Category: poetry

Life stories 

    How many times have you found yourself thinking about the past? I am guilty of doing it often.  We are all a collection of stories,  some that we do not tell.  The reason why we don’t varies some,  depending upon the story. Some we are ashamed of,  some we think are going to be boring to the world around us. 

         I am finding out that sometimes those stories are more interesting than we realize. I try to be open about my history and tell my stories,  but some of them do not really sit on the mind as something that I need to tell. Yet,  each of them are a part of who I am.  I am a unique individual who has seen some of the darkness that lives in the heart of man.  I am a survivor who has learned to make do with what I have. And I am a woman who has seen both good and bad,  and came through it ready to try to tell my stories. I don’t know if I will ever be able to write all of the stories of a life survived,  or even if I should.  Not all of my mistakes are ones that any one would learn from… Even me.  Still for now,  I will attempt to continue to dribble my story in small gushes to this blog,  and to my poetry.  Perhaps my journey will aid those who stumble across my words. 

Audience 

          Who is my audience?  As an author there is not a day that goes by that I am not asking myself this question.  I have, I think come to a decision on it. My children’s books: the audience is fairly obvious.  Children.  I really write them for my daughter (and now my grandson).  Which is why I believe that the third bedtime stories will be mid grade. The first two were stories written for her when she was small. The third started for a preteen. (And now she is helping me write it.  She was suggesting ideas for the story and is looking forward to hear it when it is done.  She refused me reading it until then.) But I write more than just children’s books.  

        My poetry I have always written for me. So do I really have an audience for it?  Yes,  and no.  It is always going to be how I cope with the world… It is more that then it is written for a particular audience. That being said,  the reason why I published it is because my coping mechanisms can possibly help someone else who may be in a bad place. Or not,  I am not sure it matters there.  My poetry is the clearest view inside of my soul. To tell the truth I publish it because I can.  I have lost so much of my poetry over the years… This is the way of preserving it digitally so I will not lose anymore. 

        Last but not least,  there is Serena’s stories. Anything that I write that is adult in nature will be published under Serena Mossgraves.  Currently that seems to be horror.  I am not sure if it all will be… I just know that I will not be doing erotica… It embarrasses me to write it.  So I figure her audience will be adults,  preferably who enjoy what I write.  

          All seems simple enough.  I only hope that I am able to create a story that someone likes.  

Poetic license 

Recently I asked for advice on my poetry… And it got me thinking.  The advice was given that I need to add smilies and metaphors in my poetry,  because there is no poetry with out it.  Now mind you I added some images,  but some poems just do not work with either.  I feel like I am missing something by refusing to accept that all poetry must have either of the two options.  But,  then I start to question… Who is writing the poem?  

                Yes,  I employ both in my poems,  but not always.  Some poems are just emotions in written form.  If all poetry was just comparison then where is the original ideas?  Images do not have to be a comparison to be evocative.  Sometimes the more you compare the emotional state with something else,  the more you lose of the original idea.  

        Do not get me wrong… I am grateful for the opinions offered,  after all it made me look closer at what I was writing and add more imagery.  I however am not sure that I am willing to completely change my voice because it doesn’t fit another person’s idea of what poetry should be.  

          What do you expect when you read poems?  Which of the poetry styles /rules are a hard and fast thing for you?  Please do respond.  I would love to discuss this idea further. 

Reminiscent 

Bare feet 

And heavy dreams. 

Atop the sky, 

Life was eternal it seems. 

Hidden forts, 

Behind bleachers, 

In the trees. 
Running about pretending 

That we would always be, 

Friends and dreamers 

In infinity. 
Innocence a haze, 

Setting the tone, 

Childhood a state 

Best when not alone. 

Commodity 

Another day, 

Just like the 

one before. 

Freedom a lie, 

In the land of 

the free. 
Stolen from life, 

Forced to live 

this strife. 

No longer human, 

A bought toy

Forced to endure. 
No one sees

What is left of me. 

Nothing remaining 

Except a commodity. 
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Next Time You See Me

The next time you see me
I will have changed,
Even if it is only a day
In between.

The next time you see me
My views of the world
Will have taken me
Down places that I may not
Even be able to explain.

The next time
you see me
Wish me well,
As I will you…
For you can never know
When the next time
You see me will
Be our last.

Saved

I wrote it all down,
All the hate,  anger,
All the pain,  emotional drain.
I wrote in ink on paper,
As if that made it less real.
I included the ecstasy,
And all the joy.

Then I folded it as small
As I possibly could,
So it would take less space.
I hid it in a box,
Away in some forgotten place.

The paper keeps the memory
That I was unable to truly bear,
Stored away from having to care.

Favoritism

You claim love equality,

With words that

match nothing

Of reality.

You still fail to understand,

I want nothing given from

A hesitant hand.

Tis not material

Items I desire,

Nor any attachments

Grand of wealth.

Reach for me just once

And tell me honestly,

That you are interested

To learn who I am,

Truthfully.

 

Parenting isn’t about

wealth or greed,

Or the material

That you can give.

Knowing one well,

Ignoring the other is

Just seriously unkind.

Got inspired

So my sister pointed out some nanowrimo sprints on Twitter.  And I was tickled and inspired by one of the prompts..  It was three words to work in the current section of your writing.  GREATEST,  BRAINWASH, HAMPSTER.

I found them delightful.  So I wrote this poem…

The greatest thing
To clear the mind,
Leave all worry,
Work and woe behind.

Brainwash yourself
To enjoy all the simple things.
Sitting in a swing,
Enjoying the night air.
Forgetting for a while
That you even care.

Stop acting the hamster,
Running the wheel.
Expending all your energy,
Getting no where real.

Dear Mama

Dear Mama,

I love you. All that I have ever wanted was to feel like you were proud of me.  I tried to be who you wanted.  I found that didn’t work. Then I tried being myself.  I found that I was happier,  but you still were not proud of me.  Mama I am fourty one,  and I have succeeded.  I am published.  I am usually a happy soul.  Yet when I fall,  and I do occasionally fall.  It is your voice in my ear,  telling me you expected it all along.  When I get rejected for my poetry, (as rejections are normal for the writer to recieve) that everyone else would tell me I wrote so well?  I hear you telling me that you didn’t want to hear it because of how depressing it was.

Mama,  I have published five volumes of poetry,  three children’s books,  and a novella.  You know that family have hardly even acted like it mattered?  I am doing what I told you I wanted to do at nine.  I am a writer. So I may never be a  novelist,  children’s books still need written. I have never asked for much.  Just a hey,  that is awesome.  Or even… Uh sharing it on social media that you have a daughter who is printed.  So I put space between us.  I admit that I was tired of feeling like you just didn’t care. I deserve to be someone who is cared about. I’m sorry that I was never the daughter you wanted,  but Mama,  I have always just been me.

Love always,

Your daughter.