I hope everyone’s having a good experience with this year’s challenge. I’ve been pleasantly surprised with many of the poems I’ve written–and excited by many of the poems I’ve read by others (and I’ve read a lot). I’m hopeful that I’ve made some good progress on a chapbook manuscript myself this time around.
For today’s prompt, write a poem that responds to a statement. You can use any statement, quote, etc., that you wish, but I’ve included a few to make it easier. That said, feel free to find and use a different statement for your poem.
Here are some quotes:
- “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss
- “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” – Mae West
- “Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” – Leonardo da Vinci
- “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.” – Virginia Woolf
- “Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” – Mark Twain
Here’s my attempt at a Respond to a Statement poem:
“Amelia Island”
“For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.” – Virginia Woolf
She woke with the sound of steam,
hijacked a plane,
and was never seen again.
*****
Write the paranormal novel!
Learn the rules of writing a fascinating and engaging paranormal novel.
*****
Robert Lee Brewer
Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and a long-time fan of aviation history (maybe because he was born in Dayton, Ohio, also known as Wright Brothers territory). He thinks Amelia Earhart is one of the most fascinating women in history. Robert is the author of Solving the World’s Problems, and he’s married to the poet Tammy Foster Brewer, who helps him keep track of their five little aviators (four boys and a flying princess). Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.
*****
Check out more poetic posts here:
- Poetic Forms: Rispetto. 8 lines, 2 versions.
- Poet Interview With Terri Kirby Erickson. A fellow Press 53 author.
- 5 Ways How to Write a Poem. As if prompts aren’t enough.
Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.
~Vivian Greene~
dance in the rain
sprinkling, drizzling, raining, pouring,
drop, drop, drop, – stream,
step, step, wet, – scream!
spinning, jumping, laughing, soaring,
people staring, gasping, pointing,
wind – sharp, cold – whip,
face – hot, skin – slip,
running, falling, sky-anointing,
shrugging, talking, arms flailing,
up, de-fi-ance,
eyes smile! drink! dance!
people leaving, you – staying.
Statement
“All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.” Kahil Gibran
Much of mine is scooped up by evening’s low
breezes after the day packs her
harvest, direct and indirect light.
They become word of mouth
with information that expands
lost lore, silence, and dust.
The man on the corner is standing forlorn
he is lost looking, shirt tail hanging, and jacket it slightoly worn.
The man looks both ways when the light signals walk
and steps off the curb surrounded by unstoppable, chattery talk.
Opinions on politics, on restaurants, on shoes, and who’s right,
endless babble, never ceasing, never caring, no one watching the light.
He notices the change from go to slow down
and watches as people keep meandering around.
Standing across from the corner from where he just ventured
he watches as the pedestrians talk and overly gesture,
No one paying attentionto their fellow passengers on this earth,
as if loud spoken words were of anything of worth.
The man’s shoulders sag much lower than before
as the light changed for crossing, another large crowd to abhor.
Same people, same chitchat, same personal gloats,
they think only of themselves for time to devote.
The man looses confidence in people of the town,
really, it’s the whole world that’s bringing him down.
Is mankind so insistant that it’s their right and opinion,
that no one really cares if it’s some other’s dominion?
“We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.”
the man pondered secretly, his hopes for mankind deeply distraught.
Quote from President John F. Kennedy
“Don’t cry because it’s over,
smile because it happened.”
My dream about you.
Posted at http://shannpalmer.blogspot.com
Thanks for reading!
was not happy at all with my previous post for this prompt, called ‘segregation’. so I remixed it for the 25th prompt, and replace it with the following for the 24th.
“Never, a brilliant woman told me, trust a man
Who has not been beaten.” – Rodney Jones, from his poem Blessed Assurance
-thunder in a bottle-
father takes a shower because he feels half full. in order to revere him in a detached way I have to run a hot bath and sit on the floor while holding a bar of soap with a plastic fork stuck in it and I have to be blind not to see it’s a sailboat. mother has to be blind not to see it’s an iron. I lift it to her unnoticed and there is only so long my hand can burn before it feels like a hand again. father makes his hands into bunny hands at his bare chest and hops into my mother who squeals and covers her mouth and allows her face to look as one who’s given up the ex-con. father removes his towel and she whips him with it and he goes naked laughing and swatting at hanging model planes the guns of which he reports to memory. she fixes him a plate of food knowing he’ll throw it from the roof and say he’d rather eat a bullet. when she is outside for the plate my father controls her with a remote he claims doubles as a detonator. she sees me kissing the ex-con and mouths goodbye like a paratrooper.
Penny pincher
“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” – Mae West
if you work hard
and save and scrimp
never spend
to hide it
in the garden,
under your bed,
in an investment portfolio
who will take your vacations,
surprise your kids with time,
leap into your life,
learn the lessons
that are free
but may not stick
if you pay them
good money
Perspective
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss
We seek our attachment, dismiss
the music mingling in the moment,
though we have two hands for grasping
and sense receptors countless as stars.
Mine is here: http://wp.me/p1bqY3-1gM
Go Black
Say, papi,
I’m sure you heard
once you go black
you never go back
so let me be
your afro’d Aphrodite
your afro’d aphrodisiac
your black magic
woman— brown
and profound
betcha keep comin
around
cuz
this bush baby
be made of
that can’t-get-enough-
stuff
that so-good-make-
you-knock-on-wood
stuff
That Mississippi-goddamn-
take-it-out-on-you
stuff
I ain’t jivin,
sucka
ask any
muthafucka.
Ha our poems are together
“I’m sure you heard…” — love that and the rest that follows.
THIS POEM is good. This poem is fun!!
loved reading it!!
Blackberry
They say
the blacka
the berry
the sweeta
the juice. I say
that’s bs.
I’m bitter
than an mf.
Haaa. Love it!
I’ve Got Eyes in the Back of My Head
My Mum said that.
She meant we kids better not
do anything naughty
because she would see.
When I was little
I thought they were real,
those eyes, and I didn’t
know how they stayed hidden.
Did the lids blend
perfectly with the skin behind
her hair, as if invisible?
How was it possible?
Why weren’t they exposed?
Did she keep them closed
except when checking on us?
It was most mysterious.
If they were really there,
under her hair,
didn’t her hair spoil the view?
How did she look through?
I never solved these mysteries
but I still believe she could see us
doing what we didn’t ought.
We always got caught!
Moms are amazing, aren’t they? You did this well.
“Cartesian Reduction”
I think; therefore, I am.
I am; therefore, I think.
I drink; therefore, I jam.
I sweat; therefore, I stink.
I brink; therefore, I brim.
I weep; therefore, I blink.
I will; therefore, I’m weak.
iamb; therefore, I ink.
I see; therefore, I seek.
I sink; therefore, I swim.
I strip; therefore, I streak.
I lived; therefore, I grew.
I spark; therefore, I click.
I clink, therefore, to you.
iPad; therefore, I link.
I am; therefore, I do.
I dig; therefore, it’s cool.
DA
“For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.” – Virginia Woolf
Anonymous
Don’t think you can make me
your angel of the house,
stick me behind a stove
in pleated skirts meant to hide
my body,
leave me alone at night,
scribbling poems by kerosene
only to stuff them in drawers.
Instead, you can feed me bread
I’ve won
spread with butter by your hand.
I’ll wear jeans that ride my curves
and write poems about my desires
and maybe yours,
but don’t think you can make me
Anonymous.
WRITING DOWN THINGS
“Memory is the scribe of the soul.” Aristotle
She sits in a chair at a table, by a window in the back,
a photo album opened on her lap
Her coffee has long gone cold but she picks it up
now and then, sips at it, stares at it, sets it down
again…and again
She has started a list, another one, it seems
If only she could remember, but no, it seems
she cannot; and what of these pictures on her knees
The people look familiar but does she know them?
No, she doesn’t think so — why is she looking at them?
She closes the book and sets it aside
Maybe if she drinks some of this drink, she thinks
Oh…it’s so cold…what is it, she wonders
She’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to be cold
She sets it down and picks up a pencil,
sees she has started a list — what a good idea
She’ll make a list, it’s always good to write
things down, she thinks and feels a little bit
better just then.
“Those high plains people
They’re different somehow” – John Hiatt, “Circle Back”
He surprised me by building a deck
He’d never picked up a tool before
Never so much as changed the oil
Then one Saturday morning
He sketched something on the back of a bill
And left for the lumber yard
I helped him unload,
Held boards, passed tools
Several times, I said
“This will not be level”
“It won’t hold up”
He didn’t smile
Although he must have been smiling inside
I marveled at the work and at the father
I had known my whole life
Without knowing this
About him
The quote I chose was “Never,never,never give up”–Winston Churchill
I wrote a Cinquain Rhyme titled “Never Ever”. It is posted on my blog at: http://leonaslines.com/2013/11/24/never-ever
GROWING OLD
Lives lived in separate anonymity,
you and I are relative strangers
but there is no danger present
and the promises of futures shared
are there for the taking. There is
no mistaking how we feel. It is as real
as we’ve ever felt. Having knelt at the altar
of sad despair, it is there that I begin again.
A heart full of love, and a friend who
brings the same to this game. It’s a shame
we hadn’t met in an earlier time. All this rhyme
wouldn’t have been needed to seed this heart.
From the start, our words held sway and
every day we learn what we want for the rest
of our lives. A chance to grow in heart and mind,
and find no fear in growing old together.
Only the best for us in all ways, in our coming days!
Beautiful
Its a Job being Me
“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken” Oscar Wilde quote
Fallen through
A trap door
Trying
To be someone
Else rather than me
Sinking quick
In this stinking sand
Of mine rather than
Just being free
I’m the simplicity
In Simon
Quirky facet
On a vast diamond
Of poetry
I’m the cat
With nine lives
Not sure how many
I’ve got left
Still in my write
Mind to wobble
Scribble a verse
With just remnant breath
I’m a quiet man
You see
Who speaks
In the reckless beauty
Of the word
Solemnly
Testifying to the matters
In life and lived
What I’ve seen and heard
Its all
In a days work
But sometimes its a job
Being me
This feels achingly familiar. Love your form and your language.
Thx Cameron
“Wherever you stand, be the soul of that place.” ~ Rumi
Be the spark, the knowingness,
the mother of the moment,
be the dream, the home, and the hope.
Wherever you stand, be the stone
and the wind. Yes, be the wind
in the trees of the soul of a place.
Wherever you stand, be a memory,
a hope of the future remembering
how
once
we all lived together in peace.
Yes!!! I was SO hoping someone would choose Rumi for inspiration. Really beautiful poeming here.
Awesome
Uuf, today’s was a little hard! Looking forward to revising all these poems…
“We do not merely love ourselves more than we love duty; we actually love ourselves more than we love joy.” – G. K. Chesterton
MORE THAN I LOVE JOY
It seems I love this place.
It is the default, the space where I escape
when I’ve annulled the duties
and canceled the plans.
I fold into this room—warm, cloistered,
dry and full of sandman’s dust.
Solitary, silent, no breath nor voice
but my own to disturb my dreams.
The coffee and tea flow from the kettles
and the cakes and cookies tumble
from the cupboards like apples from trees.
All manner of books, read and unread
lining the walls and tottering on tables.
All matter I own, gathered about me, mine.
No office nor laundry nor grocery
to pull me outside these four walls.
All I should ever want,
here inside, festooned with my fantasies.
I whisper again, I’m happy
to be here; I can be happy
again. I’ll be happy
this time. I’m happy.
And it’s a happiness full
of sighs and stares
outside the small dark window.
“Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it’s thinking of yourself less.”
C. S. Lewis (Nov. 29, 1898–Nov. 22, 1963)
November 22, 1963
When shots rang out in Dallas
and America’s Camelot
came to an end, the grief
and shock around the world
overshadowed another death
—not Camelot but Narnia.
One whose pen wove fables
and fairy tales for children
long grown up, parables
of devils, lions, queens
and witches, temptation
disguised as Turkish delight.
He shared the wisdom
acquired through love and loss,
but slipped away, his death
obscured by another grief
observed around the globe.
Oh, wow! What beauty – what sadness!
“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” – Leonardo da Vinci.
Painted poetics
The words did wash like liquid oils,
across the moment’s page,
and brushed reality in strokes;
released the form once caged.
With light, deft touch and heavy fall,
poetics painted slow,
and drew the image full complete;
each letter truth bestowed.
In vibrant, rich, raw colourings,
the energy was born,
as painted, pure poetics;
gift through voice transformed.
“It takes considerable knowledge just to realize the extent of your own ignorance.” -Thomas Sowell
Oh, you can certainly fool some
Sometimes more than others
Trouble is the day always comes
When you end up fooling yourself
The mirror is a dangerous thing
Like a friend that calls you out
What you see is what you get
Not necessarily what you saw
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss
Don’t cry because it’s over as he turns and walks out shutting your front door
Smile because it happened, even if you are aching for so very much, much, more
LOVE THIS!!! Short and bittersweet.
Awww thank you Cameron – btw I greatly admire your writing .. Haven’t been able to comment as much as usual – I’m also doing NaNo – but I do enjoy you <3
“Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write yourself. Your body must be heard.” – Helene Cixous
I don’t remember when I learned
to starve for days, deny my body,
shove my finger down my throat,
nails scrapping against tongue,
and wait with my head over
the toilet for everything I hated
about myself to come up with the
bile and acid and, later,
the blood.
It’s hard to be a happy girl
when you grow up with hips
and breasts and a father and all
the boys in the world hating the way
you wear your jeans or mascara.
I loved pen and paper and words,
especially my own, but I stopped
when I began to lose parts of myself
with every pound I dropped and each
scream I swallowed in place of
food.
Even in school they called me a writer
and some thought I would be great.
But when you bargain with your body,
you also swap out your soul for a falling
number on a scale, and there was a morning
when I woke up and would rather disappear
than speak or breathe or even write this
sad story of a thin woman who had only learned
how to censor herself well.
The beauty, though, lies in the truth
that one stanza of one poem can rewrite
years of everything I tried to erase:
I am a woman with round cheeks and
a cursive belly and my thighs sometimes
brush against each other when I dance.
Taste my curves in my consonants, and
feel my skin in every sentence.
I will learn to be heard.
LOVE this, Cameron. Unfortunately, I can relate. What a beautifully real poem, and thank you for sharing it.
Amy, thank you! I always find myself dancing around my demons with my poetry and today I just felt like I just needed to write them and be done with it!
Beautiful Cameron, you have a heart of steel and words to match.
“Taste my curves in my consonants.” I can’t get that line out of my head. Beautifully written, Cameron.
Oh, Cameron. I ache to have written this.
“cursive belly”
“taste my curves in my consonants”
Beautiful, and brilliant, and true. All the same things I’m learning about you.
I could not paint a picture
because that would be
writing a poem, and I cannot write.
and I could not write a poem
because that would be
painting a picture
and I cannot paint.
but I can see with my eyes
brush strokes in vivid colors
the artist’s pleasure
and I can hear with my ears
words of wisdom spoken
by the seasoned poet
and I can share
in all the wonderful cultures
of the world.
and I cannot paint.
“Freedom is a pretty strange thing. Once you’ve experienced it, it remains in your heart and no one can take it away.” – Ai Weiwei
A glowing orb,
we all possess
Fragile cargo,
easy to break
Shattered captive
reduced to ash
One word, one fist
the flame goes out
The hard won choice,
is lost to some
Without a fight,
the lies survive
The honest truth,
hides deep inside
One word, one stand
rekindled light
“One doesn’t discover new lands without consenting to lose sight, for a very long time, of the shore” — André Gide
I wrote the following some time ago, actually, but it’s all I have to share today:
“Man on the Move”
A Viking wind brought him over here–
Seeking adventure and something new.
A beat from the Heartland made him stay,
And life took on a different hue.
Knowledge bloomed in the Garden State,
With all the work that school demands.
Then the Land of Lincoln called again,
And placed him in Illini’s hands.
The Great Lakes State nearly flooded his mind,
With all things just and fair;
But in the Free State he found relief,
Soon after being tested there.
A bite of the Big Apple suited his taste–
It was busy, big and fun.
But, Charm City was tempting him,
And in the end it won.
“After having been fired from the office where we last saw him he is offered a job in Cleveland, where the rumors of his weakness seem not to have reached.”
“He thinks of his father with pain.”
(both from John Cheever’s ‘Characters That Will Not Appear’.)
*
- segregation -
stillborn, the boy is pulled from the tar
formerly stung
by god’s
eyelash.
to see the boy, the boy is lit
from above
by the three teeth
since knocked
from his father.
memory does not serve.
the body soaks the body
then bathes.
the woman
out of labor
is given a make-up
kit, a red
kerchief, and a map.
uses a water fountain when no one is looking.
scratch.
The Power of One
“Whether you think you can or think you can’t you are right.” – Henry Ford
Okay, call me a spoiler.
I’m going to tell you
how the story ends.
I have become
who I thought I was.
I shall become
who I think I will be.
There are no complicated
philosophical principles
determining my destiny.
It is all up to me.
Am I unhappy with where
I am right now?
I can blame no one else for
my current turn of events.
I thought myself into
this very situation.
But I needn’t stay here.
I can think myself into
a different one. All
Dorothy had to do was
to think, “There’s no place
like home.” And the thing
is, it was right there all
the time. It all depends
where I want to be. It all
comes from the Power of One.
Ellen Knight 11.24.13
respond to a statement, PAD 11.13
Oops! HTML fail.
Between Starts
Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments.
The intervals are the tough things.
- Robert Frost
Four days rest is an eternity.
I worry about starting this next poem.
Do I still have my best stuff?
If I do, I can blow readers away
with a fastball-metaphor so clever
that all they can do is watch it
whiz by them and mumble, “Wow.”
Other days, I’ll struggle to get
anything across the plate.
Confidence is like a pitching arm –
when it’s strong, you’re unstoppable.
But if it stiffens up, you can barely
hold a pen. But I’m not out to win
a Cy Young or a Pulitzer. I’d be happy
just to win more than I lose.
Nice!
Between Starts
<i.Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments.
The intervals are the tough things.
- Robert Frost
Four days rest is an eternity.
I worry about starting this next poem.
Do I still have my best stuff?
If I do, I can blow readers away
with a fastball-metaphor so clever
that all they can do is watch it
whiz by them and mumble, “Wow.”
Other days, I’ll struggle to get
anything across the plate.
Confidence is like a pitching arm –
when it’s strong, you’re unstoppable.
But if it stiffens up, you can barely
hold a pen. But I’m not out to win
a Cy Young or a Pulitzer. I’d be happy
just to win more than I lose.
“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough”
~ Mae West ~
At Isabel’s Grave
Hair in pewter curls frame a face,
faded and pinched. She tsks, tsks
to her friend, as they stand
gravesite at Isabel’s funeral.
“How unseemly,” she says,
waving her arm at Isabel’s choice
of jazz musicians playing, children
tossing balloons in the air,
and the horror of having
all attendees arrayed in red.
“Maybe she wold not be gone at such
an early age, if she had behaved
with a bit more restraint.” Across
from the two women, a hodgepodge
of characters from Isabel’s life–
artists who had painted her,
actors, authors, and a flock
of lovers–stand reminiscing,
smiling. The second woman nods
wistfully, says, “Yes, but remember
the fullness of her days, and that never
faltering twinkle in her eyes? Always
seemed she had a secret.”
Oh Sara!! This is a rich little scene and character that you’ve created! I just love how the dialogue carries us so smoothly!
Day 24
Prompt: Write a “respond to a statement” poem.
A man can no more diminish God’s glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word, ‘darkness’ on the walls of his cell.
–C. S. Lewis
Undiminished
The sun will rise.
All my willing it not to
will not dampen its flame.
My refusing to acknowledge that day has dawned
nor to give credit to the day star for casting my shadow
means nothing.
The Son rose.
All my disbelief cannot change that death is vanquished,
all my questions cannot quell
victory over life and death that could be mine,
did I not live in ignorance or stubbornness,
unable and unwilling to grasp
His stubborn refusal to give
me up.
Absolutely beautiful – and oh, so true!
Wow. The quote you chose is brilliant and the way that you addressing the concepts in two parts is succinct and deeply wonderful.
Lincoln’s Dream
“A house divided against itself cannot stand…”
said Abraham Lincoln, June 16, 1858, in his “House Divided” speech
“Four score and seven years ago”
We were a house divided
Patriot and Tory
Build a new America or
Follow British rule
Seven score and ten years ago
We were a house divided
Confederate and Yankee
Fighting for a oneness
A United States
No score and no years ago
We are still a house divided
This time with nothing to unite us
We fight among ourselves
Jeopardizing Lincoln’s dream
You nailed it with your closing stanza…great build up and delivery.
There was nothing to color the content and the words boldly held their ground on their own.
While I’m so grateful that women now receive the recognition that they deserve for their work, I find the concept of Anonymous and what that really means, (on so many levels), very intriguing.
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2013/11/24/wisdom-is-wisdom-is-wisdom/
“I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” – Marilyn Monroe
Rough Roads, Bad Weather
I, the perpetual pessimist, discovered
the oddest phenomenon about living,
stranger than I ever expected.
Through years of adversity, I learned
to expect the unexpected; cliché, I know,
but the unexpected was always bad.
When life gives me lemons and
the lemonade sours, I’m supposed
to be thankful for the vitamin C,
but puckered lips are not attractive.
When I thought I found love,
it turned out to be sorrow and pain.
When I thought I’d found a calling
it turned out to be a dead end.
When I expected friendship I
discovered the knife in my back.
When I forged ahead, determined,
I discovered I was moonwalking.
When I gave up and sat down in misery,
someone gave me a lift to the next level.
As I climbed, cautious and wary, many
barricades stood between then and now.
So much has gone wrong, so many losses,
So many dreams abandoned.
But as I think about where I am,
as I think of what I am and why,
I don’t believe I could have gotten here
by any other road, by any other means.
Without all I’ve been through my words
would ring hollow, my meanings meaningless.
That is not to say I’m happy.
I mean, I’m still alive, and that I suppose
is something to be thankful for. But beyond
the clichés and homilies, I’ve discovered
the pain is not so bad now that I’m acclimated,
and now I have a reason to continue living.
That, I think, is all I needed, a reason.
Isn’t that strange?
An amazing insight. Well said. Thank you.
“Without all I’ve been through my words
would ring hollow, my meanings meaningless.”
I love the tone throughout…so easy to read…this inner conversation. And the above really stands out, to me. Nicely done!
Beautifully written, Cindy. I love: “I’m supposed / to be thankful for the vitamin C, / but puckered lips are not attractive.” So true!
“In the book of life, answers aren’t in the back”– Charlie Brown
I’ve searched for answers
to questions unknown
And travelled in circles
to places I’ve known
Now I’m changing my tune
and relearning the questions
As solutions they say
will show their direction
Each day is a school
with lessons to learn
There is no pass or fail
just a growing discern
So don’t look for answers
at the back of a book
They are cleverly hidden-
If only you’d look! —-
Oh – the answers ARE there, yet we so seldom look! Wonderfully put!
This sonnet really got away from me. I initially intended it to be inspired by Tolstoy’s “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself,” but then it became too cynical for me and turned into more of Gandhi’s “You must be the change you want to see in the world.” Anyway, I’m not satisfied!
What wondrous words we spew, what air exhaled,
What hollow gusts of wind our words can be!
Ideas of mixed intentions born, assailed
by dreams that daunt us to passivity.
We want to solve the civil strife abroad
and bring our brand of life because, well why?
To try to change the world I’d feel a fraud
when there’s privation under our own sky.
It’s easy to complain when life is hard,
But hard to be the change you want to see,
so when my heart feels heavy, worn and scarred
I feel the weight of my humanity.
Most want to change the world to leave their mark.
Why seek to join a fire? Be the spark.
One of Them
“Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” – Mark Twain
What will people say,
what will they think?
It matters, let me tell you.
They can make you sorry
if you’re not, and everyone
you love besides. Just think
before you make a choice;
pretend your ears hear
every voice that gossips
over every fence, in every
line, school, or office.
She rightly fears majorities,
opinions rife with righteousness;
she wants to spare me
rips and tears, the malice
of the mass, claws bared.
How dare I cease to
give a damn when they
prove that they don’t
love me! I look into
her frightened face.
I care for you,
I say it plain, but tell me,
are you one of them?
“You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.” Jack London
Inspired
Tamp it down to a sizzle.
Concealed embers draw no ire.
Choose through careful artistry
words that reveal little yet
unveil more than you desire.
Be wary of expressions that
spark into bright flames lest
someone suspect a firebrand
not disclosed by a name.
Let passion recline on
sublime framework and
turn raging tides aside.
Channel inspiration to
set the foundation such
that conflagration may
reside within without
exploding out in words.
Tame it to your magic
and spill the pattern in ink
onto a white clean sheet.
Or
Let it run wild and free
tearing through convention until
inspiration creates or destroys
as it chooses, drawing images
anyone can see. There is
no right or wrong way.
Say it how you please,
just Write.
I must add another inspiring quote to this poem. I had both quotes in front of me as I wrote.
“Words are only painted fire. A look is the fire itself.” Mark Twain
This sonnet really got away from me and is disjointed … It was initially meant to be inspired by Tolstoy’s “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself” but turned into more of Gandhi’s “You must be the change you want to see in the world” at the end. Anyway, I’m not satisfied at all!
What wondrous words we spew, what air exhaled,
What hollow gusts of wind our words can be!
Ideas of mixed intentions born, assailed
by dreams that daunt us to passivity.
We want to solve the civil strife abroad
and bring our brand of life because, well why?
To try to change the world I’d feel a fraud
when there’s privation under our own sky.
It’s easy to complain when life is hard,
But hard to be the change you want to see,
so when my heart feels heavy, worn and scarred
I feel the weight of my humanity.
Most want to change the world to leave their mark.
Why seek to join a fire? Be the spark.
IRON-ON WISDOM
“If you like your plan, you can keep your plan. Period.”
It’s not like I believed you anyway,
but when you asked,
I gave you my heart willingly.
Things changed, though,
didn’t they?
You didn’t get any better
at honesty,
and I never grew
out of my
childlike wonder,
sipping down my gullibility.
I prefer(red) to be
found guilty
of naivety,
serving my time for that
and not for blindness.
But that old familiar bile
kept riding up throat-wise,
strung to a balloon,
sticking to my tongue,
making it infinitely
harder to speak on your behalf.
There are only so many times,
like my mom told me,
I can be a bridge
on fire,
each board turning
to ash.
Well…
ash floats just the same.
-JR Simmang
http://www.letitmarinade.blogspot.com
Wow. This whole poem gave me the feeling of chasing a string I could never quite get in hand. At once blithe and earnest.
Elephant Skin Armour
“You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.” – Steve Jobs</em
I've tried all my life but I've never got to the top.
I've crossed my T's and crowned my I's with a dot
I've had a good time, enjoyed what I've done,
and basically have been pleased with my lot.
I've gone with my gut, against all odds,
I've trusted in destiny and karma,
but what has helped me best through life
is my elephant skin armour.
Ooops! Don’t know what went wrong with the formatting here!
You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough
You only live once
So they say
But if you do it right
Once is enough.
Same old line
I know
You’ve heard it all before
Same as I did.
Who the hell said it
Anyway?
You only live once…
But how?
Where’s the rule book?
Where’d they hide it?
If you do it right…
But they never said what’s right
And what’s wrong.
Once is enough…
But is it?
If you lived a good life
Maybe you’d like some more
Or perhaps you need
A second chance
But there are
No second chances.
You only live once
Do it any way you can
And hope for the best.
Humorous Longings on a Sunday Afternoon
“The knack of flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.” ~ Douglas Adams
I spiced my tea
with a bit of humor
and giggles floated
out of my nose.
I tickled my daughter
and her laughter
warmed me
right down to my toes.
I envisioned throwing
myself at the ground
but I never missed,
I always went splat.
Except in my dreams
I fly quite well,
know how to swoop,
turn and all that.
So when I awake
it’s attempting as hell,
to throw myself down
but I know, it won’t end well.
So I throw myself at other things
and some succeed and some fail
but at least I tried
and I didn’t need no bail.
Cute – I love the picture!
Poetry is what gets lost in translation. ~Robert Frost
-a nod to his melodious form
Poetry is what gets lost in translation
Words wilt on weathered tongues
Understanding dawns on enlightened minds
Though Monthly turned you down
Those who inspired your greatness
Found America’s laureate renowned
Do not fret over translations lost
Roads diverged or less traveled by
Those reluctant to accept
The ones who did belie
The likes of TS Elliot, Edward Thomas and Ezra Pound!
Who were they to deny?
November PAD Challenge Day 24 – Respond to a statement, quote, etc.
The form got lost in translation! Every other line is indented just like the great Robert Frost!
“When in doubt, have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand.” Raymond Chandler
SET UP
The blonde
her tears a lie,
her lying there a lure.
You know her man is just outside
waiting.
She cries.
The sound rings false
as yellow pin curls paired
with brunette brows. A creak of wood.
You turn.
•“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss
After all what else
Are memories made for but
Reliving moments
A beautiful thought,
HIDING COURAGE
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom” – Anais Nin
Hiding
in the safety
of limited boundaries
enables fear of the unknown
to leave roads unexplored.
Courage
cannot be found
behind closed doors or drawn blinds.
To disable apprehension,
it must first be engaged.
© Susan Schoeffield
I like it!
Role Reversal
(“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” – Mae West)
After the fire you came and stayed with me
in a hotel. We ate Chinese, bought wine
and bubble gum, discussed the freakiness
of life, which you said would be alright
as long as I have faith, and now I’m
telling you the same, our hands entwined.
“But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?”
Mark Twain
Absolution
Does the devil have a heart?
Does he love, does he grieve?
Does he miss being apart
from God? Long for a reprieve?
Does the devil ever pray?
Does he whisper holy psalms?
Does he view hell with dismay
hoping Christ will send him balms?
Does the devil ever quake
with pure sorrow and pure shame
wishing he could make a break,
knowing he bears all the blame.
Could the devil e’er repent?
Could he bend his knee and pray
for forgiveness and ascent
back to heaven’s glorious day?
Could we humans e’er forgive
or would we hold a solid grudge?
Could we just live and let live?
Truly, who are we to judge?
This might be our greatest test,
seeing how well we resolve
to truly love, to do our best
when God forgives can we absolve?
This is fascinating. I changed “devil” to “Hitler” and then wondered. This is a hugely thoughtful piece, in my view.
Yes, much food for thought and so wonderfully said!
Bill, when you put a face on the devil, it certainly added a twist.
Broad Appeal
For most of history, Anonymous was a woman. – Virginia Woolf
Ah, Anonymous.
Thank you for Miss
-behavin’, and makin’ history.
Thank you for the mystery
of phrase unfazed by name.
Thank you for spilling
your words
and sharing
your most secret song.
Thank you for craving art so much,
so long, you didn’t care whose print
it bore, or whether your face
was known;
for carving out
some small bloom,
some room
of your
own.
.
Your title drew me in, and with a chuckle too. “Miss-behavin’” added to it, but in the main this poem won me with its tenderness and thoughtfulness. Wonderful work, as is your wont.
Bravo! This feels like a syncopated tune on a piano — bouncing back and forth between whimsical and grateful, but most of all, true. I really cherish this as a woman and a writer.
“Gnothi Sauton” “Know Thyself”
(The source seems unclear, often attributed
to Thales or Chilon and used by Plato in his
“Socratic Dialogues” :
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Know_thyself )
Anyone here know the source?
Selfless
Seeking himself in others’ eyes
He wandered nameless
through the years
Lost within the arms of nature
He sought not a name
And found
himself
The self and the name are not the same. Thank you for posting this.
Old Salt
The cure for anything is salt water – sweat, tears or the sea. – Isak Dinesen
(pen name of author Karen Blixen)
Weep with me, stars,
for some of you are not meant for sky,
but for greater depths than you can ever fathom.
Groan with me, tears,
run down these cheeks at full speed and
marathon your way to some brighter bit of hope.
Fall with me, wave
goodbye to all things made of sand.
We’ll find some higher rock on which to struggle, stand.
.
I think this is so wonderful: the stars to the depths and the waves to the high ground, possibly to the stars.
You know that saltwater inside and out, De. This poem is absolutely stunning.
I really enjoyed this, De!
Wonderful – I simply love the line in reference to tears “marathon your way to some brighter bit of hope.”
De, I am constantly amazed, and then again at the simple wisdom you convey so beautifully!
Beautiful work!
Thank you all, so much.
The House on Rose
Emerson once said
I’m a quote out of forests,
mines, and stone quarries.
I am a thing that begins
with the tapping of hammers.
A gray ghost in the wind,
I’m a window that opens
to beginnings and ends.
I phrase you with timber.
I mimic full features.
As my characters grow,
I’ll whisper those names.
But no one can know me
like the man who creates me,
and I bend to his wishes,
my hip in his hand.
I bear children and raise them,
I wear sickness with worry,
I hold bodies in death
with a bone-chilling sigh.
I read you and recite you,
I’m beside and inside you,
I’ll recall you until
I’m no longer called home.
Wow. The walls have ears; the hearth has a voice. Wonderful.
Thank you! I’m appreciating your comments on a daily basis…and I respect them, and you, and your poetry, PressOn.
Sharing
Unless we make Christmas an occasion to share our blessings, all the snow in Alaska won’t make it ‘white’. Bing Crosby
If all my blessings were snowflakes,
I’d build a family of snow people,
set them around a dinner table
and give them long wooden spoons,
and the only way they’d be able to eat,
would be to feed each other.
(Long spoon allegory from Rabbi Haim of Romshishok)
I love this. Just love it. The “long spoon” notion is one I never heard of, but I’m not going to forget it. Thanks for this.
Connie, this is a refreshing take on the holidays. I’ve never heard the long spoon story, either. Thank you!
Connie, a beautiful word-picture. Not sure if I’ve ever heard this Crosby quote, which makes a lovely link holding the two aspects of your poem together.
No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings. William Blake
ONE SOLITARY RED-TAIL
One hawk
in one thermal
does more to approach heaven
than all the prayers ever said.
I must shut up, and watch.
This poem is wonderful. My dad, before he was limited by his doctor, used to fly gliders. He said it was the closest way he could get to heaven without dying. He talked of thermals and birds, too. He misses it.
Love this.
Beautiful – this one goes up and down the spine
As I’m an avid hawk-spotter in our little community and on car rides, I really appreciated the beauty of your poem and quote. Well said.
Very nice!
Oh, William. Well done. I read this aloud for my family at dinner tonight.
Fantastic!
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss
North of Folly
Raw-edged to yesterdays of losing something sweet
–homemade swimming, apple pools
dogs, good dogs, muskadines
fallen as the stems change gray
a marquee wind
gust, rain rates: Think flood-bucket rates,
gutters–think sidewalks, swimming pools and
movie stars; dark-righteous good fools.
Southern Thanksgiving umbrellas pushed
as paper mockingbirds
I’ve a bar squad, lonely to lip-syncing
an oven shot to raincoats
burgers
watching fishsticks burn
here’s ugly
in a mouth
victim murders taste
my raw sweet taste
Love the marquee wind — how descriptive!
Write on, Jezzie, write on.
My computer burped again. Jezzie this is for your poem.
QUERCUS WHICH?
“Let your mind alone.” – James Thurber
Under the oak lie countless tiny acorns,
and here’s a perfect fallen leaf, and a twig
with three empty cup-shaped crowns.
Which oak? Check the field guide. Oregon
White? leaves too small. Blue? its twigs
are hairy. Gambel? doesn’t grow here.
From the treetop, Hawk stares down at me.
Excellent!
I’ll be the hawk knows. Wonderful read, Taylor. Thank you!
Achieve
“God is really only another artist. He invented the giraffe, the elephant, and the cat. He has no real style. He just goes on trying other things.” Pablo Picasso
Picasso was right.
And wrong.
God is an artist.
An amazing artist whose messages
were very subtle.
Stand tall.
Dream big.
Just be.
Picasso did not get that God’s
most amazing gift,
the yearning to create,
had nothing to do with style.
It just is.
Excellent.
Stardom
“There’s no half-singing in the shower: you’re either a rock star or an opera diva.” ~Josh Groban
I have to say, I like to sing.
I belt out tunes with precision
and soon, those raspy notes take wing:
just like on the television
or Broadway stage. I’m Babs! I’m Bing!
Bon Jovi! What a decision.
I take a bow. My ‘fans’ scream, “More!”
as I steam up the shower door.
###
I love this, RJ!!
Great! At least you remember the words. I hum over parts.
This is such fun. Calls for a fan dance.
One hot number! Love your poetry, RJ, but you know that. =)
“We work in the dark – we do what we can – we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion, and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.”
― Henry James, The Middle Years
Henry James Speaks for Me
Up early
The artist
Goes to work
In the dark
All is quiet
Juices
Flowing
Trembling
It will be the
First time…..
Again
In the dark
The artist finds the
Brightest light
Begin day
In a blaze
Some will say
I bet
It is fun…
I say
Fun has nothing
To do with it
It is work
One must do
Hard work
And when you
Have finished
You must begin
Again
Give all that you have
Hold nothing back
Make each idea
Visible
Look for new ways
To say it
Some days
You will doubt
Yourself
Your work
You will wonder
Why….
Doubt is your
Passion
There will be days
Filled with disappointment
Things will not work out
Frowns all around
Feel small
Razor blades cut
Small nips
Swim in blood
Hurt
Lost in the
Maddness of art
I first read this quote, found in Alice Neal’s studio after her death….in so few words Henry James says it all.
Annell,
Yes, those words do say it all. Your poems really speaks to me. It describes this path I’m on so clearly.
It is work. It is always beginning again. It is madness. Wonderful shape, sound, and fury.
The long, thin form could be drops of blood, sweat, and tears. Love this.
The Going
“Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time.” ~Steve Wright
Do
we have
the time to
take a walk? Even a short one? Distance
doesn’t matter; it’s ‘the going’ that does.
Take a step:
it’s a
start.
###
Yes, that is the beginning of all things…take a step.
So true. Take one step. Love this.
This reminds me of that old proverb about a journey of a thousand miles beginning with one step. For me this poem has a Zen feel to it. Wonderful.
RJ — a friend just told me a story about how her uncle walked from Texas to Alaska and back, and how it took him ten years to do it. It was a “thing” for this Vietnam Vet, and your poem recalled it.
Not Too Somber
“Humor is laughing at what you haven’t got when you ought to have it.” ~Langston Hughes
I
find I
often laugh
since the alternative is just too sad
to contemplate. And anyway, life is
much more fun
when you
laugh…
###
You got the idea, and the skill and drive to share it.
“poetry is painting that is felt
rather than seen”
the slant light
of a coming storm
beautiful
behind double panes
always running
to close windows
when it rains
never thinking
to open them
What a twist. I love it!
Amen to that.
Just gorgeous.
My favorite so far today. Always a sucker for slant light and for clever endings.
Robert, I have such a passion for saying much with few words. Yours today totally WOWS me. Powerful, powerful stuff.
Potty-training quote:
“Hey Nonna, do you know what?
Poop isn’t chocolate.”
~Sophia Rose Mavis
eww… LOL
Smart kid, that.
And, as one cousin so calmly stated one day, “Farts aren’t rainbows.”
THE VOICE
If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’
then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.
~ Vincent Van Gogh
It all started in childhood,
as innocence melted to shame,
that little voice of complaint.
“Why can’t you be good?”
By the time the angst of teen years
came roaring in on a wave of hormones,
the voice had become a shout.
“You Can’t Do Anything Right!”
As adulthood settled in
along with serious responsibility,
the voice was a raging roar.
“YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH!”
Until,
reading the words Vincent wrote,
the light of self-recognition filled
the darkness of doubt and self-loathing,
opening windows and doors long forgotten.
Words came tumbling out,
at first in a frenzy, but eventually,
in patterns that could be shared -
patterns that made sense -
patterns that said,
“You’re a writer! Good for you!”
Oh, Linda … this is so very touching …
All the truths there are….
I can relate.
I love this! We so buy into what other’s say, rather than finding out who we really are. Wow!!
This resonates with me. For years I told myself I couldn’t write poetry.
So well done. Excellent poem and a necessary reminder.
Perfect answer to a wonderful quote.
Anonymous
My words, my words,
these precious words,
not mine. A name,
a name, what name
to give, not mine.
A poet, a prophet,
a writer, this inventor
is someone else, not me.
Ink bleeds from fingers
sorrowed, mocked for
holding a pen too long.
Hear these words
written for deaf ears
bled from lips cracked,
dried by shouting in silence.
Anon, anon, I give
nothing to posterity
that is not obscurity.
Anonymous named
for a gender’s shame,
I’ve forgotten
what shamed us.
I am not her,
whoever she once
might have been.
Don’t look at me.
Look at my words,
my words, my words,
these precious words,
signed in secrecy
by anonymous.
“For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.” Virginia Woolf
Wonderfully penned! “Ink bleeds from fingers/sorrowed,” What an image! Well done!
Thank you!
Wow.
Wow.
This seems destined to become a classic.
Wonder-ful!!!!!
Thank you Marie and Annell. High praise for a humble poem.
Wow!
Thanks. This is not the response I expected. I’m amazed.
Clap! Clap! This touched me.
I’m overwhelmed by the response this one is getting. Thank you.
Utterly superb. So much so that, really, commenting further is just gilding the lily.
Wow! Thank you! I’m overwhelmed by these responses!
“Ink bleeds from fingers/sorrowed,” is breathtaking.
Thank you Linda. I’m so glad you and Linda Neas liked this part. I’m truly overwhelmed by the response to this poem. Thank you to everyone.
“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
― Oscar Wilde
After My Last Breakup
I analyzed every aspect of my past
promised to make better choices
lowered then raised then lowered my standards
tried every hairstyle and shade of lipstick and nail color
bought new clothes and restyled my gait
I make eye contact
I smile showing off my perfect teeth
I speak
but there is still just a place setting for one
in the meantime
I could just sit at my desk and cry in my journal
but being with family and friends
going to school/reading books/writing poems/seeing shows
dancing a little and laughing a lot
is a hell of a lot more interesting than
reading yet another article or blog post
another article asking Why
So Many Women Are Single
One of my favorite Oscar Wilde quotes…great poem!
Great poem, indeed! “lowered then raised then lowered my standards”
Yes. That one caught my eye too. Loved this whole poem, though.
One of my favorite quotes!
Great. The “cry in my journal” rang a bell with me.
I love the life revamping after a breakup. And, I remember my single periods after each relationship as probably the best times in my life. “Lowered then raised then lowered my standards,” is ideal, and I also was caught by your “cry in my journal.”
Girl, I been there. In truth, I AM there. Wonderful job here. I especially love “I smile showing off my perfect teeth”
God. So Good.
Painting
I wish I could paint,
but an artist I aint,
so I guess I’ll just write
and describe a sight
that delights me
or invites me
to express
happiness.
“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” – Leonardo da Vinci
Picasso should paint so well.
I think Georgia O’Keefe said something similar (that plagiarist! ha!). Sweet poem, Jezzie! Thank you.