Writing Poetry

Skilled writers love to write..it is like singers who must sing, or painters who must paint..any creative activity is an outlet for something that is within a person, and to me, the simplest and easiest is to say it. But for many people, that act of just out with it is difficult and embarrassing so that they must use other means to express their inner feelings.

It would be nice if the world were so simple that we could all just say it and be done with it, but in fact, we are trained and taught to be polite, to be considerate, kind, and thoughtful, to keep our thoughts to ourselves, and to not want to step on anyone's toes.

The reason I am saying all this is that we tonight, four of us women at the apartment, went out together and had a girls night out. It was fun, relaxed, and enjoyable...we had a good time...the food was not the greatest for all the talk about it, but the one man band was good, and the crowd was small..later when we went to Pinnacle Peak Patio there were no cars there. It was only a little after ten.

I videotaped them while we were at the table and walking through the place. It was funny to see them played back...

We even got up and danced. A very strange night in many ways, as we always contradicted ourselves. But it was sweet, little children were dancing and having fun, since it is a family place...and nobody tried to upstage anyone...

It made quite an impression on me that we could all sit together and enjoy one another's company so much...Lee had recommended the place and was the happiest cat of us all.

She took us up, and she was really having a good time...It showed, and it was good for her to have a friendly night out on the town...I needed it too.


Greasewood Flats is pure western charm,
Windmill standing to greet you,
Rustic barrels filled with fire,
Wooden floorboards,
Tiny white chapel,
Giant candelabra,
Sparkling lights aglow in red and gold,
A special dance floor
For creative partners to swing and trot
Wooden benches filled with patrons
Who come from near and far,
To dine, to dance, to mellow out,
The day ends in merriment, song, and laughter
As the stars overhead glitter brightly
In the warm September night
Greasewood Flats no longer a
Place for only the cowboys to linger,
But for the city slickers
To stretch, to escape, to relax.
A remnant of the past
As today's developments prove
Even the desert will be overtaken
As Civilization grows and grows.
Another sign of the times
That we are in conflict
Should we keep the old,
To remind us of how we grow
So fast, so disorderly,
That nothing stands in our way,
Not even a stagecoach of the past.