The Aspiring Bard

Wow! I have been gone for so long! I've gotten out of the habit of writing poetry, which is a very, very bad thing. My life is much narrower and considerably less colorful without the splendid challenge and the mental, emotional, and spiritual release of poetry.  This little offering is one I've been thinking about for awhile. I'm not completely satisfied with it, but perhaps it will serve to revive my poetic habits.  Roam the waste of Barren heart, Trace the web Of tempting art, Wander, 'til You see the spark... Lantern - bearer In the dark.

At times, I am very much a sentimental fool. This first poem proves that fact.  November 16 Some places Still hold memories of you, Of echoes that will neither Live nor die 'Til you return And put the old at rest - Remember all our dreams And make them new. And no, this is not about me being in love with anyone. I just thought I'd clarify, since I know that's what you're thinking. ;-) November 17 My life in a notebook: Rhymes, thoughts, ideas Crowd for space Against a recipe or two, Half-finished stories And a list Of many things I'll never do. November 18 The world is full Of misconceptions... Silly people Thinking silly thoughts... And we, No wiser than the rest, Pass judgment On them all. It occurred to me today that people almost never write poetry for November. There are multitudes of poems for the months of bright leaves, and a generous handful of verse for the snowy months, but nothing for poo...

Erm...I'm late. Desculpe.  You might recognize this first one as being a more structured version of one of last week's poems.  November 7 A silver moon A silver dawn A silver silence Carried on The rushing wings Of frosty air. And I? Well, I do not belong I am too permanent And strong. I crush the transience Of frost Beneath my feet And it is lost. November 10 Break the silence Not the dream. Nothing lasts forever. Dream-worlds may Erode and fall But silent things are stronger. You knew there had to be a piece of utterly inexcusable doggerel somewhere. Well, here it is: November 11 East or West, Home is best... I'd like a home Both East and West. November 12 Contentment here With what I have - The things that are Or are to be. A fire clicking In the stove, A book at rest Upon my knee. The evening hours Are a time Of peace and warmth And glowing light. A homely hearth, A labor done, And pleasant fancies Taking flight. ...

Poetically speaking, this has been a far-from stellar week. Nothing rhymed. I missed a few days. I really wasn't sure if I wanted to post at all. But I suppose this will be good for my humility, if nothing else. November 1 Shaking with excitement, I can not sleep tonight - God's go-ahead resounding In my ears - Unfolding A new chapter Of this life I have on loan. Obviously, I didn't do much sleeping this week. :-/  November 2 Sleep runs away On swiftest feet. I strive (In vain) To catch her. November 3 (etched into my notebook page with an ink-less pen) 'Blessed is he Who has not seen But has believed'. I ache for that day When I can Truly see. November 4 What shall I write? There are no words, Only empty lines To mock me With their stubborn silence. A man once said That writing about writing Is what folks do Instead of writing. I think I see now What he meant. Oh goody! A two-fer! I think the second one might be dead, tho...

October 24, 2012 A small grey house In a quiet spot, A dog, a cat, and a garden plot. Isn't much, But it's my ideal. Dreamy planning (Nothing real). A small grey house With brooding pines Where I can sit and make my lines. October 25, 2012 Fearful captives, Laboring in chains. A groaning Earth, Soaked through with bloody stains. All creation... I must set it free? No, not my strength, But that of Him in me. The power to restore, Refresh, renew. To shape the twisted paths And make them true. The power to redeem A human soul - To heal a heart and make it Truly whole - It comes, Not from my hand, but from above. And I am nothing... A mere conduit of love. Inspiration, once she comes in and sits down, is terribly reluctant to leave. I need to find The 'off' switch in my brain - The one that says 'Quit rhyming And let me fall asleep!' This really has nothing to do with my day. I just have these random thoughts...not really...

For the time being, and until I get distracted by something else or this challenge is no longer both challenging and fun, I'm trying to write a short poem every day. I'm being patient with myself, not demanding that every line be written, re-worded, and written again until it satisfies me perfectly. But, at the same time, I'm not just sloppily putting down whatever comes into my head with no revision whatsoever. I realize that I'm walking a fine line here, and at some point I'll probably fall to one side or the other. If I stop enjoying this, I'll stop doing it. I wasn't sure at first if I wanted to share these poems on the blog, but in the end I decided to go for it, since these may be the only new content you'll see all week.  October 17, 2012 Brown-and-yellow day Of middle-fall - My mood; The earth-rich brown Of industry (To match my new-dyed skirt). Some coffee, tea, A stroll through Breezy woods Of rusted yellow. A day of sunless rain,...

The beautiful, The ancient things Have broken, Battered, Steady wings To catch the wind And fly away, Leaving me In modern day.