My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Friday, December 28, 2012

4 CIHTD?: Take Care, Honey

Title:  Hate Me
Artist:  Blue October
Album:  Foiled
Genre:  Alternative

Notes:  There are three little words that use to come out of my mouth unhindered; they spoke to my poor self-worth and in complete contrast to the words I longed to hear (from myself as well as others).  It took awhile, but I finally trained those words out of my system.  Well, not completely,  but the no longer plague me the same way that they use to.  I'm certain it is those three little words that attracted me to this song.  Even though this is not a self-loathing song, there are elements of that in it I would think.

As I began to listen past the refrain, I found a multitude of interesting lines that feed the imagination quite well--several that strike home in ways not intended by the song.  I'm not sure who the 'she' is, if there are more than one 'she', or even if there is a 'she'.  There are many ways I can take this verse, both on a personal level and depending on the 'she'.

Take Care, Honey
the war isn't quite over yet,
just a simple battle won.
and while I wish I could stay--
continue this fight with you,
you've made this goodbye quite clear.
so here I stand miles away
while your war still rages on
and though you hope to protect--
pushing me away from you,
my heart will never let go.
I will continue to cry
for you--for the us that could
have been; and I will hate you
for today, for tomorrow;
I will hate you for always.
but I'll never, no never,
stop loving you; you will fill
my dreams as you always have
and I'll find what's good for me
whether it be you or not.
just promise you'll continue
to fight--look in the mirror
and see all that you are, all
you can be; all you couldn't
see reflected in my eyes.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

7 Last Call: HONE


limber fingers move
deftly 'cross wires as
time threatens to detonate

"tedious practice sharpens skills."

I know all of you over at Three Word Wednesday wait with bated breath for the last Wednesday of the month when I attempt to compose a clarity pyramid out of three words [3WW=detonate, limber tedious].  It took a bit of effort, but it did come together in the end.  Part of me was hoping to find a way to incorporate the explosive theme into the last line, but with just eight syllables its not such an easy task.

With the holiday, I've decided to double up this week and so (while not much of a holiday piece)...

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

2 Time Capsule: Awakening

Title:  Awakening:  the road ahead
Date: 02/21/2000
Setting:  Life after collage--during first post-college job
Form:  Free verse

Bridge freezes before road surface,
Slow road curves ahead,
Slippery when wet,
Hidden driveway,
Deer crossing,
Dead end.
As we look at the road ahead,
we can’t help but hesitate
and look back.
Nine years we have spent
in this womb;
Grown in the sanctity
of these walls
Pampered, pacified, spoiled
and on occasions
given a swift kick
in the ________.
We can see the hand outstretched
The hand which has held ours
for so long.
The one we fought,
yanked at and rebelled against,
wanting to pull away.
Now with it all too willing to let go,
We realize we have only our own
two feet
to hold us up on this new journey.
We've been warned,
of the pot holes,
the speed bumps,
the other drivers,
even of the road rage;
that of others and
our own.
We can only hope that as we come
to each new intersection,
We take heed of all
the hand has taught us.
The path will not be easy.
We know we shall
bruise a knee or two,
But we will rise.
more courageous,
and more determined
to find our way.
Even those among us,
who may still be naive enough
to see only a perfect road;
who may still be foolish enough
to ignore the speed limit,
will soon be awakened
as they spin uncontrollably
on the black ice.
They too will gain control
And we will conquer
these obstacles.
We will succeed!!

Notes:  This time capsule has two stops. 

Stop 1--My first job had me working in a K-8 school.  I had the opportunity to work with grades ranging from 2nd all the way up to 8th.  Towards the end of my second year, I composed this poem for a group of students who I had had two years in a row.  They ended up reading the poem during graduation.

Stop 2--During my second job, I assisted a Language Arts teacher in a project she was doing with her class, the Cocoa Bean Cafe.  She had her students take the poems they had written, find images to reflect their words and create a PowerPoint that would run as they presented their poem at the Cocoa Bean Cafe (her classroom all decked up with snacks and cocoa to boot).  After, I worked with several of the students to turn their work into a vodcast using PhotoStory.  Of course before I could do any of this I had to test things out myself; so I took Awakening...and thus came, my first youtube poem.  (Not that there are many of them.) 

Artifact I:  This is an image of the poster created with this poem.

Artifact II:  My video of the poem.

Friday, December 21, 2012

2 CIHTD?: Sound of Healing

Title:  Stand Up
Artist:  Sugarland
Album:  The Incredible Machine
Genre:  Country

Notes:  The first time I heard this song was in concert.  It was just as powerful and beautiful then as it is every time I hear it.  As I listened to this song that very first time, I thought about how perfectly it would fit as a background to a montage of students expressing their thoughts and experiences with bullying.  Today I watched a group of eighth graders present a series of skits to each grade in their school (6-8).  Working in conjunction with the guidance counselor they identified different scenarios they found to be prevalent in their school as it relates to HIB (harassment, intimidation, and bullying).  And so it is no surprise this song found its way back into my head.

Sound of Healing
Allow your words to break the silence--
a fire shedding light to banish the darkness.
Allow your voice to rise above the noise--
a beacon of light to guide the lost home.
Allow your love to steel the pain and sorrow--
an aura of light to surround, comfort and heal
the hearts that beat in each of us.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

4 Last Call: OTN

OTN (outside the norm)

So long I have been
a dodecahedron
trying to shave off
my edges to fit
into a spherical world.

I'm worn down and
tired of trying to fit
when really all I long
for is to stand out.

But I'm bound by
some idea of what's
normal and the fear
of stepping out of
the shadows cast
by my own insecurities.

Expectations push in
on me from all directions
and disappointment in
me keeps me from
pushing back.

I so long to be
me, whomever that is.

I so long to walk
outside the norm.

An Aside:  It really is amazing how the mind can travel from one idea to another.  I rather not ramble on too much today so let's just say:  Dream => Batman => Crazy Criminals => Prison => Asylum => "outside the norm" => this poem.  (and no I do not relate in anyway shape or form to the individuals--fictional or not--from Batman.)

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

3 Time Capsule: Chain Reactions

Title:  Chain Reactions (As the saga unfolds...)
Date:  between 09/1999 and 06/2001
Setting:  Life after college--during first post-college job
Form:  Undefined

Notes:  There were several things that led to me to sharing this.  It is neither poem nor prose, but this morning as I was driving this popped into my head.  I took it as a sign.

Each month, someone was assigned a bulletin board to design.  When the time came around for me I had a little fun.  The board started off with a title, "Chain Reaction," and a card that read "You" and on the inside "Yes, You!!"  Approximately every other day over the several weeks I added a new link.  The idea was to show how one thing (good or bad) can ripple and effect someone you never met.  The display included two chains, one starting out with a positive action the other with a negative action.

Artifact I:  A picture of the bulletin board.

Chain Reaction
(As the saga unfolds…)

(Yes You!!)
You tease Jacob about his answer in class.

 You hold the door open for another student and mention you like her outfit.
Jacob, feeling upset after being teased, leaves the room in a huff and walks into Max without saying excuse me.

Jessy, feeling unusually good about herself because of the compliment paid to her, congratulates Henry on his presentation.
Max annoyed at Jacob’s rudeness slams Brianne’s locker on her hand because she was in his way. 

Henry, bewildered that Jessy even noticed him, thanks one of his teachers for all of the help he had given him.
Brianne aggravated by her locker being slammed and in pain yells at her little brother Jimmy for following her.

The teacher, shocked by Henry’s gratitude, e-mails a teacher from another school to thank her for the advice she had shared, which allowed him to help Henry.
Jimmy upset by his sister, shoves Trevor into the middle of the street when Trevor accidentally bumps into him.

The e-mail made the other teacher’s awful day a little better, so that when she sees Paul she tells him how impressive his paper was and that it shows much improvement.
Trevor terrified by being pushed into the middle of the road freezes as a woman swerves to miss hitting him.

Paul overwhelmed with pride and joy, helps another student who was loaded down with books and then invites him to hang out with him.
The woman in the car smashes into a telephone pole as she swerves.

The boy, Gerald, was so amazed that someone as cool as Paul wanted to hang out with him, that he changes his mind about a very important decision he had made.
A woman, you never met, lies in a hospital bed surrounded by her husband and two kids, who are praying that she will just open her eyes or squeeze her hand. 

Gerald, a boy you never met, realizes he has a lot to look forward to in life and decides to remain a part of this world.
Your actions make a difference.

Your actions make a difference.
Because of YOU
(Yes You!!)

Friday, December 14, 2012

10 CIHTD?: My Dear (Your Lion Heart)

Title:  Little Lion Man
Artist:  Mumford & Sons
Album:  Sigh No More
Genre:  Alternative

Notes:  I had a really long ramble planned, but I've decided to curtail it and just stay focused on what lead me here.  A couple things came into play really.  (In order as best as I can relate.)  Every other Friday (or there abouts) I post -- what I call -- a "Postcard Pondering" for fourth and fifth graders to ponder and think about.  The theme this time was courage.  Of course I can't just ask, "What's the most courageous thing you've ever done?"  That would be too simple; so instead...

Then on my way home yesterday, looking for the next song inspiration, I heard Little Lion Man.  I mean really how perfect was that.  And then, over at dVerse Poets Pub their meeting on writing in the second person.  If you've listened to Little Lion Man, the song (aside from the refrain) is in second person (though I'm pretty sure the you is the I).  If I hadn't already been convinced this was the way to go, at this point it all just seemed like a sign.

Anyway...enough rambling (and yes that was the short [on topic] version).

My Dear  (alternate title:  Your Lion Heart)
There's no need to touch
hand to chest
to know the rhythm
is off.
you can feel the stu(ut)ter
throughout your whole body;
a constant internal strum
reminding you how your heartstrings
dangle while you play on through
reminding you how you put yourself
out there on the line ready to fall
                       ready to give your all.
What courage you showed!
What strength
         openness you embodied?
You were so willing
                so ready to put your heart
                                              on the line
But it's not your fault...
      it's not your fault your lion heart
      was torn to shreds by mine. 

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

14 Last Call: Sweet Silence

An Aside:  My initial intent for using twitter was to jot down little ideas (I like to call them pom seeds) that could blossom into something more.  It's grown a bit since then to also include short verses (haiku, tanka, septolet, etc.) and unfortunately less pom seeds.  Anyway, it took one particular pom seed just over a month and a half to grow into what I had envisioned when I first tweeted it (a poem called Sweet Sweet Silence).  What was interesting about this particular seed was the potential it had for taking on more than one flavor.  So prior to finally finding the footing I had hope it to have, it took on two other forms, which I've decided to share here today.  The first is actually a similar concept in a short form (more of a brush of the lips).  The second one definitely has a different twist.

Kiss Me Senseless

if i threaten to ramble on endlessly,
will you promise to silence me again
with your lips on mine?

Sweet Kiss

her words hung in the air
harsh, bitter, and cold
like icicles ready to drop
their points aimed directly at him;
the silence echoed
as the last word left her lips.
she stepped toward him
leaned in and kissed his cheek;
her lips curled into a evil smile
upon seeing her blood red imprint.
still he stood there
as though petrified by her words;
she turned to walk away
her tongue casually slipping
out across her top lip
in along her bottom lip.
a small giddy laugh
escaped past another smile
as she bit her bottom lip
thinking how sweet revenge tasted.

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

2 Time Capsule: Dear Santa

Title:  Dear Santa
Date:  between 11/15/93 and 06/14/94
Setting:  Senior year of high school
Form:  Free verse w/ rhyme

This year I wish for one simple thing
I’d like a baby brother
For that’s what I hope you’ll bring.
Someone for me to play with 
And sing sweet lullabies
To rock to sleep in his little cradle
Where my head once use to lie.
I know I've been a good girl
I've said my ‘thanks’ and ‘please’
I always clean my plate off
I even eat all my peas.
And so I ask you nicely
Oh, Santa would you please
Bring me a little brother
To grow with, love and tease.

Notes:  During my senior year, I had the opportunity to take a class that allowed you to leave school for the last two periods of the day and go to one of the school district's elementary schools to work with a teacher.  I was paired with a first grade teacher.  During this time, I did a lot of different things from working with students to making photo copies.  I remember one afternoon listening to the teachers in the hallway after school about the student work hanging on the wall.  One of the student wished for a sibling.  From that this little number came to life.

Artifact I:  The scribblings that led to the poem.

Artifact II:  The final writing of the poem.

Friday, December 7, 2012

1 Can I Have This Dance?: Missing Lyrics

Title:  What Makes You Beautiful
Artist:  One Direction
Album:  Up All Night
Genre:  Pop

Missing Lyrics
I'm still waiting
'cause while I hear you
loud and clear
bop my head to music
tap my toe to the rhythm
hum along to your lyrics
the answer never comes.
The ground may not hold
the answers, but it easier
then seeing that word
shine in your eyes when
you look at me.
That look hurts--knowing
I don't see what you see
and so I wait listening
but you never really say,
what makes me beautiful.

Notes:  I'm cutting it close; Friday is almost at an end.  I kind of threw this one together.  I suppose it has potential, but...

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

11 Top of the List

we wait for death
scythe in hand
the fluid drips
             d r i p s
    d r i p s
sustaining you here
as life slowly drains from your body

will the harvest come soon enough?

we wait for death
for him to finally come
to reap another's soul
your battle for life comes at a cost

we wait for death
if he'll bring you life
or claim your last breath

An Aside:  when I first looked at Three Word Wednesday's selection of words [3WW=>battle, fluid, harvest], I thought about how I might use fluid in terms of "state of mind" as apposed to an actual substance. But there was something about the word harvest that drew me in.  At first I thought I might go a bit twisted, especially after my previous post involving a serial killer.  But there are several members of my family who have received kidney transplants (from live donors) over the past 17-ish years.  In a way they were lucky, no one had to die for them to live - that is obviously not always the case.  And so I deviated slightly from my original twisted thought.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

5 Last Call: Blood Red

An Aside: I know...I know...I really should save my asides for the end, but... This little number never made its way here to ...dodta.... It was inspired way back in November of last year by a Poetics prompt over at dVerse~Poets Pub, called Playing with Color. For some reason, I posted it on an alternative blog (that for some weird reason I maintain) and therefore never actually shared it for the inspiring prompt. So I thought I'd share it tonight. 

Blood Red
when asked why he does it
the serial killer replied
“I like the color blue.”
he looked down at his arm
traced his finger along a vein
“I try and I try,
but it never runs blue.”

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

4 Time Capsule: --For the Children

Title:  --For the Children
Date:  12/01/1995
Setting:  Sophomore year of college
Form:  Free Verse
Innocent children
brought up in a world
of robberies and muggings,
of dealers and drugs,
of murder and death.
They have no choice.
To them this is nature
Defective in nurture.
They do everything
in their power
just to survive.
Their pain is incomprehensible
All the suffering
Swelling up inside them.
They can’t help
what they shall become,
But we can.
Artifact I:  Original poem.

Friday, November 30, 2012

6 Can I Have This Dance?: We Feel So Good

Title:  Reunited
Artist:  Peaches & Herb
Album:  The Best of Peaches & Herb
Genre:  R&B/Soul

We Feel So Good

I let you go before I realized
we were pieces of the same puzzle;
so perfectly we fit together.

I long to once again be close to you,
feel the contours of your smooth curves
brush up against my own.

You are the dream
I never knew I wanted--needed--
until you were gone.

Our foolishness has passed
and now all I wish for is you
to love me and hold me tight.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012


I usually put my ramblings at the end, but....

An Aside:  So here again is what happens when Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>clench(ed), faint, prod] meets the last Wednesday of the month...a clarity pyramid.  I got stuck on the idea of using prod like a cattle prod; it took quite some effort with a lot of scribblings and extra lines with syllables that didn't fit right, and in the end while I kept some of the ideas that blossomed from this I ended up not using prod in that manner.  


the smell of burnt hair
was faint as electro-
shocks coursed through his clenched body

"prod into a violent fit."

An(other) Aside:  This is an example where multi-syllable words take a bit away from the visual "pyramid-ness" of this form.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

16 Last Call: Side Effects -- Depression Hurts

Side Effects -- Depression Hurts
                         (Nothing Can Help--Save a Coin Toss I'm Not Willing to Call)

with every breath of air, I suffocate;
there's no magic bottle of air for me,
just a bottle full of pills
                            of pills.

pills promising paradise
      where lungs are free to inhale unhindered
one where there's no need for them to function at all.

so I opt to suffocate--
to feel my lungs seared with each gulp of air,
for I fear breathing just as much
as death.

An Aside:  Okay, so after the first line came to me (having recently watched the Lorax), the idea of air being bottled seemed like a natural line.  From there...well there is no magic bottle of air, but there are bottles of pills.  I have seen the commercial for the drug (I'm sure I don't need to tell you which one) and have always found listening to the disclaimer, "if...., contact your doctor immediately."  My favorite side effect (if you didn't figure it out from above) for an anti-depressant is that it may increase suicidal thoughts and desires.

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Monday, November 26, 2012

1 Q Series: Why Poetry? -- Q3

Welcome to the third and final installment of the first Q Series, aptly named Poetry. (For more information on the Q Series, see information located at the end of this post.) Over the course of three Monday's--today being the second--I will be exploring three questions about poetry and myself. They are as follows:
Why do I write poetry?
Why do I like writing form (poetry)?
Why do I prefer free verse (poetry)?

So with out further ado...

So alas we arrive at the final question:  Why do I prefer writing free verse?  What about free verse calls to me more so than any other form out there?  It's freeing!  Sorry, I couldn't help myself.  In all honesty I started writing in free verse because I didn't really know much else.  Sure, like most grade school children, I learned haiku, diamante, and acrostic.  Might I have learned more than that in school--sure, but those were the ones we were taught to write.  

Truth be told, knowing such little form (prior to ...dodta...) I wouldn't have really even known what classified my writing as free verse except for the fact that I did not conform to any particular number of lines or syllable, nor did I care if rhyme made its way into my verse.  And to be completely honest I had no idea what meter really was so you can bet that never had any impact on my verse.

The inner workings of my brain...
As I have mentioned before, my left-brain (which is ever so slightly more dominant) should prefer the structure of non-free verse.  But as I have also stated, part of why I write is to break away from that half of my brain.  Such a structured and logical being can be quite exhausting.  Maybe part of that is because I have a relatively balanced brain.  Sometimes, I have even wondered if I wasn't always more right-brained, but in order to preserve my sanity forced my left-brain to take more of a role.  

The irrational thoughts...
The key is 'irrational'.  When it comes to expelling the emotions, fears, and anxieties that bind me, there is no controlling the shape they take.  They just pour like a mad person rambling on and on and on.  They don't pause to think about fitting to a specific number of syllables or hitting a predetermined meter.  Honestly, I just want to get them out and get them out as quickly as possible...sort of like ripping off a bandage.

The truth about "free" verse...
I suppose it is important to understand the definition of "free verse" in order to decide if that is in fact what I prefer.  Based on what I've read (free of meter, unrestricted in line number/length and rhyme), I'd say free verse is indeed what I write.  The thing is I'm not sure that "free verse" is ever really free, at least not for me.  If I were to look back over my writings I can find numerous poems that incorporate some form of structure.  I have found that I quite enjoy line repetition; I like linking stanzas by creating a relationship between how respective lines start.  

There are definitely little nuances that I can see in my writing that while "free" are structured.  Take for instance the poem below.  Each stanza contains the same number of lines, the first line in each is only two words which includes a noun and a descriptor of the noun; the second lines describe an action of the noun; the third lines all start with 'a' and compare the noun to something else (some form of figurative language, I was never really good at tell the different kinds); all forth lines end with "raging emotions"; and the final lines all begin with "longing to."  
Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions
gritted teeth
hold tears at bay
a flimsy dam of sticks
bombarded by raging emotions
longing to pour freely
rioting music
course throughout
a volatile tidal wave
melding with raging emotions
longing to find rhythm
breath moves
slowly in, slowly out
a soft gentle breeze
releases the raging emotions
longing to suffocate
Another example:
Holding Me Tight
Imagination walks with me down the lonely road
a constant friend I lean upon time and time again
opening up a world to me that I cannot find here
Imagination saves me from all that troubles
a deadly weapon I wield over and over again
killing the fear and anxiety that invades me here
Imagination holds me tightly on those lonely nights
a warm body I wrap myself with again and again
shielding me safely in arms that I am unable to find here
These are just two example of where "free" is only accurate in the sense that there is no defined meter, syllable count, and/or rhyme.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

0 Time Capsule: --Blooming

Title:  --Blooming
Date:  11/21/97 and 02/01/98
Setting:  Senior year of college
Form:  Shape Poetry

Notes:  This was my first attempt at writing within the confines of a shape.  I think since, I have only done so on one other occasion.  It came out okay, I guess.

Artifact I:  First attempt at construction.  (I believe aside from drawing a horrible set of petals, I moved the position of the words.)

Artifact II:  Second and final construction of poem.

Friday, November 23, 2012

2 Can I Have This Dance?: I Fell Too

Title:  Apologize 
Artist:  OneRepublic
Album:  Dreaming Out Loud
Genre:  Rock

I Fell Too
Our love burned bright blue;
so brilliant was the flame,
fear gripped my heart anew.
If I could explain
what took control of me,
it might lessen the pain
and maybe you'd see
the rope was seared not cut.
Though you might disagree,
I did this for you
unsure I could ever
accept a love so true.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

11 Last Call: HIB - Internal Trauma (Speak Up)

HIB - Internal Trauma (Speak Up)

Sticks and stones may break your bones
but words...
                               words are like
Mola Ram's fingers piercing the chest cavity
withdrawing your still beating heart
while you--blood slowly draining--look on
as he displays your very core
for all to gawk and sneer at.

I picture him as the rough-n-tough 4th grader
and my heart stills in my chest; now,
three years later, he stand before me
eyes glassy--long-T wiping away tears
before they can fall and add to his disgrace.
My very core aches at the sight of him
desperately trying to maintain his dignity.
The office just a few quick steps
from the stairwell where we stand waits
unwanted, but it's okay 'cause I'm as good
as any office; so with a bit of prodding he
relates the words spoken in cruel jest in front
of his peers--frustration, fear, and despair
echo in his voice.

We talk of this infection and how I...we
can't let it spread--for his health as well as others.
With him resigned--
accepting of this idea,
I send him back to class then head
for the unwanted to complete the paperwork
so the investigation--the anti(bullying)virus
can begin it healing journey.

Broken bones can be reset and pinned,
but words....
                      becareful of the words
their stealth attack like internal bleeding
if untreated can cause massive blood loss
where your silence signs your death note.

Side Note #1:  For those unfamiliar with the HIB acronym, they stand for Harassment, Intimidation, and Bullying.

Side Note #2:  Mola Ram is a character from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Monday, November 19, 2012

3 Q Series: Why Poetry? -- Q2

Welcome to the second installment of the first Q Series, aptly named Poetry. (For more information on the Q Series, see information located at the end of this post.) Over the course of three Monday's--today being the second--I will be exploring three questions about poetry and myself. They are as follows:
Why do I write poetry?
Why do I like writing form (poetry)?
Why do I prefer free verse (poetry)?

So with out further ado...

Why Form Poetry? Seriously, what on earth would possess me (or anyone for that matter) to constrain poetic inspiration to a rigid set of rules and parameters? Don't get me wrong, I understand the aesthetics of form: the way meter plays to the rhythm of the words, the way rhyming presents an appealing sound, the way repetition adds a flow and emphasize to a thought. I can definitely appreciate the use of poetic form both when I read silently or aloud. But to employ such constraints truly hurts my brain.  Truth be told, poetic form and I have a love-hate relationship.  I love to hate it.

The inner workings of my brain...
Now one might think that my logical - very structured - left brain would love the rules and guidelines set forth by form, but one of the benefits of writing is being able to shutdown that half of my brain. It provides me with an opportunity to allow the irrational thoughts and fears threatening to consume me run free--more like a mustang on the open range than a stallion let out in the fenced in pasture. If it were solely up to my brain, I would fight tooth-and-nail not to write in form. Although it is my brain...yes the lovely left brain...that has rationalized out why I like writing in form.

The irrational thoughts...
While I expressed in the previous installment, I started writing because it was a way for me to expel all of the crazy thoughts and fears that induce anxiety and stress.  Poetry is my coping mechanism.  I find, however, the older I get the harder it is for me to lull these thoughts to sleep, for though I talk about this being a purging of sorts, they always resurface.  I find that the annoyance and struggles of writing in form, following a specific rhyme scheme or employing a certain meter, help to take my mind off of the emotions and feelings that I am writing about.

The lessening of pain...
It is sort of like biting my finger when I have a massive headache.  My hurting finger helps to dull the ache (or my knowledge of the ache) in my head.   I'm able to write out the emotions and feelings without having them overwhelm me.  The harder, stronger, or deeper the emotion, the more I love to hate poetic form.  It really is as simple as that.  

The Q Series is a new theme. I decided Mondays needed to be spiced up a little bit. Plus I do kind of miss my incessant ramblings. How it works is quite simple. I take a topic of interest to me, personal or not, pose two - four questions, and spend several Mondays exploring the questions. I might miss the occasional Monday with this, but there is no hard and fast rule that I must post on least not yet.

Friday, November 16, 2012

2 Can I Have This Dance?: Quinzaine: Mistake

Title:  God Doesn't Make Mistakes
Artist:  Carolyn Dawn Johnson
Album:  Dress Rehearsal
Genre:  Country

Quinzaine:  Mistake

I heard You don't make mistakes.
Why did you make me?
No, really?

I'm perfect just as I am.
Why do I feel like
a mistake?

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

8 Last Call: Forest Fears

Forest Fears

I keep hugging this tree
as the world spins by;
when will someone find me?
is this where I’ll die?

As the world spins by,
I hold every breath—scared—
trapped in my mind’s eye
where too long I’ve been snared.

When will someone find me—
take my hand and lead,
for I’m too lost to see
past the fears I breed.

Is this where I’ll die—
caught in the spiderweb,
unable to fly—
my mind lost to its ebb?

An Aside:  this piece stems from a pom seed written back in June.  It was shortly after this pom seed that I managed to find my way back here to ...don't open...don't throw away....  I went into hiding for awhile (a year if I wish to be more accurate) unable to handle the socio-neti-phobia.  While the focus of the poem and pom seed are different, there is an obvious link between the two.

A Form Aside:  the above is a quadrilew.  It's an interesting form relying on both syllable count, rhyming, and repeating lines.  

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Monday, November 12, 2012

2 Q Series: Why poetry? -- Q1

Welcome to the first Q Series, aptly named Poetry.  (For more information on the Q Series, see information located at the end of this post.)  Over the course of the next three Monday's I will be exploring three questions about poetry and myself.  They are as follows:
Why do I write poetry?
Why do I like writing form (poetry)?
Why do I prefer free verse (poetry)?

So with out further ado...

Why Poetry?  Of all the forms of writing out there, why would I choose poetry as my form of expression?  Just as important is why I write at all.  These are not simple questions and their answers are far from easy.  Honestly, I find it hard to figure out where to begin or even what to include.  But I do quite enjoy my second form of writing (what I've deemed Ramblings), so hopefully we'll all be able to follow along.

The inner workings of my brain....
I have several theories running in regard to the craziness that infects my brain.  One includes how I was originally right brained (creative/artistic), but due to the irrational thoughts threatening to destroy me my left brain (logical/analytical) took over.  Of course my right brain has continued to plot uprisings and so in the end I have a rather boring--and oddly--well balance brain.  You see while my left brain (the one that loves solving systems of equations in multiple variables and using the Rational Root Theorem to find possible solutions to polynomial equations) has managed to tamper most of my irrational side, those thoughts are still there longing to escape and so I tap into the right side and write (no pun intended).

The irrational thoughts...
So as the tagline for this blog states, "this letting of words is my salvation. it pulls all the toxins from my mind, body, and soul."  I write in order to release or purge myself of the incessant and trying thoughts that threaten to consume me.  Does that mean that I never deviate from the internal?  No, occasionally it is just as important for me to write about something so completely unrelated to how I am feeling or the thoughts running around unchecked.  It's how I keep sane...well maybe not sane so much as functional.

The letting of words...
This brings us back to why poetry.  I could just as easily journal (or dear diary) myself into sanity.  In fact, some of my ramblings are just that.  The problem is it is too personal.  With's's abstractness...I can disconnect myself.  When I write poetry I can take an emotion or feeling and express it in such a way that the thoughts and events that sparked the irrational feeling floating in me are not really easily uncovered.  It is sort of like being covered from head to toe in body paint, so that even though you are completely naked no one can really see you.

The Q Series is a new theme.  I decided Mondays needed to be spiced up a little bit.  Plus I do kind of miss my incessant ramblings.  How it works is quite simple.  I take a topic of interest to me, personal or not, pose two - four questions, and spend several Mondays exploring the questions.  I might miss the occasional Monday with this, but there is no hard and fast rule that I must post on least not yet.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

3 Time Capsule: --After the Journey

Title:  --After the Journey
Date:  06/18/98
Setting:  Summer after final year of college (during a touring Europe)
Form:  Free verse
Yesterday seemed to last forever,
draining me with every passing hour.
To sleep was but a dream
in this endless day it seemed.
And now, as I’m about to drift away
after this 24 waken hour day
goodnight is all I can say.
Notes:  After graduation, my cousin and I took a trip to Europe as part of a tour.  It was an wonderful and amazing experience.  The above is the first poem written outside the borders of my own country.  I really didn't write much while I was there.  I have begun to realize that I tend to write more from inside my head than what I see; I'm not sure how much sense that makes, but I can only image what I might have created had I been more focused on my writing back then.

Artifact I:  The original poem written in a cute little journal.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

9 Fall Tree

Brilliant reds, oranges, yellows
cling to limbs for dear life;
not ready to lay down in defeat.

An early snowfall blankets
vibrant autumn hues
compromising the strong integrity.

Under such a burdening weight—
teetering with indecision—
finally they fall forward

allowing the house to sigh in relief
as the majestic beast brushes past
laying down its arms upon the doorstep.

An Aside:  Nor'easters are evil.  Last year, an early snowfall brought down many trees unable to bare the weight of the colorful leaves and the snow.  As the snow fell yesterday, again far earlier than expected, I thought of the beautiful trees and wondered did Sandy already knock out the weak so as not to add more wood to the fire.  Surprisingly, the Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>compromise(-e+ing), (in)decision, forward] prompt played quite well with these thoughts.  If you get a chance head on over and see how other's twisted these three words into their own poem, prose, or who knows.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

8 Last Call: Socio-neti-phobia

due to the lovely Nor'easter, which has brought snow in the wake of the lovely Sandy and additional power issues, there will be no audio this week....


This social anxiety is not bound
by the physical world;
it crosses synapsis as zeros
and ones,
spreads like a virus as binary
springs forth unwittingly from its
Trojan Horse
intent on crashing -- shutting down --
every connection
I attempt to make.

Still I power on,
unwilling to allow these fears to
my fingers move deftly across
painstaking thoughts attempting
to express understanding,
I hover over every single
while breath stills -- refuses to
as I, mouse at the ready, press
"Post Comment"
ENTERing a SPACE (BAR) of social

An Aside:  Commenting has been on my mind as of late; so much so that I recently went back and read an old post inspired by OSP Friday Poetically where I spoke about my anxiety in regard to entering the social world and spoke about a poem I had written to that end, called Follower, Friend, and the Like.  It was also during that post that I shared an unofficial rule which I was adding to my blog rules (which if you haven't noticed over on the right there are currently in active). 

The rule was to comment on at least one blog a week.  I am not going to lie, it was not easy.  That doesn't mean I did accomplish it week after week and with even more than a single comment per week, but rather that it did not get any easier the more I continued to step out on the ledge.  It has been over a year and a half since I first made that decision.  And still (fighting through the anxiety and paranoia) I do my best to not only read, but comment as often as possible.

Anyway, with the thoughts (and anxiety) running 'round still in my head, I thought I'd explore the topic again. 

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

8 decidophobia & High Noon

Quite some time ago I explored a gigantic list of phobias in search of one particular one; along the way I came across quite a number of phobias that struck a little too close to home.  Decidophobia, while mild, haunts me quite often.  It grows exponentially when my decision impacts or involves others (or even other's knowing about the decision).  So when reading dVerse Poets Pub Poetics for this week, Through the Artist's Lens, I had quite a time deciding.  A selection of photos by SueAnn presented quite an array, definitely making it hard to decide.

The first to strike me made me think of old westerns.  But it was not the first to spark the words that begin the poem below; that was found in not the fence, but in the shadows created by the fence.  Of all the images, there was still one that left me feeling unfocused.  After looking a bit closer, an image took shape of a girl standing on a platform.  I'm not really sure how the three (see images below) managed to merge themselves together in the oddity below, but...

High Noon

I see them in shadows
standing shoulder to shoulder
as they did on that fateful day
picket fence dreams glistening
in the glint of their eyes
noon shining overhead ringing
sparks of light shooting unruly
dreams floating away on the wind
as the dust finally cleared

I stand on the platform--a precipice
in this techno-colored world
my own picket fence dreams
threatened as I stand shoulder
to shoulder with my enemy
(my own image) staring her down
wondering who will still be standing
when the dust finally settles

High Noon

Do you see them in the shadows?

Do you see her?  What about her reflection?

2 Time Capsule: Betrayed Hearts

Title: Betrayed Hearts
Date: 04/23/01
Setting: Life after college—during first post-college job
Form: Free verse
I saw everything
as I sat quietly on my perch
the hypnotic trance
encapsulating your souls
as your bodies intertwined
the intense passion
emanating from your beings
as you melded into one
the powerful meaning
betraying your true feelings
as you gazed into each other’s eyes
I saw everything
as my heart sank quietly
I do not deny that you love me
For I know you do
but your heart longs for someone else
whether you see it or not
I saw everything
from my quiet perch.
Notes: More than ten years ago, probably two or three years before this was written, I had a story rolling ‘round in my head. It lingered so long that I thought it would make a good book / screen play. I’m not really sure which I thought of first (probably the book), but either way it didn’t much matter. I did not have the patience for writing prose (at least not beyond 5 typed pages or so) nor did I have any experience with writing screen plays. The idea mulled around in my head for quite awhile before I thought, why not try exploring the story through poetry. And so I did just that; between 04/23/01 and 06/19/01, I composed a small collection of sixteen poems (what might be called a chapbook) called 3 Hearts Betrayed. The story is told by all three characters. Each character share a part of their story, which guide through the twists and turns of a love triangle.

The past couple of years with the way that technology has opened up the world, I have thought about putting voice to the poems, adding images/video, and breaking the story open. Of course that would mean finding three voices—two if I take on the female. Plus there is the finding/creating the right images or video. I know it is not beyond my capabilities, I just am not sure I can hit the vision I have in my mind. Maybe one day…

Artifact I: The top of the page were the first poem was written that outlines the thoughts on the three characters

Artifact II: The first poem written in the collection, which is the 11th poem

Artifact III: The image from the back of the chapbook

Artifact IV: The image from the front of the chapbook

Wednesday, October 31, 2012



make-up artists craft
false appearances of
sallow for Halloween fun

"every surface is a canvas."

So Halloween has officially been postponed to Monday, November 5th. Still I figured I couldn't let it pass without a mention. I have entwined it within...yes, you guessed it...I mean what else am I going to do on the last Wednesday of the month,but...a clarity pyramid.

I did have an alternative for the last line, while I figured it fit the form better, the above seemed to better fit the poem itself.  The alternative:  "inspiration on canvas."  Who knows...maybe I'll change my mind.
Additional inspiration cones this week from Three Word Wednesday [3WW=false, illustrate, sallow]. Check out how some of the other talented writers employ these three simple words.

7 Last Call: 8:20 (when the lights went out)

8:20 (when the lights went out)

Doom does glow as moon’s ascent in full
bloom awakens earth’s unnatural
winds; their eerie howl infused with pain
kindles fear in hearts—it’s beat like rain
pounding down. 
                                   An evening full of dread
drowns out hope as lights do flicker dead.
Noise finds purchase – amplified – as dark
toys with raw emotions bound to spark.
Lightning flashes rattling each nerve
fighting hard for sleep’s sweet hold to curb –
numb – the raging thoughts. 
           As winds do moan
slumber grows into a distant groan.

A Storm Aside:  Yesterday, as Sandy pounded steadily on my doorstep, I took a moment to reminisce with a poem written in the darkness of Irene.  While inspiration for the poem (Winds of Emotion) had come from a Poetics prompt there was no doubt the storm played a role in its conception.  So it is no surprise, as I sat in the flickering light of candles, the storm managed to creep into my thoughts.  Unlike last time, I waited until the light of day to put this verse together.

A Form Aside:  Though I was not crazy enough this time to employ the sestina form (which was my form of choice during Irene), I did choose to toy with form.  This is written in Framed Couplets (with some extra line breaks thrown in for fun).

A Now Aside:  So no go on the power yesterday...or today.  Luckily the roads were clear enough for me to invade my friend.  My feet are now nice and toasty.  I hoping for like seven than ten day without power...

I'm going to try to make my way around at the pub, but with no power at home and horrid mobile service...

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

1 Time Capsule: Night of Spooks

Title:  Night of Spooks
Date:  between 10/11/97 and 11/21/97
Setting:  senior year of college - near Halloween
Form:  free verse (see notes)

Notes:  I really don't have to note the reason for selecting this poem for today, so I'll avoid the urge.

I did not begin exploring poetic form until way after college.  Until exploring my first sonnet (see--Time Capsule:  C Your Way Out of It), I honestly do not think I knew anything (formal) about meter.  I say formal because (obviously) there is no doubt that being exposed to poetry (especially children's poetry) you can hear the rhythm.  Anyway, while this is free verse, you can hear a rhythm.

Artifact I:  Copy of the first typed image...with far too many periods.

Friday, October 26, 2012

4 Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions: Out of My Misery

I long for silence to finally consume
the screams that echo deep - my private hell.
This storm of thoughts will usher forth my doom.

My lungs contrict against the fears which loom;
am I the only one whho hears them yell?
(Oh how) I long for silence to finally consume.

I scream in hopes of lessoning the gloom;
how many wasted breaths mus I expel
(before) this storm of thoughts does usher forth my doom.

I turn the music up and forge a womb
to drown out fears as they begin to swell.
(Please Lord) I long for silence to finally consume.

The pounding bass works fiercly to entomb
emotions raging forth--to help dispel
this storm of thoughts which ushers forth my doom.

My heart's resigned to never feel the bloom
of peace until I say my last farewell.
(Oh how) I long for silence to finally consume
the storm of thoughts which ushers forth my doom.

Notes:  Today is Friday and thus when I typically post my CIHTD? post.  However, inspiration for that came earlier this week on Wednesday with 3WW's words for this week.  Still I feel a bit out of sorts for not posting a song inspired piece today.  I have consoled myself by including music as part of the poems essense.

This also makes poem number four in my "Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions" series.

Over at the dVerse Poets Pub for FormForAll they are exploring villanelle.  While this is not a new form for me, it has been quite awhile since I last toyed with I figured I give it another go.  I did take a couple of liberties...but I've come to accept that part of learning the rules is breaking them. 

If you get a chance, check out how some of the other dVerse talents tackled this form.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

2 You Made Me This Way

I don't fear death; I fear
the life I'll never live.

When the day finally comes
my last breath spent
I can hear Your question
resound in my ears as Your arms
welcome me into their warm embrace.

Two words (with their questionesque tone)

scratch at the surface of
who I'll never be.

I long to allay Your troubled
soul with
       with an affirming reply;

Three words (with the power to heal)

burrow deep down within
the me I'll never be.

I don't fear death for I know
Your open arms will quiet the tirade
the thoughts and fears that
bind, but I fear
I can't forgive the life
I'll never live.

I know there is still more I need to say...but for right now, I just need to get this out.  This question has been haunting me for quite awhile; I'm still not sure the answer.  It has sat side by side with the question (not posed) in the title. 

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

8 Can I Have This Dance?: Uneven

TitleBreakeven (Falling to Pieces)
Artist:  The Script
Album:  The Script
Genre:  Pop

Heartstrings dangle, grazing the ground;
his chest cut wide open--
each breath a labor (of lost love),
while she walks away clean
unhindered by 
strings neatly cut close to the heart.
Notes:  I'm a little early with this CIHTD?, but the words for this week's Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>dangle, labor, neatly] spun the thought of heartstrings, this song just leapt to the forefront.  So, I went with it.