#Story Sunday: Seashells (#Poem)

Photo Credit: Pixabay Free Images

 

This poem was written for the prompt, seashells, for StorySaturday on Twitter who gives a new prompt each week.

 

 

On the golden sand
pinkish shells spread out in jagged bunches
the sea calls from the deep
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#YouTube Tuesday: Man’s Hands

I wrote this poem not too long ago about my thoughts on nature, and how man tries to imitate it with his own creation.  Below you can either read it, or watch in video format.

 

Beauty and magic

are found in nature

where the urban

landscape

only hopes to

emulate

 

 

Guardian, keeper

of sacred and pure

unmarked, noble

from man’s

immoral hands

these peaks stand

 

 

This world darker it

grows, compelling me

to the mountains

in search

of what my heart,

soul yearn for

 

 

No city or wealth

created by man’s

hands can provide

the hope

and harmony

crafted by earth

 

 

Now I understand

the soldiers’ need of

retreat to the

quiet

after wars

to a place where true

healing exists

untouched, unblemished

by man’s hands

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WEP – Unraveled

Click on image for more info on this challenge and community

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My entry for June’s challenge:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

summer heat wave:

mayhem, screaming everywhere I go

                                  my nerves
                                              unraveling
                                                             like a
                                                                    yarn
kids at a splash park

Friday Fun (A Story Prompt Challenge #6)

Photo Credit: Pixabay Free Images

 

For this week’s image, write a micro-story (less than 100 words) or a poem, and post it in the comment section below.

Deadline is 11:59pm Monday.

For all entries a poll will be created and the one with the most votes, wins!  For the winning piece, a short video will be created.

Enjoy!  🙂

Tuesday Share: The Dream

Online anthology inviting collaborations between artists + writers

My poem, The Dream, was selected to be included in this month’s anthology with Visual Verse 🙂   Click on the VV’s link to see the image used for this month’s inspiration.  Enjoy writing poetry and like to participate?  Be sure to sign up for their newsletter to be notified of next month’s image.

 

The Dream

 

I dreamt of my sister last night
as I watched her walk down a road
towards the golden gates

The urge to call out
filled me with an urgency
I couldn’t understand

Like a thief in the night
the illness stole her essence
covering the core in
unending darkness and despair

Before I could say a word
she turned to me with a smile
I’d not seen in years

I swore her body shimmered
like a jewel in the sunlight
her soul for all to see

And she waved
                  farewell
                         my little
                                    sister

© Carrie Ann Golden 2018

 

Stop by and check out the other poems especially the one by Susan Richardson, Perfection Has No Sound, which is incredibly (but haunting) beautiful!

Monday Memoir: Unforgettable

 

At the age of ten, I discovered there was another way of intermingling with my imaginary friends, and that was through writing.  A new world was suddenly opened to me where I can create and bring things to life on paper. Because of my hearing impairment, my overall understanding of grammar was a bit lacking to say the least, and I knew this.  And because of this, I kept whatever I wrote hidden away.  I wasn’t ready to share with the world.

Not yet.

In the meantime, I struggled with insecurities, and with the belief that I was inferior to the other kids. I felt I wasn’t good enough in anything.   As a result, I stayed pretty much a loner with perhaps one or two good friends.

Later on in the same school year, one of the school’s teachers, Mr. Hathaway, announced that the school was going to compete in its first (and only) track meet with other private schools in the area. I signed up for three events: 100 yard dash, 200 yard dash, and 400 yard relay.

I’ll need to clarify that my school’s sport program when compared to the area public schools was more intramural at best; especially given the fact that my entire school population had only seventy students in all (grades Kindergarten through 12th)! And because of the small size, most of our sports were played with co-ed teams.

You get the idea.

Photo Credit: Acclaim Images

 

I was excited, and I was also nervous. I’ve never done track before. We had no coach, or any training. I wondered just how bad I was going to be.

The track meet was held on a warm spring day at another private school (almost as small as my school); the school’s parking lot was converted into a track.  For my first event, the 100 yard dash, I found myself competing against girls who were two and three years older than me, but age or size didn’t matter as I flew past them and finished in 1st place.  The same thing happened in the next event, the 200 yard dash, where I again finished in 1st place. In my last event, 400 yard relay, I was put in as the last runner, and as a team, we placed 2nd.

I never thought that running and competing could be so much fun.

Summer came and my parents placed me in a summer day camp which was sponsored by one of the local public schools. None of the kids from my school were there, but that really didn’t bother me. The kids that were there were from other public schools, ages that ranged from five all the way up to sixteen. I kept to myself as always while occasionally conversing with a few who were close to my age. One whom I do remember was Kari Lynn Nixon. She was a few months younger than me, but I was amazed by her. She was pretty, outgoing, and popular. I can remember one particular day when she involved me in one of the activities she led: how to put on makeups.

Here I was, eleven years old at the time, a tomboy learning how to apply lipstick and blush to my sweaty and dirty face. I must have been a comical sight when I got home later that day.

I remember one specific day over any others though.  It was late morning when one of the camp leaders announced that there was going to be a race.  Anyone who was interested was to come to the baseball field and stand in a line next to the home base. I didn’t think.  I just went. As soon as I stood in that line with at least twenty other kids, doubts filled my mind and butterflies jumped in my stomach.

What was I doing?

Most of these kids were athletes.  A few of whom I actually knew were  star baseball and softball athletes.  What kind of chance would I have against them?  A girl like me who went to a small private school against these other kids who went to schools that were at least ten times larger.

I must be insane.

I seriously considered stepping out and away from the line, but that would mean the entire camp would see me chickening out.  There had to have been about one hundred kids sitting in the bleachers behind me.

I had no choice, but to compete.

Must of the race was a blur to me.  I remember running as fast as I could.  I remember this one boy athlete racing right along beside me.  Then I remember seeing the home base ahead of me as we rounded the last section of the field.  I could hear the kids cheering in the bleachers. I can remember my legs feeling like rubbery leads.  You know what was amazing about that race?

I finished first.

I finally found something that I was good at. Something that apparently I was better than many of the kids from the local public schools.

It all felt quite surreal.  I never had so many people cheering for me.  Congratulating me.

It felt good.

I almost felt…normal.

 

Run With the Wind

Cool breeze sweeping by

the landscape all but a blur

my feet take me home

Friday Favorite: Helen Keller and Poetry

 

It’s Friday–FINALLY!   🙂  🙂  🙂   Hope your week has been productive, and fast.  Mine was a bit chaotic with both hubby and son home sick for the past few days with colds.  I had a MRI done on a shoulder, and the results were positive–no surgery will be needed.  Just more physical therapy, but that I can handle.  🙂

Can’t help though but to feel a tad frustrated since I hadn’t done any writing this week.   It’s not that I’m feeling unproductive, but if a day or more pass by and I hadn’t created anything, that’s where the frustration lies.  I feel like an addict in that if I don’t get my fix (in the act of creating), I feel pent up, and agitated.

Sounds familiar?

Anyhoo…

A question popped in my  mind earlier this morning when I began thinking about Helen Keller (one of my favorite inspirational writers): how did she feel about poetry?

Reason this question came to mind is that I’ve been doing some soul-searching as I start to make plans for a memoir (which will be written around a series of poems I wrote throughout various parts of my life).  A realization struck me in how important writing poetry was to my healing (and dealing with losses), and I’ve begun to look at the role of how poetry therapy played in other people’s lives.

I knew Helen Keller had written at least one memoir, and several essays, but I wondered if she ever wrote poetry.  So, I hunted online to find the answer.  Although I did find it, I also found this particular quote by Keller that I’m considering to have framed and placed on my writing desk:

 

Poetry is liberating.   Writing poetry enable me to delve deeper in emotions and experiences that have been too painful to voice orally, and even openly about.

What about you?  Have poetry been instrumental in certain aspect or time of your life?  Do you have a favorite poet or poem?

 

 

#YouTube Tuesday: Dead Poets Society Series

I enjoy creating videos for various poetry, and have started a new series on my You Tube channel called “Dead Poets Society.”

This is my latest one, “Waking in Winter,” by Sylvia Plath:

 

 


 

If you enjoyed that one here are three more:

 

God Lay Dead in Heaven by Stephen Crane

I Felt A Funeral, In My Brain by Emily Dickinson

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost