Be who you are
Be what you are
Be when you are
Be where you are
Be why you are
Be how you are
Yourself
a valuable, unique person
existing in the now
celebrating your place in the world
just because you are
you
the reader October 4, 2011
Lost wanderer,
head in clouds,
still travelling fictional roads
though the covers are closed.
Slowly moving through today,
heart heavy
from a world spun from words.
Fiction being truth,
when living between pages
for several days,
rousing reality
proves difficult.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.
Do you ever find yourself feeling something akin to culture shock when you emerge from several days of reading- reading book after book from a single series until the fictional world in your head is more real than the world your body habitates?
As you try to pull your head back from where it is still lost between pages, does your heart ache to be back in that place? Even while you’re full of knowing that the place exists only in your imagination, crafted from the imagination of another, do you feel it is yours as much as the creators, because you’ve journeyed together?
I have the same feeling coming home after a time abroad. Finding myself takes time. Good thing there is a waiting list for the next book in Diana Gabaldon‘s Outlander series. After reading 2 books (1800 pages) over the last 4 days, I’m quite emotionally exhausted.
Love song October 2, 2011
Lying in the afterglow
Replete with loving,
My head dances with flutes and violins.
A happy haunting
of my own song,
a lullaby of love,
a token from then,
lulling me
as I’m full to bursting
with now.
.
Submitted to week 7 Poetry Picnic http://gooseberrygoespoetic.blogspot.com/. If you are visiting from the picnic, please include a link to your own submission with any comment. Thank you!
the patient September 29, 2011
He folds into the chair
with deliberate casualness.
He speaks routine phrases,
but his eyes dart.
like a cornered creature,
warily watching.
He throws his words
defensively
he defines his territory,
while we nod
and wonder
when
wellness
will conquer.
Submitted for the Gooseberry Patch Poetry sharing on a theme of love and loss. This one is about loss. Please leave a link to your own submission, if you leave a comment. Thanks!
Autumn haiku September 17, 2011
Breathe in the scent of / falling leaves and smoke twisting / in Crisp autumn air
Yesterday I wrote a love song September 15, 2011
While Grace Awakening Power (Book two in the series) is out for final edits, I’m working on Grace Awakening Myth, the third book. Grace Awakening Myth is Awakening Dreams told from Ben’s perspective. Poor Ben (aka Orpheus!) is suffering at the moment with his shattered nose. He’s in pursuit of his beloved Grace, and she is not being cooperative. He’s suffering so much that it was time for a cathartic poem…
.
Yesterday I wrote a love song
Spun in circles
Weaving memory
Reaching past today
Touching yesterday
Touching you
The only way
That’s left.
Yesterday was wrapped in kisses
Spun on cycles
Weaving history
Reaching past today
Touching yesterday
Touching you
The only way
That’s left.
Today you’re gone and how I long
For circles cycles
Memory and history
Reaching past today
Touching yesterday
Touching you
The only way
That’s left
Tomorrow needs to be prolonged
Spin our cycle
To eternity
Reaching through today
Beyond yesterday
Touching you
Every day
That’s best.
.
.
Not sure whether or not that will end up being in the book. I think it would make an awesome song. I need a musician to take on that challenge…
Submitted as part of the Gooseberry Garden poetry picnic. If you are here for the picnic, please include a link to your own submission if you leave a comment. Thanks!
The Thing September 7, 2011
With a bump and a grunt I started to jump
What was that by the cat? That thing with the lump?
Something scary
and hairy.
Something wiggling!
(I’m jiggly!)
It is black on its back
It is red on its head.
That bit on the paw,
Was that yellow I saw?I
Those colours so bright are making me weep
from the fright.
I fear it will come near
Will bump into me here?
It will leap while I sleep!
Will it beat me? Or eat me?
I stared and I shivered
It glared and I quivered.
It wiggled closer to me
A tingle ran through me.
A step closer it came
And then closer again!
I just couldn’t help it: I shrieked.
Then the thing, well, it leaked
A small yellow puddle
Of a fellow in a muddle.
Its head tilted down
On its face a sad frown,
From its eyes dripped a trickle.
Oh my! That’s a pickle.
Is it looked up at me, I thought, “Could it be
That the thing over there, That thing covered in hair,
that thing coming near Is not something to fear?
If it leaked when I shrieked,
Did it think I was scary?
Did it think I was hairy?
With black on my head
My back covered in red?
So I took one step nearer and the creature came clearer.
It was cute. It was fuzzy. It was really quite lovely!
I dropped to my knees as the thing gently sneezed.
“Hello Thing,” I said. “My name is Fred.”
“Can I be your friend?”
(True story)
The End.
Where did it all begin? August 10, 2011
I was asked this question yesterday, and I figured you might be interested in the answer.
Short answer: it began with a poem.
Long answer: it’s been a long journey, but it began with a boy, a poem, and some books.
When I was ten, I developed a crush of epic proportions. Since I was an avid reader, I was also a writer. I’d been making up stories and writing poetry since I was in grade three. The unexpected, overwhelming emotions involved in this crush, led to outpourings of poetry. The theme was common: where had this emotion come from? Surely something this intense couldn’t just have happened? Surely such emotion must have been in the universe forever? The year I was twelve, I wrote this poem, which summarizes this sensation:
When I look at you
I see sunshine in darkness
Passion through naïveté
I think that we were lovers once
In another life
You and I belonged
And that is why we were drawn
That is why I love you so much
And why your name
Brings happiness through sorrow
A wisp of a smile
When day dies
I remember you and I smile
You are my day and my night
Your face is a memory
That time cannot erase,
And someday
In another life
We will be lovers
Once again
It’s the poem Grace’s hand writes in the library. She is shocked and dismayed by what it reveals to her. I know it isn’t a great poem, and I would tighten it up if I was writing it now, but I wanted it to be here as an authentic voice, flaws and all.
That poem begged to be a novel. There was a need to explore that sense of infinity that comes with a profoundly intense relationship like a first love, and like a lasting love, as well.
I tried to write it a few times over the years, but it didn’t go anywhere. I could get a narrative, but there was no hook to hang the story on. It was boring. If it was boring for me, it’d be boring for readers. Still, that love story wanted out, and it waited.
Then one day, I was reading some questionaires I”d given my students. In answer to the question, “What is the best book you’ve ever read?” About a quarter of my class had answered, “Twilight.” I’d never heard of it. I mentioned this to one of my older students and she told me she had all three of the books that were out, and that I needed to read them. The next day I had Twilight. A few hours later I was dying for the next books. They were delivered, and I read between work, dance classes and way too many Rotary meetings. I adored the story and I adored the characters. I was making connections like crazy- the key to one’s enjoyment of a book- and I had an epiphany.
Myth could be the hook. I started writing the week after Thanksgiving 2008. The characters started introducing themselves. I tried to move them in one direction, they chose to go another. The book was done the week before April. And it was good.
It wasn’t perfect, of course. The first readers picked out weak scenes, slow spots, confusing things, etc, but they loved it. They wanted more.
And that’s where it all began…
.
If you’re visiting from Poetry Potluck 48, please include the link to your poem in any comment you leave! Thanks and thanks for coming by!
Okanagan Mountain Fire evacuation, August 2003 August 9, 2011
This was my second entry on the theme of fire for the Burnaby Writers Society poetry contest. One more month until winners are announced. I played around with stanza parallelism here, sometimes using strict rhyme, sometimes consonance. I had never seen this done before, so I was impressed with how well it worked.
.
Okanagan Mountain Fire evacuation, August 2003
.
Fears.
A crimson hill glows above.
High from here, grey clouded skies
shower us in ghosts of pine needles
that dissolve at my touch
into powdered ashes,
while I load the van with memories.
.
Tears
Glisten, fill, flow out of,
My father’s grave, clouded eyes.
Cowering and aghast in pain, he huddles
and revolves as he’s nudged,
disempowered, ashen.
While I lead the man, his tremors ease.
.
.
This poem was linked to the Poetry Potluck on the theme of history and events. If you are visiting from the potluck, please include a direct link to your poem in a comment below. Thanks! It makes it easier for all participants that way.
.
