20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers

April Fool

I’m no April fool, but I thought
I heard you say, a hundred years
ago, that life would be easy,
the games we play would be more
sophisticated, but they would still be
fun, that the little cracks that form
as we navigate the boundaries ,
would not transform into gaping,
boundless caverns, but instead creep
clouds of light into every moment
and remind us that we are who
we’re supposed to be

no, that was just imagined, for
so many times this seems to be
the definitive experience of
guileless courage, a hazy fog of hapless
misunderstandings, lethargic
ramblings of a maddened soul

even if the words don’t make sense,
leak out all the roiling emotion you keep
so tidy on the shelf of self-control,
dump the contents in a scattered and
untidy heap in a way such that only you
can sort through and make any logic
from the chaos, organized and classified
from appropriate to downright crazy,
go ahead and dive right in,
flounder in the helpless overwhelm that
cleanses the creative palate

even if the madman in your mind
claims that you will never heal
the wounds that reside inside,
sleeping just beneath the surface,
reaching up to reveal the tender parts,
then retreating to leave doubt and
revelation in their wake

even as the walls begin to tumble
down, as you sink, rising and falling
soaring and tumbling through
the cycles that bring you near
perfection then catapult you
out into the shadows where
the grey gloom hovers, seeps inside,
fills the cavernous holes

even there in the most violent and
torrential path, truth is revealed,
sears the heart like streaks of dust
across the cloudy window pane
from which you peer with silent
anticipation and lonely longing
to see the light and rise up
to your rightful place
at the throne of your own life

©SpiritLed 2014

Truth and Lies

A lie is really not a lie
when it comes from
someone else’s truth,

for then it is so real
one can no longer tell
the difference,  unless

of course, it becomes the Truth,
and overpowers other truths,
for then those truths become

the lies, and the Truth proliferates
and grows, while lies take refuge
underground and Truth abounds

throughout the land, until the day
that lies again become the truth
and liberate the holy earth

©SpiritLed 2014


When Silence Ends

When, as a child, did you play happily
by the stream, and come singing home,
passionately sharing your adventures,
only for the beloveds to tell you, “Quiet!”

And when, in your classes, did you
confidently speak your truth, answer
their questions, paint your construction
paper masterpiece,  and the trusteds told you,
“It’s not good enough.”

And when did you feel the whisper of spirit
in your soul, gently guiding you on your way,
and you shared, and they laughed?

And when did you stop listening, painting, writing, speaking, trusting? 

And when will you decide that the darkness has
lasted too long, that the  passion of a new day
can no longer wait, lest  you tear free from your
own skin where you’ve been confined all these years?

That stumbling across stones and briars,
feet cut and bleeding, is preferable to the safe
and righteous path, where no pain, in fact
nothing at all, makes cuts into your soul?

When will you decide that fear of words
without real meaning will no longer be the
prison walls that demand freedom of the captor?

And when will you stoke the flames, when will you once
again tend to the spark, blow the breath of life into
the still-smoldering ashes, collect the branches and
twigs that have fallen in your path, burn them on
your altar, and fuel the dawning of reclaimed light?

© SpiritLed 2014

1 Comment


Private intimations

Stun and astonish,

With subtle divulgence,

Scattered scantily

Amid common communication

A monotone revelation

Drifting on halcyon air.

An ominous precursor -

Flashing red lights,

Bells clanging, flags waving

Madly with such tragic bane -

Even clouds burrow humbly,

Shrouding rays of the sun

Awed and moved

Propitious foretelling,

A brilliant full-moon flight

Withering silence

simultaneously freed

And paralyzed

By the escape of such

Transcendent truth

Rationed to a rapt mind.

Trust of the un-trusting

Meandering beyond boundaries

Of a self-conscious mind.


Trying Fibonacci Poetry!



soul moves

amidst the

frightening truths of

the dark gruesome reality.

Writing fibonacci poetry is quite simple, you just have to count the no. of syllables. I think you are familiar with fibonacci series, so the no. of syllables in every line of the poem corresponds with the fibonacci series.

e.g.- For a 6 line poem,

I LINE- 1 syllable

II LINE- 1 syllable

III LINE- 2 syllables

IV LINE- 3 syllables

V LINE- 5 syllables

VI LINE- 8 syllables

What lies I tell myself daily…

Wondering what lies I tell myself daily

The lies I say to myself so consistently

The lies that I have adopted as truth

Lies that are going to remain lies

Even though I lie about my lies

I say the truth I think which are the lies

The lies I say are the truth I say to myself

Wondering what lies I tell myself daily

I think I lie every moment to myself

I say the truth which must not be a lie

But I think it is a lie anyhow

Which is a truthful lie I say to myself.

THE WAY (Open Book Challenge)

We are all on an individual journey. We are looking for truth and overturning all stones in an effort to find those methods that will help us discover, THE WAY.

Each one of us has a unique idea of the path and how it is to be followed. Some take to religion, some to science, and some combine all the information into a form of belief. We look for signposts and guides to lead us into a direction. Often we feel we have taken the wrong road or walked down an over trodden path. Frustration that we need to retrace our steps is often felt, and for a moment, makes us sad for the time we have wasted.

However, is it really wasted time? Maybe, there was something missed on the first pass through. Some lesson that was not evident or forgotten. What if we are where we are meant to be, ALWAYS? Could it be that there are no mistakes? It just is what it is.  Hmmm….something to muse about today.



Copyright © Jamie Nowinski and Grandmother Wisdom/ Grandmother Musings 2012-2013.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jamie Nowinski – Grandmother Wisdom/Grandmother Musings with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Now, What Else Can I write?

I am now afraid to tell myself the truth

The truth I’m avoiding

The truth that is there, present all the same

Why is it so difficult to let the truth seep within you

The truth can hurt, that is also true

The truth that is true

I’m now real afraid truly

Because I think I would have to face the truth.


Truth- the game of true and lie

It is played every where

Sometimes the truth that is true wins

And even the lie can claim its victory as well

I am not making much sense

That is indeed really really true

But what if the truth is not true

And the lie may have been true, if given a choice

And the truth that is now a lie subsides

This game is amazing

The truth that is true

And that lie that is also true

And the truth that is a lie

This chakra would play its part

The lie may claim its crown

But the truth can also steal it away

Because after all truth is quite true

And the lie can indeed be a real lie.


The true colors of the nature rise

Sweetens the wind blowing by

The true flower emerges from within a bud

And the wind bathes in the scent of the truth

The soil truly nurtures a plant

The wind really blows by

Sweetened with the taste of truth.

1 Comment

Like a Simile, Not Similar

Like a river
         not a stream
Like an Illusion
         not a dream
Like a car
         not boat or plane
Like going crazy
         but not insane

Like a wanderer
         never home
Like a hermit
         always alone
Like a mute
         never heard
Like a clown
         always absurd

Like knowing
         all that's messed up here
But having to speak
         to a deafened ear
Like doing all
         receiving none
And sweating
         just to get it done

Like having bosses
         so confused
When things get tough
         they think they're used
Like being blamed
         by everyone
For things
         you haven't even done

Like trying so hard
         you just can't sleep
With no reward
         you have to weep
Like going back
         time and again
And hoping that
         this all will end

But likenesses
         they aren't what's real
The truth
         is what they will conceal
I hope you see
         and most will claim
It's all just part
         of playing the game

Guilty of being guilty…

Guilty of being guilty,

The conscience I think has devoted,

Everything to punish the guilty

For feeling guilty.


Guilt- the cosmic truth,

Doesn’t feel so good,

When embraced and punishes the guilty,

For feeling guilty.


Guilty to aim at building guilt,

Who understands the plight,

Of this being who is punished,

For feeling guilty.

1 Comment


Printing down my feelings,

Enabling my inner-self to speak,

Roar out loud,

Converse with others, share,

Enact what it feels is right,

Pointing towards my thoughts,

Telling nothing but still everything,

Indicating my persona,

Observing others’ emotions,

Now that is perception!



Perception can change life.

Perception can bring forth everything.

It can hide.

It can show.

Perception is every truth,

And every other lie,

I have got.


Speaking of the truth, I have now realised truth is not important because it holds no significance in how we perceive things today. So, what is important? Important is the thing we believe is true even when it is not…

Something to ponder about…

Haven’t got much to share, so, here’s the song I have a Dream by West life.


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