The Battering Ram

courtesy of charleston-sc.gov

These streets are foreign

However the same troubles plague you

You crave the old feelings of safety, comfort and peace

Yet they escape you.

The gaslights and palmetto trees

Have become a welcome sight

Even in the dimming sunlight when

You escape the sanctuary of your small cottage.

You stalk the cobblestone paths

Of the older neighborhoods

Accompanied by nothing but honeysuckle, blooming flowers and iron gates

Each night.

Your tortured and battered soul

Eventually leads you to the park where you

Sit on wooden benches blanketed from the starry sky

By the canopy of trees.

You stare into the darkness

Unable to appreciate the rivers beyond the rail

As the soothing waters seem to beckon you

To finally escape.

I’m Ready

I’m gearing up; completing character worksheets, plotting the story, storyboarding, and researching. I’m also fully stocked up on tea as I prepare for next month and the intense pressure of writing 50,000 words in 30 days. And I am so excited! It seems that each November brings that same feeling; anticipation.

I never thought that I could pour out 50,000 words in a month but that pressure works for me so I make the time to write no matter what else I’m dealing with. This year, I’m excited to return to trying my hand at writing romantic suspense. I’ll be tackling a story that has been in my head for a while and it is growing every day.

I am in heavy planning mode right now and as you can see from the picture; I’m using some new tools. I am going to try to outline a lot more this year which may be hard because I am not a plotter but it helped a lot last year. Are any of you planning to tackle NaNoWriMo this year? If so, are you excited about it?

Thirteens

“Warriors are poets and poems and all the loveliness here in the worlds.”

On days like this,
poetry is not a balm or a comfort.
It is not enough
ever.
I can only see clouds and
darkness; not smiles and love.

On days like this,
no words are enough
to soothe
my troubled soul
and nothing is powerful
or beautiful enough
to soothe me.

On days like this,
I simply wait for
the storms of my tears
to pass.

The Fist- Derek Walcott

This piece is by St. Lucian poet and playwright Derek Walcott. I stumbled upon him as I was researching Caribbean poets last week and this week; in my goal of learning more about poets from that part of the world. This poem spoke to me in a way that I wasn’t expecting. There is something dynamic about the line, “When have I ever not loved/the pain of love?” That is such a beatiful line and it drew me in completely. I am looking into adding some Walcott volumes to my poetry collection.

I hope you all enjoy The Fist.

The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved

past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.

Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

Bleeding Words- an ode to my fellow poets

Poetry has saved my life more than once. It has pulled me from the depths of depression and grief. It is a quilt of memories and pride warming me on a cold day. Most days, I know that I was meant to write poetry and even if it was never published that it is an essential part of my being.

The following piece was inspired by a poem from Haitian poet Oswald Durand(pictured above); more specifically the quote at the beginning of his poem “The Street Singer.” The quote made me reexamine my feelings about myself as a poet and people’s expectations of free poetry. I was going to make a meme about it but I decided to include a few lines instead.

Oswald Durand was born in Cap-Haïtien, Haiti in 1840. He was largely self educated and a teacher, newspaperman, and  Congressman. He is considered the preeminent poet of Haiti and I can’t wait to learn more about him. One of the things that I wanted to pursue during my PhD is poets from Caribbean. I don’t know how or if that will happen. So I’ve committed to learning about them outside of the confines of a course.

***********************************************************************************

“Since this is your job, miserable poet” (A. de Musset)

Write these images

As if they are as

Essential as your next breath

Paint lyrics

So evocative that they are burned

Into retinas, ear canals and brains

Write on miserable, lonely poet

It’s your job to

Tell these tales

You know that

People love your writing

When it’s free

They like its beauty

And its appearance in journals

But don’t acknowledge its value

Don’t see the restorative effects

Or the healing and soothing properties

Those same people think that you chose to be a poet

They don’t understand that it’s

in your blood

Burrowed deep

Into your skin, fat, muscle, bones and organs

That you were born to

Bleed symbolism onto pages,

fill sheets with tears, and

Exorcise demons with your words

See, miserable poet

What you know

Is that poetry is the human experience

It’s our existence lain bare like

Bones bleached by the sun

The beating heart and soul of life

You never stood a chance

Poetry was born in you

It was your first breath

i carry your heart with me- E.E. Cummings

A while ago, I wrote a piece that I absolutely loved. It was a short piece but I felt like it conveyed everything that I wanted to say. I shared it on the blog and I was looking at it to consider revising it. Well, as I was researching this week, I stumbled across this E.E. Cummings poem and found it to be absolutely beautiful. I love that it seems to contain a refrain and that it is so lyrical.  In so many ways, this poem is everything that I love about poetry; it is full of imagery and the tone is so serene. I will carry the beauty and pieces of it with me.

I hope you all enjoy it!

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)