In The Other Hours...: September 2012

Saturday, September 22, 2012

To Jack...

Here's to all they said about you...
To my naivety, believing it untrue...
To the hill you made me climb...
And all the things you misconstrued.

To the water we were fetching...
That was only there for me to drown...
And though I didn't see it then...
You never did...
Have a crown.

The view from way up high...
Wasn't all I thought it would be...
Surrounded by a scorched land...
Fire's smoke, settling on the sea.

And when the air had cleared...
The ashes were slippery on the rafters...
When you fell down, I kissed the ground...
But I...I didn't come tumbling after.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Narcissistic

This poem was inspired by my take on the great Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter. Written from Hester Pryne's point of view and written to Dimmesdale.

**********************************************************************

A trail of breadcrumbs led me back here...
Ones too tempting to turn down...
Now satiated, here I stand...
Treading the land, of your home town.

It's been long and time has aged you...
Yet, your presence calls me still...
Do you tell your children, stories of me...
Inside your house upon the hill?

Your wife is sweet, and beautiful...
Full, of all that is good and right...
And I hope she never comes to learn...
Of those, you buried in at night.

I wonder, whose doors you now darken...
Upon whom, affections you bestow...
Under the dark covers of dishonesty..
What brand of passion, do you now grow?

I wave goodbye, to your sad existence...
As I turn, I beg you to stay there...
To see the treasures that lay before you
And to finally give them...their due care.

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say...

I have been writing ever since I was very young though my writing style has changed a bit over the years.
In the words of another great writer "poetry has not been a purpose for me but, a passion."

The pieces I've written have come to me whenever and wherever they deem fit. Many of my poems were originally composed on scrap pieces of paper, napkins, the back of receipts, wherever I could find a place to write down what was in my head at that moment. Sometimes late at night when I couldn't sleep because those words were spinning around in my head...

Most of my work may have what some would consider a "dark" tinge to it, however, please do not mistake me with the "Let the world end, life holds no purpose" writers as that is not who I am.

That being said, my writing comes easiest to me when I honestly "feel" it, and most of the intense feelings I have dealt with, tend to deal with the more complicated things in life; that is why you will most likely never see a poem written by me about rainbows, butterflies and flowers....but, I'll never say never because perhaps, someday I'll be inspired to do so :)

With my poetry, I've felt every word I've ever written... every last syllable was drawn out from an emotion I felt until there was nothing left to take. Each one is tied to a memory that, to this day, even a poem I wrote years and years ago...I can read it and remember that moment and that feeling. My writing comes from a place of honesty that is sometimes painful for me to admit to; difficult to embrace.

Still, I find it necessary to not only face it but, to welcome it...because it has helped me to grow up; to see a side of things and life that maybe I'm not as comfortable with and I feel I'm a better person for it.
I have lived a lot of life at the age of 23 now, some unfortunate circumstances have brought me to where I am but, if I could change one thing, I would not, because I wouldn't be who I am or where I am without those things pushing me to get here.

One of my favorite quotes is by Natalie Babbit, she said "You don't have to live forever, you just have to live" and that is what I try to do.

I enjoy writing some in French and Latin. Some of the titles and some of the poems here may contain some lines of French or Latin in them.

I often enjoy writing in a confined element such as sonnets, villanelles and triolets. Many people do not use these forms of writing anymore but, I still enjoy them.

I also enjoy painting and drawing when I get the time to do it and I have combined certain pieces of my art with certain poems here.

In compiling my work here, it is my hope and desire, that if nothing else, some piece of my writing will reach out and touch at least one person in the way that so many other writers have done for me.

In The Other Hours...

Saturday, September 22, 2012

To Jack...

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Narcissistic

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The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say...

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