ocean of time and space.

You always discover these things too late: that you’ve loved, that you’ve lost, and that you wished you would have tried harder.

We will always blame ourselves for things we cannot control,

We will always forgive others more often than they probably deserve.

Every love song written is written about you and how you deserve love.

I know that when you start loving yourself, truly, you start asking for what you deserve and

this is how we learn our worth, internally, not externally.

And letters that I write to myself, in the darkest nights of my soul are always the messiest, truest words I ever speak. True for the moment. Even if it is hard and ugly truth.

Writing, from pen to paper, is a line of truth between that infinite, unaware conscious and the swirling cosmos of existence.

So my exercise for you today, dear writer, is not to journal.

It is not to blog, or pound out letters aiming for a word count.

Sit with your breath for a solid five minutes,

just your breath,

let the chaos that you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind with endless tasks, fill the silent spaces between inhalation and exhalation.

When all that’s left, is the ocean pulling in and rushing out

and your weight is heavy against the solid seat of the earth

…write

Write about what is running torrents in your mind.

Write your worries, your fears, your wins and losses.

Write down the set backs and jump starts and the hopes.

Write a love letter to yourself.

Show patience, understanding and care as you would if you were writing to your child or someone you love beyond bounds.

Be kind.

Be honest.

Be true.

Call yourself sweet things, like Love and Darling and Starshine.

Be hopeful.

Then, tuck it away.

Get on with your work, see if the chaos has settled just a bit.

Plough ahead, and check off that to-do list…

Until one day you stumble upon that letter.

And remember…that there is truth in you.

There are words and brilliant ideas, and hope.

And you belong in the world,

That you are loved.

Remember.