That Old Brick House


That Old Brick House

That old brick house…
chipped paint,
stained carpets.
A stench in the air so thick you can’t breath.

An apple tree,
sour fruit,
bitter memories.

tattered clothes,
feces and filth.

Love me,
hate me,
Just don’t hurt me.

someone save me…
Rescue me.

Broken house,
broken home,
broken child.

That old brick house,
chipped paint and stained carpets,

neglected and abused…

-Tiffany Renae Phelps 5/3/14




I’ve been slacking off, haven’t I?

Seems there’s a lot to do around here.  I’ve been busy doing repairs on our new home so I haven’t written anything new lately.  I suppose I should set myself a personal goal…


OK.  By this time next week I shall have a new poem to share!


Now, just to do it!

For Zoey


I wrote this poem, just now, for my daughter.  I don’t ever want her to question whether or not I will support and love her.


For Zoey

Goldfish crackers and Cheerios,

tiny socks for tiny toes.

Pacifiers, bottles and diaper bags,

baby books and spit up rags.

You light up my life like no one knows,

even with that toothless grin and snotty nose.

Grow into the person you are meant to be,

you’ll get no disapproval or hatred from me.

Man, woman, gay, straight or bi,

I’ll be in your corner and by your side.

Doctor, lawyer, artist, or Marine,

I’ll always support your dream.

Atheist, Pagan, Muslim or Jewish,

Believe and have faith in what you wish.

There’s not a thing you can do,

to make me stop loving you.

You’ll always be my baby.

Yes, even when you’re eighty. 


Tiffany Renae Phelps 01/23/2014


There are too many parents out there that reject their children because of their life choices.  You just can’t turn off love.  I hope that as time passes by people realize they need to support and love their children no matter what they grow up to be.

Eternal Love


Forever ago…

minutes, hours and days pass by.

Memory fades.

My grasp on reality slips,

was our love ever strong?

Is romance what makes us go,

or familiarity? 

Where is my knight upon his great steed?

Did he ever exist?

No, I think not…

Rose petals do not lead me to a silk covered bed,

and there is no oak bearing our initials,

yet I do not mind.

There is no castle stretching to the sky,

no magic kiss.

No fairy tale could compare to what our love is.






Gray hairs may emerge from our heads, 

but age means nothing.


true love…

is eternal.


-Tiffany Renae Phelps 01/09/2014



     I’m thinking about posting some of my recent work but I’m afraid to.  I guess I’m worried that any criticism will cause me to lose motivation.  I’ve been feeling pretty positive lately in regards to writing and I just don’t want to ruin it.

       I’ve read poetry from other writers and I have a hard time grasping why they are considered great poems.  Who determines what’s worthy of being published?  It’s all a matter of opinion, but I can’t help but think there’s some secret out there that I’m missing out on.  There’s got to be some eye opening thing out there that will make me see the greatness in some of these poems that I truly just don’t understand.  

     I want so badly to write something great.  Every now and then I’ll pop out a piece that I believe is truly wonderful.  I’m always afraid to share it because I worry that I’m the only one who thinks it is perfect.  

   So, the question remains: Should I put myself out there and hope for acceptance, or keep my work to myself and believe it is great?  I’ll think on this some more and maybe within the next day or two I’ll decide if I am ready to share something with the world.  

Feeling Creative


I wrote a poem last night.  I think that it might only need some slight editing.  It’s been hard to feel creative since my life has improved drastically.  I used to write about my pain and sorrow.  It’s nice to write about happy times.  I use my husband and daughter as inspiration.  My depressing work was always so powerful.  I hope that I can have as much as an impact with happiness.

Hey there!


This is my first official post.  I’m not going to stress over it and try to make it overly spectacular, lol.

I’ve got my eyes on a poetry magazine and I’m hoping to get published soon.  I’ve always wanted to be officially published but I’ve been too afraid to make that dream a reality.  I believe all of us writers second guess ourselves.  I guess I’m just afraid that someone else won’t like my work as much as I do.  I’d love to find people who can relate to my work.  I’ve been at this for 17 years, it’s about time I tried to get published.

I know that I will be rejected, I’d have to be pretty arrogant to think I won’t.  I refuse to let that stop me.  I want to see my name in a table of contents.  I WILL see my name in a table of contents.

So, here we go guys!  I’m off to make something of myself!