Friday, July 24, 2026

friendly little author's note-

 Hello friends!


I wanted to take a moment to write a friendly little Author's Note:


 As I continue to dive into the world of writing and finding my home here, I realized I have a lot I want to create. That being said, over the next few weeks any blogs, short stories and poetry posts might be a little all over the place. I’m currently going through and organizing everything I currently have as well as drafts that need to be edited. They will be up very soon! 


I appreciate you all! Thanks for hearing my little rant, and I can’t wait to continue uploading new work!


-C.R. Phoenix-

Wednesday, July 22, 2026

secret garden

 To the secret garden–Eloise made her escape.

Away from her wicked stepmother–taunting her with cruel fate.


In the garden, so lush and so green.

Eloise smiles wide, taking in the beautiful scene.

Her worries now gone and forgotten,

She ran down the path lined with pretty little flowers.

Past the trees where apples have gone rotten.


Who was she today?

Enough decisions! It’s time to play!


Elosie was a Queen for no rhyme or reason, 

Declaring, “Off with your head!”

If a peasant commits treason.


Maybe she’s a swashbuckling pirate,

Counting her treasure and setting sails for a new course.

Perhaps she’ll be a pilot,

Or a noble knight sitting upon his magnificent horse.


She’ll run away to the circus.

To dance with the clowns and tame a lion.

Look! Way up there!

On the trampeze– she goes flying!


Dusk has come– as day turns into night.

It’s time to go home, before there is only moonlight.


Although she dreaded to go home,

Eloise distracted herself, pretending that she’s a grumpy garden gnome.


Even through the beatings and lecture,

our brave little girl never once cracked under the pressure.


“Tomorrow-” Eloise thought,

“I’ll visit my garden, without getting caught.”


The next morning, Eloise woke up chipper.

“Today will be the best one yet!”

She jumped up to put on her slippers.

From her room–she tiptoes along the carpet

To find papa’s gunsafe, her eyes locked on target.


She finds her stepmother down in the kitchen,

Plucking feathers and beheading a chicken.

Elosie ever so small, raise her papa’s heavy gun.

With a click of the hammer,

not once did Eloise stammer.


Her father rushed in with such haste, 

to see what was the matter.

Only to find his betrothed,

body so limp–so much blood splattered.

He looked to Eloise while she held the smoking gun,

“Dear God child! What have you done?!”


While her father wailed and weeped,

Elosise never made a sound–

Not one peep.


She raised the gun to her papa’s unsuspecting head…

Then– BANG!

He dropped dead.


Elosie looked at what he had done,

A smile across her face, she dropped the gun.

Going to change into her finest dress,

Eloise skipped merrily to the garden, 

knowing soon– she will have someone to impress.


Swinging quietly, Elosie thought,

“I’m finally free! My last fight was fought!”

She hummed happily while the blue birds sang,

Until– that is when she heard the garden door burst open with a loud clang.


Men in uniforms, carrying large guns came.

Strange men in funny white coats did the same.

Eloise may have replaced one prison from another,

But she knew deep down–

She was always free of her wicked stepmother.


-C.R. Phoenix-

on poetry--

 I’ve recently been dabbling in poetry, I find it complex and full of emotions. 


As a child into my teen years I had never really understood poetry, never felt connected to it. As an adult though, I have a much deeper appreciation for the art. Now as a writer (and writing characters who write poetry), I thought that it would be smart, that I, the author, should learn how to construct poetry. To feel it. To have to dive deep within my own soul. How I can create such memorable characters (right now my MC falls flat, gotta give her some life.) 


I even wrote my first poem, and already have more drafted.


I find myself content in this world. Creating, erasing, creating, erasing. Until I find the right words. The right feeling. I’ve never felt more alive than I have in this last year. As I continue to grow and learn, I eagerly await to explore other parts of myself, I then can share with you.


Until next time,


xo


C.R. Phoenix

Friday, July 17, 2026

I showed you my words- a poem

                                                            


I showed you my words–

My soul.

Clawing and tearing myself into pieces.

Digging myself into a hole.


I showed you my words–

Not just from my heart, no, 

but from the darkest corners of my mind.

I lit the flame and set everything ablazed.

The light must have been blinding,

I know–I’m just whining.


I showed you my words–

Wide and vast like the Atlantic ocean.

The tears shed– the vulnerability spoken…

They must have drowned you.

I know–I’m so broken.


I showed you my words–

Drafted on the ink stained pages of my heart.

Words to be shelved away,

never published.

There must have been too many grammatical errors.

I know–I’m an oversharer.


Crossing the most barren and desolate deserts,

I climbed the highest snow capped mountains.

Scouring the darkest forest, only guided by the flickering flashlight and profound lessons

I sat in solitude, exploring the vastness of time and space.

Woncdering– how did we get to this place?


I showed you my words–

But you chose not to read them.


-C.R. Phoenix-

Thursday, July 16, 2026

the wind carried her name- a poem

The wind carried her name like a feather across the valleys and trees.

Flittering across the rolling whispering hills–to the pastures where the cattle graze.


Her name spoken so softly, 

rustling up the leaves on the cobblestone path of the tiny village.


Even the cold nipped air of the treacherous snowy mountains,

they hear the faint echo of a name unlike any other.


Tall grass on the dusty plains bow to the melody that plays.

Her name– so quiet, a phantom.


The seas roar and the waves crash.

Her name screamed across the rapid rushing water.


She stands quietly at the cliff's edge– weeping.

Still waiting for her lover,

who lies at the bottom of the ocean– sleeping.


-C.R. Phoenix- 

Wednesday, July 15, 2026

I am a writer

 I am a writer.


Four words that I’ve always struggled to utter out loud, four words if I said them aloud perhaps I’d be mocked, judged or even told “what makes you a writer?”. I’ve always had stories in my mind, wondrous worlds built for years {even to this day}, characters, plots, love, heartbreak. 


And yet…I still never wrote for anyone other than myself {even those pieces are lost to time}. One myth I believed about being an author is that you need to have years of experience, degrees, and proof of your writing. I have none of those things. What I have is, my brain, a laptop and great confidence {even though I’m actually terrified.}, as well as future creative writing classes.


I recently found a clip from an interview with the late and great David Bowie {I love you Ziggy}, in that interview he spoke about artists, and the quote goes,


If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you’re capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth, and when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”


Here I am, working in an area way out of my depth. Going a little further deep everyday. Moving through, exploring, learning too as I go. I've said before that not only is this blog, but also now my book is a healing journey. The seed has been planted, so now it’s time to nurture it.


I am a writer.


I am here to tell my stories.


Until next time, take care friends! 💜


xx 

C.R. Phoenix 🔥

Tuesday, July 14, 2026

the moon knows my secrets- a poem

                                     “The moon knows my secrets.” Isabella proclaimed.

Her smile was bright and unashamed.


“That’s just made up stories!” Little Johnny laughed.

Isabella frowned–he thought she was daft!


In the quiet of night, she slipped out from under the covers.

Climbing to the rooftops, knowing it’ll upset her mother.

So she crept ever so quietly, not making a single sound.


Once on the the roof she nestled down,

Isabella gazed up at the moon with a frown.

“Little Johnny thinks me daft!” She cried, “Oh moon! He is just the worst!”

Isabella hugged her knees tight, “He might just put me in a hearse!”


She cried and cried, the moon just listened.

Lifting her head, her tears glistened.

She thanked the moon for hearing her fury,

Scurrying back down to her room with any worries.


Isabella awoke to clank and clatter.

She wondered, “Whatever is the matter?”

The streets bustled with shouts of clamor.

She rushed out the door to see the sight,

There lies Little Johnny, face full of fright.

Struck by horse and carriage, he died on sight.


Isabella stood shocked as ever,

Only it was the moon who knew better.

Catching a glimmer of light,

the moon disappeared just slight.


To tell the moon your secrets, 

you must pay a price.


What will be your sacrifice?


-C.R. Phoenix-

friendly little author's note-

  Hello friends! I wanted to take a moment to write a friendly little Author's Note:  As I continue to dive into the world of writing an...