Penny Wilson Writes – A Bit of Me in Every Key Stroke

Life

What Christmas is all About

Posted on December 25, 2025December 16, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

Linus Van Pelt:“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not:”
“for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.'”[Linus picks up his blanket and walks back towards Charlie Brown] That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

–Charles Schultz

*Merry Christmas, all. Thank you for joining me on this journey. ❤ Penny

Poetry

Shards

Posted on December 24, 2025December 20, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

Unrecognized 
shards

Swept away
with
yesterday’s promises

Clinking of glass
lightening
up my spine

Raw
unmasked

Poetry

What Remains?

Posted on December 23, 2025December 20, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

Heaven in your arms.

Utopia in those eyes.

Days in paradise, 

Nights in bliss. 

My soul, 

a small price to pay. 

What remains? 

Hell.

*This is in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday writing prompt, #writephoto. You can find out all about the fun HERE.

depression, Poetry

Familiar

Posted on December 22, 2025December 20, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

It surrounds me
holds me

It comforts

It's familiar  

It knows me 
intimately 

Reality 
kept at bay  

This is 
better 

Safe

Prose

Belly of the Beast

Posted on December 19, 2025December 16, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

It’s subtle, but it’s there.  
The chasm opens wide ready to swallow.  
If I don’t keep my wits about me, 
I’ll end up in the belly of the beast.  I feel it.

I question the reasons why.  
The retribution we must pay.  
Will it ever be enough?  
Or will the demons demand a higher price?

I deny the despondency, 
turning toward the light, 
I hold tight to the 
hope 
of 
tomorrow.

depression, Poetry

Futile

Posted on December 18, 2025December 16, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

Moving
in slow motion

The exertion to shake off the
lethargy
exhausting

Quagmire
devours

The air
thick

Each breath
a challenge

Gasping for 
relief

Chest heaves with
weight

Lost
in the dark

Limbs with 
no substance

I tumble
trying to find purchase

Stagnant 
determination

Floundering 
in place

An endless 
loop

Futile 
effort

Copyright © 2018 Penny Wilson

Prose

Next?

Posted on December 17, 2025December 16, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

Today, your hair was silver with a touch of brown sprinkled in it.  
Your eyes are blue.  We watched as that old woman patched another 
hole in her ragged doll’s dress.

But I remember the day that I saw you as a blonde Imp.  
With your devilish ways, you convinced me to bludgeon that 
horrible man to death.  Your reasons were quite convincing, 
and you were right.  He deserved it.

Once you were that shy school girl with her first heartbreaking crush.  
The next day you were the addicted junkie, looking for a fix.

You talked me into holding on to the edge of the cliff, though 
I wanted more than anything, to throw myself into the volcano.   
You’ve pulled me from the depths of despair, but watched callously, 
while my soul struggled with the blackness of depression.

One day, you’re the virile, lusty devil, playing with my heart.  
You allow my spirits to soar to the heavens on the wings of desire 
and happiness.  The next, you pull the rug away allowing my anguish 
to come crashing down upon me.

What will tomorrow bring?  Will you, my muse, take me on a wild, 
hair-raising adventure, or will we do a slow waltz?  Shall we spin 
yarns of light and fantasy or do you crave something darker?

You have my devotion and my passion.  You also have my loathing.  
I want you, but I also resent the need for you.

My muse! My muse!  Delight me once again!  Make my fingers dance 
across the keyboard!  I wish to spin tales and rhymes of wonder 
and amazement!

Prose

It’s What Remains

Posted on December 16, 2025December 16, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

You pulled away the masks, and I showed my true self.  
It’s an image you adored.  You liked the sass and the fight inside me.  
You cheer whenever it’s brought to the surface.

Eventually, I threw away the masks.

But what remains?

You chipped away at the shields I had carried.  
I thought they would keep me safe.  You told me I didn’t need them, 
and the shields were cast aside.

The walls were brought down too.  Brick by brick they fell away.

The dark corner that I had always retreated to for safety 
was now bathed in a glorious light.

What Remains?

What remains is a strong, confidant woman.  
I no longer hide in the shadows.  I can now appreciate the fight 
and the sass in me.  I use it with abandon!  I stand proudly 
in the light and take what is rightfully mine.

I like who I am.

I am free.

I am enough.

Prose

Dark Dragons

Posted on December 15, 2025December 14, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

I felt the breeze of the wings as they circled. I smelled the strong scent of sulfur. My defenses were down and they knew it. It seems that they can smell it on me, my weaknesses. As the thunder crashed, they swooped, skimming over the top of me, not to attack, but to intimidate.

I knew they would come again, my dark dragons. They always do. Backed into a corner, I had no choice. I fell to my knees holding my head in my hands. My tears fell, spilling around me. My chest heaving, my legs leaden, I could not bring myself to my feet. I waited as the darkness descended upon me.

*I know that this is very dark. It just happened to be what came out when I went to the keyboard. I’m writing again. It may not be pretty, but I’m writing. All is well, my friends.

Poetry

Capture

Posted on December 12, 2025December 7, 2025 by Penny Wilson Writes

I breathe you 
in

Eager to capture 
a part of you

A piece of you

I want to drink you 
down

Feel you wash over
my tongue

Warming my 
insides

I long to 
hold you

To remember the taste
of your lips

Let me

Cherish the moment

Relish the now

–Charles Schultz

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!

I felt the breeze of the wings as they circled. I smelled the strong scent of sulfur. My defenses were down and they knew it. It seems that they can smell it on me, my weaknesses. As the thunder crashed, they swooped, skimming over the top of me, not to attack, but to intimidate.

I knew they would come again, my dark dragons. They always do. Backed into a corner, I had no choice. I fell to my knees holding my head in my hands. My tears fell, spilling around me. My chest heaving, my legs leaden, I could not bring myself to my feet. I waited as the darkness descended upon me.

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!

Go ahead, make my day. :) Share, push a button or two!