Category: poetry

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. 
(Just a note) 

Human trafficking is a crime.  Unfortunately one that happens too often.  The sites below are filled with information on this crime and how to prevent it. 

Need help? United States:

1 (888) 373-7888

National Human Trafficking Resource Center

SMS: 233733 (Text “HELP” or “INFO”)

Hours: 24 hours, 7 days a week

Languages: English, Spanish and 200 more languages

Website: traffickingresourcecenter.org

http://www.truckersagainsttrafficking.org

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.

I survived 

It seems as though I am running still

Trying to fight such a long gone foe,

That sometimes today is a haze.

I survived.
Shouldn’t it make me stronger?

So why do I feel so weak?

I survived.
So when can I rest?

When will it finally be over for me?

It seems as though 

I am running still

From memories of so very long ago,

That it takes over me.

I survived.
What did I lose to be who I am?

Was it worth it?

I survived.
Can I ever escape those memories?

Should I try?

It seems as though 

I am running still

Just to escape things from before,

And I wonder if I ever will.

I survived.
Shattered and broken,

Afraid and uneasy.

I survived.
So how do I survive yet another day?

Love Dust

In my life too many
Have claimed that they
Loved me,
Just before turning
And walking away.

Don’t ask me
To tell you,
Who he really is.
For in my sorrow,
In my shame and pain,
I realized that I really
Never even knew.

Do not ask me
What I did,
That drove her away.
For all that I am
The one who once
Sister she called,
In truth I doubt
That she really ever
Knew the truth of me.

The shattered shards
Of self esteem and trust,
Left beside me as those who
Claim that they love me
Leave me in the dust.