~~I write poetry from time to time and thought I'd share my latest one. It came from a discussion on the Books and Writers Forum about writing woes and what our tears do. I have to thank Ron Wodaski and Deniz Bevan for some of the images. Ron's blog is HERE and Deniz's is HERE.
The Writer’s Bestiary
I crouch in a desolate, desert waste
Of dry words without life or form or taste.
Then my muse appears to sit at my feet,
Her hand cupping, catching my tears;
Her smile wild and sweet.
“Dear One,
Each drop you weep holds
oceans of healing, and
balm for those you seek.
In my hand I hold the cure
for word count dragonflies,
each wing made complete.
They water the hummingbirds who fly,
knitting your scenes together
unfolding your plot to the sky.
When your characters refuse their names,
your tears ease the roly-polies’ fears,
and soften the beetle’s hard shell,
where their hearts hide so well.
And as your tears overflow on
caterpillar, cocoon, and butterfly,
setting becomes focused and clear.
Choked throats, full of dialog are freed
as your tears tend the songbird’s wing,
allowing it once again to fly and sing.
“So cry, Dear One.
Your tears are not shed in vain.
Use them to write your story once again.”
Thanks for the mention Zan Marie! I enjoyed reading this poem all over again. And hey, it's gone into my "books read" list at the bottom of my blog [g]
ReplyDeleteWhoo Hooo! I'm a "book read!" That's a hoot. ; )
ReplyDelete"Dry words, without life or form or taste!" are the nightmares of every author!!
ReplyDeleteYou really got a good poem here!! Thanks for sharing!!
with warm regards
Another Author
Thanks, Another Author. I have to give the inception credit to my buddies on the Books and Writers Forum. There's a synergy that happens when writers congregate and console each other. That was what I wanted to capture.
ReplyDeleteIt wouldn't let me comment earlier. Glad it's working now. Great poem and brave of you for sharing. I never share my poems. Of course it's been years since I've written any.
ReplyDeleteThanks. I wrote poetry for years. That's what I started with when I was 8, but I knew they were poor things. Prose is easier for me. When my muse gives me a poem every once in a while, I just grateful for words, any words. ; )
ReplyDelete