Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

April is Poetry Month

Wednesday, April 6th, 2011

Since I love poetry so very much, I think I will share some of my favorite poets and some poetry/prose I’ve written. I will try to share some every couple of days. Remind me if I don’t!

To start I will share with you Sylvia Plath.

Mad Girl’s Love Song

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

And one of my own…

Short

I will love you from
The distance that has always been,
Wipe dry my tears of lonely,
Tuck my need in a sunken chest
Of sweet memories,
And let you go.

Take me somewhere I can breathe

Tuesday, September 21st, 2010
Take me somewhere I can breathe, originally uploaded by G!L.
I want not to feel trapped,
glued within a story I do not belong…
not one more day.
I want not to feel anchored pathetic
to someone else’s shore,
buoyed in its misery.
I want not to forget…
the contoured belly of hope,
to lay idle blurring into obscurity.
I want not to inhale…
the fetid decay of who I once was,
exhaling despair in every direction.
I want not to pick the carcass of love…
for anything worth keeping…
watching wishbones brittle,
waiting to get the bigger piece,
anything—anything,
to be set free.
Take me somewhere I can breathe,
And I will sing you the sweetest song,
slightly off-key.
************************************

Wave Goodbye by Sophie Madeleine

Reflections muddled

Monday, September 13th, 2010

Autumn Art in a Puddle, originally uploaded by Batikart.

I feel thick the tears swelling my troubles
to the most incredible proportions.
And I am parched for self-love.
Teetering on the edge of apathy and overwhelm.
I am anything but balanced.
I want not to dwell on the dissected parts of me.

Oh please!
Sketch me the tiniest wings of hope,
and I will take flight in a positive direction.
I will pack my displaced courage,
Leave behind the sentimental suits
Of guilt and disregard.
Stuff fat my pockets with every memory,
And I will be on my way.

Beautiful silence

Monday, August 9th, 2010

beautiful silence, originally uploaded by CrazyFast.

“Silence is as deep as eternity; speech shallow as time”
-Thomas Carlyle

Sometimes silence is like a warm breeze, enveloping you in its tendrils, sheltering you from the harsh weather waiting, aching to consume you. Sometimes silence is like a raging ocean pushing you under its shiny blue into the vast darkness, forcing you down to its unending depths while you try in vain to hold your breath and watch the surface, the sky…your entire world disappear into darkness. And you die a thousand watery silent deaths for no one can hear your muted, drowned out cries for help. And sometimes silence teases the air from your ear, leaving in its absence a strange pulling sensation that makes you doubt everything you ever known.

And sometimes silence is a traffic jam of words, so many words, rushing to and fro, all at their leisure… in preparation of something grand guesture, preparation for whats to come, some overwhelming emotion or thought… stuck firm upon your palate just so… and in the delightful confusion the brain does not, will not supercede in the chain of command, by taking control. And the words they dance stupid upon your tongue until you fall fast asleep, weary from anticipation, and each word you swallow like silent snores never to escape upon your baited breath. Never to reach their destination.

(written by me this weekend)

Imagine yourself free…

Thursday, June 10th, 2010

(Photo Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lackingfocus/2307255693/)

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
. . .
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to aery nothing
A local habitation and a name.

This is the beauty of Shakespeare, he was capable of deep human analysis. He could put into words, into prose the intricacies of life, of emotion, of being human. He wrote beautiful prose capturing the complexities…this is all but lost in today’s culture of saying nothing all day long, in the age of Twitter and text messages.

Imagination is still necessary. It can help you out of any situation, it brings you to life. Imagination will make you love harder, think more, it will drive you completely crazy but it can bring you back to the edge of sanity just as fast. Imagination is inspirational, motivational, necessary.

I am both haunted and delivered by my monumental imagination. It is only when I ignore it or deny it that I begin to drown in apathy, that I lose my solid stance, that my dreams begin to wither and die. I have fallen in love through my imagination and I have gone completely mad dancing in its depth. And I have written soul-shaking poetry all serenaded by my imagination… it revives me from the doldrums of the every day and reminds me there is beauty and good everywhere…but keeps me on my toes for all that is not.

If I were consistent…

Monday, March 15th, 2010

If I were consistent, I would update this site each day and regale you with colorful thoughts that cross my mind. I would place my political beliefs in the display at the window in my mind. I would bring you to tears with sorrows we’ve all been felt too deep to explain. I would make you laugh out loud so your colleagues think you are mad. I would share with you whimsical photographs of books I’ve long since read.

If I were consistent, I would delight you with my melancholy poetry or write you a story to help you escape the doldrums of your todays. I would whisk you into my everyday imaginations, creative adventures. I would photo-journal my expressive birthday gift adventures, my valentine’s day crafted love notes. I would fill your ears with the musical compilations that help me relax or sleep or cry or smile or feel connected to the human race again.

If I were consistent, I would ramble on and on and on about the healthcare reform or the caucasians in the United States becoming the minorities or the Irish mobsters hanging about in my family tree. I would scan in the pictures of birds or snap a few of the hummingbabies that visit me all day, every day. I would write elaborate, in-depth reviews of the books I devour. I would tell you how much I love my new Nook, I would tell you I got one for Valentine’s Day and I would tell you just how lovely a gift that was for that holiday, how fitting it was for me.

I would roll the vernacular dice and win your devotion, inviting you to visit 21 times a day just to see if I updated my silly blog, if I were consistent.

Suicide

Tuesday, March 24th, 2009

I have always been an unabashed fan of the late poet Sylvia Plath.

I love her poetry, her writing. I can relate to the way her mind worked. They way her thoughts weave into the darkness, reaching out for hope even if she did not ultimately find it. I feel her poems in a way many cannot. It speaks to an all-too-familiar pain.

But no matter how dark and horrible life can be, and it definitely can be, there is nothing after this life. It is simply  nothing. I do not believe in God or afterlife. Once our bodies expire—we are gone. Everything bad and everything good and everything in between ceases to exist. For me, there is far too much in this world to be fascinated with to choose suicide.

Even if the situation you are currently in is horrific and I know it can be unimaginable, suicide is NOT the answer. There are millions of miles of earth, billions of opportunities to explore, trillions of new situations to experience and a plethora of new people to meet. There is just so much more to this life than where you are at any given moment.

This is what keeps me moving forward through the difficult times. And I will not pretend to be anything less than moody. I am a profoundly deep person. I feel things more intensely than most people. I react to them. I am sensitive. I am introspective. I am the quintessential poet. I admit I am melodramatic in my thoughts, in my feelings. But when things gets so dark for me, I try to remind myself to hold onto the vast intrigue, the unread books, the unvisited destinations, the unwritten poetry, the unmet people.

Last week I was re-reading some of Sylvia Plath’s works, admiring her way with words, her uncanny ability to put into words my pain even before I was born. I was thinking how it is such a shame she chose suicide. It is heartbreaking really. I wish I could have known her. I wish we could have had conversations over tea. I wish I could have absorbed some of the darkness surrounding her. She felt there was no escape from her life except death. Unfortunately, she set an example for her children—an example she can never undo.

16,836 days later her son, Nicholas Hughes, followed her example choosing to hang himself in his Alaskan home. He was an intelligent man of science. A marine biologist whose love for fish, fishing and the science of fisheries he inherited from his father. It was this love for nature that inspired him to move to Alaska many years ago. According to his sister he battled depression throughout his life even while passionately pursuing his research. Suicide may or may not be inherited, they are finding some genetic links but most experts believe it is not so much inherited as it is taught through example. Depression is often inherited and whether you are a fan of Plath or not, the connection between her decision to kill herself and his ultimate choice to do so—is connected.

Both Nicholas’ mother, Sylvia Plath, and his stepmother, Assia Wevill, committed suicide during his childhood. This cannot go unmentioned. Depression is difficult to survive. Again, suicide is not inherited but it can be taught as coping tool. Children whose parents have attempted suicide, not just succeeded, are six times as likely to try to take their own lives.1 This is significant. This could not have been what Sylvia Plath wanted for her little Nicholas.

It is too late for them both now, no matter what did or did not contribute to their decisions. Suicide is the ultimate choice for too many. But it is not the only way out of the darkness. Each of us can help prevent suicide. We have the responsibility to do so both for ourselves and others. Suicide affects many people—not just the person considering it—but it is not your only option. If you are suffering from depression and having suicidal thoughts there are other ways out. Get help now before it is too late.

Recognize the signs and symptoms. Know where to get help for yourself or others. If you feel suicidal or you know someone who does you or they can call 1-877-273-TALK (8255).

Here are some other suicide prevention / help links below:

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Suicide Awareness Voice of Education (SAVE)

American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP)

Suicide hotlines in your area (and national hotlines)

  1. http://www.usatoday.com/news/opinion/editorials/2004-03-10-zinczenko_x.htm []