Can you help me with giving this poem a title? Place your suggestions in the comment section below. 😉
Can you help me with giving this poem a title? Place your suggestions in the comment section below. 😉
This haiku was prompted by the “elephants” theme over at @storysaturday on Twitter.
This poem was prompted by a “moon” theme over at @storysaturday on Twitter.
The ocean water
oh so blue and clear…but
when she peers down into
the salty sea
the last thing she’d see
are those black, doll eyes
Over at I held a contest called, “An Ode to Spring,” where writers could write poetry about the coming of Spring (or hopefully, warmer weather!). Today, it is my delight to present you the 2nd Place winner, Tate Morgan, for his beautiful poem, Spring Love.
In spring lovebirds hover fancy
till morning lit by the dew
Takes back winter’s heartache
restoring the love in you
The desperate cries of anguish
from a heart that knows no joy
Feeds long upon its own regret
tossing the soul as if a toy
Give to me your heartaches
lie down in the meadow green
Let go the sorrow of past loves
have rain wash the soul clean
Always to blossom in springtime
love feeds us of our dreams
Washing away the winter sorrows
from each one or so it seems
Take all of what you’ve been given
set aside pieces in you there-of
No broken promise of joy’s embrace
can outshine a true heart in love
Enjoyed his poem? You’re in for a treat then! Visit his page for loads more. 🙂
As a writer, what does this poem say to you?
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
One of the most difficult challenges for me was accepting the fact that I have a progressive disease (Usher Syndrome). The next challenge was admitting that I needed new skills/retraining.
Coming to terms to both of these took twenty-four years.
Better late than never, eh?
Even then, it was difficult. It’s been like going through the grief process that spanned over two decades.
I was not only losing my vision while dealing with moderate hearing loss, I was also gradually losing my independence. And that was the most painful part of all.
I felt diminished as a person. Inferior.
A liability to others rather than an asset.
I loathed feeling that way.
But, what could I do about it?
So…depression and anxiety invaded, and for a time, won.
*Stay tuned for the next post on what I finally did about my situation
With today being the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death, I want to honor him with one of my favorite poems that he wrote.
“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”
What is your favorite Shakespeare’s poem or play?
sweet breaths of pale blue
crocuses fill the prairie
-life blooms evermore
Red-stained, broken wings
the Eagle wobbles on a
barren branch-her cries
echo through the misty gorge
The feathered-brown nest
lies shattered on the bare rocks
snapped as the Eaglet soars high
Those angelic blue
eyes in search of the woman
he thought he married
only to be left
under the frigid head-stone
years-is it too late
to say that “I am sorry?”
whiffs of gas and oil
permeate the warped aged-wood
where echoes of dreams
*I have a special treat for you all today! It is my honor to introduce to you Lidy Wilks who will be talking about her passion as a writer and poet, and how she came through her struggles to achieve her dreams. The cover reveal above is for her poetry chapbook, Can You Catch My Flow? Be sure to check out the special giveaways at the end of this post Lidy is promoting!
I’ve taken a few detours on this creative journey. I’ve stumbled and detoured away from it. Funny, when I think about it. As I’d always known, from the moment I read Little Women and Moby Dick, that I wanted a future involved with books. I didn’t know then what kind of job it’d be. But I never doubted for a minute, that whatever that job entailed, I would find where I belong.
Yet, I’ve had my highs and lows in trying to achieve my creative dreams. My first fan was my friend and classmate. Her excited response supported my interest to become a writer and write more stories. I held those aspirations all the way through high school; until a teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I got older. Naturally I said “I want to be an author.”
Well, imagine my utter shock when I was told that writing was just a hobby. Making money from writing wasn’t a high priority. I wanted to write and have readers enjoy my stories. To my teacher, becoming a published author was unrealistic. Writing could not feed you, clothe you or pay the bills. That was the reality of things.
Despite her quick and crushing, pessimistic assessment, I couldn’t let go of my dreams. But it still affected me so much that I changed my intended major on my college applications. I’d decided to major in Mass Communications instead of my favorite subject English. At least with a Mass Comm degree I can get a job in print media/publishing that’ll pay well. Fortunately, this little detour didn’t last long.
What happened? I was reminded of what I really wanted after my first semester. I only majored in communications because I was afraid of a future that hadn’t even happened yet. I let that fear guide me on a different path. A dream of becoming a magazine editor/writer as a way to hold onto my creative dream; but that fell apart because of an elective creative writing class, and the professor who encouraged me.
So I spent the next four years writing to my heart’s content. Studied and read British and American poetry, and Shakespeare’s plays in Old English. Taking non-fiction creative writing, and poetry workshops. All the while minoring in Mass Comm because I might as well finish what I started. Plus, it could come in handy (and it did a bit now that I’m a blogger). Point is, I was never happier. And then I graduated.
True to form and I don’t want to admit it even now, I did not find a job with my English degree. I started temping and found a job at a non-profit. I got married, had kids and before I knew it, writing-wise I had nothing to show for it. Life had taken me on another detour until a company move to a new city gave me the kick-in-the-butt I needed. Dust off the story ideas I’ve filed away throughout the years, and exercise my writing muscles. And not just write again; but, write more poetry and submit them to literary journals, magazines, etc.
Looking back, all these detours served as lessons. To never again let my doubts, lack of confidence, or the opinions of others take me away from what I love doing. And believe me, I almost completely turned my back from it especially after receiving a nasty rejection letter from a poetry editor. But as much the support I’ve received helped validate my writing dreams, I should believe in myself more especially against those whose opinions would deter me from it.
After all, I will always question myself and whether I have the talent and determination to continue on this journey. Questions like what is this poem about? Who is the poem for? How could I ever had written this? Or, being filled with writing envy and asking why didn’t I write that? But these are questions I deal with whenever I pick up a pen to write, or read a poem. And that’s not something that will ever go away. It’s one of the things that’s part of a writer’s life. And it’s a writer’s life for me.
About the Author:
Ever since she was young, Lidy Wilks was often found completely submerged in the worlds of Dickens, Louisa May Alcott, Sweet Valley High and Nancy Drew. She later went on to earn a Bachelor degree in English with a concentration in Creative Writing from Franklin Pierce University where she spent four years knee-deep in fiction, poetry and creative non-fiction workshops.
Lidy is the author of Can You Catch My Flow? a poetry chapbook, and is a member of Write by the Rails. She currently resides in Virginia with her husband and two children; and an anime, book and manga library which she’s looking to expand, one day by adding an Asian drama DVD collection. Lidy continues her pursuit in writing more poetry collections and fantasy novels all the while eating milk chocolate and sipping a glass of Cabernet, or Riesling wine.
rolling peaks mark
the burnished horizon
potted with snowy, ancient scars
I am lost to you
I’m interrupting my usual posts to bring you a special short film: Creased Map of the Underworld
This film took a poem written by Kim Addonizio which was then put into motion by film-maker Bryan Michurski. It’s gritty, and it’s dark. After watching it, you may never look at the world, or death, quite the same again. Through Motionpoems, I had the honor of interviewing both Kim and Bryan. You can read it here.
What a year this has been for me and my family. Packing and moving from NC all the way up to ND…talk about a culture (and weather!) shock. Christmas was quiet for us as it was just us (all the family’s back east). It felt strange. Even my 12-year old son commented on how it really didn’t feel like Christmas this year even though there was nearly two-feet of snow on the ground. We’re still settling in , and adjusting to our new life. These things just don’t happen over night.
Need to keep reminding myself of that.
I’m not one for resolutions. They never really worked for me. My only goals for the coming new year are:
That’s it. Simple is always better. Anything else would be gravy.
What about you? Have any specific (or general) goals for 2016?
Happy New Year!
*Here’s one of my favorite poems by Lord Alfred Tennyson called “The Death of the Old Year”:
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year you shall not die.
He lieth still: he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend and a true truelove
And the New-year will take ’em away.
Old year you must not go;
So long you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.
He froth’d his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho’ his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho’ his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.
Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I’ve half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die.
He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o’er.
To see him die across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he’ll be dead before.
Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.
How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro:
The cricket chirps: the light burns low:
‘Tis nearly twelve o’clock.
Shake hands, before you die.
Old year, we’ll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.
His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone,
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,
And waiteth at the door.
There’s a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.
As part of the National Poetry Writing Month, I’ve been interviewed for I Heart All Stories. 30 Days of Poetry Love with Carrie Golden – iheartallstories.
When you think of the word “success,” what words or images come to your mind?
I envisioned a successful person as one who has climbed the corporate ladder and landed an executive position; or a writer who has her work published in a well-known literary journal.
Is this the kind of success I want for myself? This is what the world wants me to believe, and by accepting this stance, I’m a complete failure.
Because I had recently dropped out of the working world to be a full-time parent (as well as for health reasons). And, because I’ve only been able to have my writings published in anything by literary journals.
So, do these all mean that I am a total reject as a person and as a writer?
No, I don’t believe so. And I refuse to believe that!
I’m currently participating in a writing retreat called Retreat for the Writer’s Soul
Yesterday we worked on redefining the word success by writing a poem after Ralph Emerson’s version of success. Here’s Emerson’s:
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
Here was my response and poem:
Wow…this task was an eye-opening experience for me. I adopted some of Emerson’s views of success as they spoke true for me.
To laugh often and much
To discover new kindred spirits and establish deep connection with fellow peers
To continuously adapt to changes no matter how difficult and accept my disabilities as strengths rather than weaknesses
To appreciate the simplicity of life; to find the best in others;
To accept people for who they are no matter how different they may be or what kind of a past they had
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived (love this one!)
This is to have succeeded
In the past, I’ve always considered being successful as to having a career where you’ve been promoted to high positions, or earned higher income each year. Or, in the writing world, having published in high profiled magazines/ezines/journals (namely the literary kinds). When I recently left the work force to stay home full time as a mom because I could no longer hold a full time job due to my failing eyesight, I felt like a complete failure. But, by doing this task, this feeling has changed. Thank you! I don’t feel quite so terrible now! 🙂
Now, it is your turn!