My Higher Power
Is what moves my hand
To pick up the pen
Put that pen to page
To put into ink
The Truth and Essence
Of Life and of Love;
I call her my muse
But she doesn’t exist…

T J Therien

The Long Ride

(Again I attended my writing group on Wed. and the following little story that was written in ten minutes brought one of the members to tears when read back. Please remember when reading the story was written in ten minutes and remains unedited in any way.)

You’re the only person on a streetcar

3 am, the streetcar rolls along the tracks that stretch out across the city like the tracks on a Junkie’s arms. It’s been a rough couple of days without sleep and it’s hard to keep my eyes open. I begin to nod, but I fight it. I can’t miss my stop. She needs me and I promised I would always be there for her.

The motion of the streetcar rocks me in my seat like a baby in the crook of mother’s arm. I fight off the fatigue and wipe my eyes in an effort to stay awake. Just a few more stops to go.

I open the window as wide as it will open so the cool nighttime air will waken me. It only opens a mere crack, hardly enough to refresh me. I begin to fidget in my seat hoping the activity will keep me awake. Just three more stops to go.

She had been ill for quite some time, but took a turn for the worse this last week. She lost her ability to rise out of bed. We all knew that this day was coming, but it all progressed so quickly. None of us were ready.

She told me about the diagnosis a couple of weeks ago and asked me if I would aid and comfort her in her final hours and as much as it pained me I agreed. We may no longer be married, but I understand that there is a level of comfort between us that makes me the ideal candidate to be her care giver in her final hours to give her the dignity she deserves in life and in dying.

My stop is next. I get off the streetcar and walk down the empty street to the house we once shared.

T J Therien

A Poet’s Song

A Poet’s song stirs in the soul
Like waves that crest and softly roll
The gust of breath that gently gyres
From the depth of heart’s desires
The surf erodes the rocky shoal

Kisses given and kisses stole
The glass half empty or half full
Only muse can say what inspires
A Poet’s song

From condition we cannot control
What’s incomplete is also whole
When all the universe conspires
Truth among hypocrites and liars
Penned with care upon ream and scroll
A Poet’s song

T J Therien

Mary Had A Little Lamb (Redux)

(I attended my writing group again yesterday morning and here is another of my unedited prompt driven efforts. I had ten minutes to write and incorporate the following words; Jungle, Trunk, Lamb and Stank.)

The lamb was quite lost in the jungle. He couldn’t quite remember how he had gotten there. He had been put in a personal pen and for several days remained in the dark box. Several clusters of breathing holes that perforated the sides of the box were the box’s only source of light. The box had been jostled about quite a bit over the course of those days when with a sudden jolt it smashed open and left the dismayed creature in the thick foliage of tangled vines, strange trees and large broad leaves everywhere sprouting from the ground. What had happened to all the grass? The poor thing wondered.

It was damp and excessively hot beneath his woolen fleece, and the heat and humidity rose with a stank that offended his nostrils. The little lamb wondered around for quite a while crying “Mary, Mary?” to the trumpeting of elephant trunks sounding off in the distance. But Mary was no-where to be found.

T j Therien


Good and Evil are ambiguous at best
There is no proverbial line in the sand
Driven by thirst, hunger and the need for rest
The chess pieces moved by God’s wrathful hand
While everything went just as the Devil planned
From fruit forbidden, from pit and from seed
From Eden unto Hell, each one of us damned
Which laws do we break, do we bend, do we heed
What desires do we deny, which appetites feed
Which fights make us weak and what ones make us strong
When it boils down to necessity and need
Truth is, there is no such thing as Right or Wrong
There is no Good or Evil, we have never Sinned
It’s just a matter of how we were conditioned

T J Therien