Daily Poetry Practice - Five More

The second batch of five from my daily meditative practice.  I am really loving this exercise, it helps me take time every day to capture the moment, to breathe and be silent, focusing on my now.  It's a great fit for me.

 

Enjoy!

 

 



 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

Daily Poetry Practice - First Five

I've been exploring meditative practices, and inner, mental, emotional health in recent weeks.  I've been reading some great books, and trying some new things.  Two of the daily practices I am adopting for my own are a meditative free-write session in the mornings, and a daily short poem (often an haiku).  The short poems are something I love, and have been reading on twitter and tumbler for a couple of years now... the ones I love most are created and posted by @TylerKnott.  If you don't follow him, you should!

 

As I work out the kinks of posting these daily to my tumblr account and to twitter, I've been a little challenged to get as organized as I'd like.  Now that I'm beginning to get things the way I want, for that process, I am ready to share a handful of them every week or so, here in the drawer.  I hope if you read here regularly, you'll enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Short Poems 1-5

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Charming Trifles

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,

bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,

brown paper packages tied up with strings...

cream colored ponies and crisp apple streudels,

doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles,

wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings...

girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes,

snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,

silver white winters that melt into springs...

these are a few of my favorite things."

~Rodgers and Hammerstein's The Sound of Music

This post inspired in part by Poppy's blit, and the delightful answers to her Butterflies post.

 

I Want More, Please

To write about what I want is a very broad brush stroke, and I am feeling very light hearted tonight.  I am not sure I want to write about serious things.  So, I will write about random things that I want.  Each of these things is something I really do want, but in a very playful sense, and perhaps in just dreaming and brainstorming about them I will find something that strikes a chord or plants a seed, and I will maybe begin to pursue something I hadn’t given much serious thought before.

There is a friend I follow on tumblr who posts photos and sketches he creates, and others that he finds beautiful.  He also posts occasionally, a line or two that begins with the phrase, “I want a girl...”  I love that concept, and I know that I’ve taken up that idea a few times, posting about how I want a girl who is all softness and curves.  I want a girl who likes the girl she sees in the mirror.  I love the fact that that door of possibility is open to me.  I love exploring the idea in my writing, and that even in my life now there is that path to explore at a comfortable and leisurely pace with no pressure, only love. I want to continue that.

I want to build a sanctuary in the new house, wherever it is... a room with books and books and a comfortable place to sit, and more books.  A library that inspires escape and creativity.  I want to make my own haven that isn’t a bedroom, and isn’t a place for everyone to gather, rather a place to go and find solitude, to write poetry, or read for hours.  I am eager to find that space anew, and let it help me find my center day after day.

I also want to create spaces that make my family feel at home. A kitchen that feels warm and inviting, and a living area with plenty of room for babies, and toddlers, for toys and music and games, as well as television and movies and relaxing.  I want to make this home over into a place that has room for everyone in the household, instead of it feeling like we just pushed things aside to make room for more people.

I want to open up and begin writing poetry again that is filled with the emotion I’ve been sort of holding back on for so many months.  I want to celebrate being in love instead of worrying that it’s too childish or young to sing songs and write poems about this amazing feeling.  I want to open up and be creative again, inspired by how happy I am and how grateful I feel to be so loved.  I want to set up a glass working station in a shed or a garage, to spend the time and energy on glass that I did a year and a half ago, and to feel that sense of accomplishment at having created beauty with something other than words.

I want to learn French, at least some French, in a way that is fun, and not work.  I want to enjoy the language, the beauty and music of it, and so with poetry as a focus, I want to translate and swim in that language.  I want to play with French words, and to discover what makes the poetry so lovely.

I want to enjoy these next weeks and months planning for a collaring commitment that I’ve been hoping for, and working toward for almost two years.  I want to dream and talk about what that commitment ceremony looks like, and about the meaningful gestures and words and things that will make it truly something that is mine and His. I don’t want to make things too complicated, I just want to figure out ways to celebrate that are simple and full of beauty and meaning for He and I.  I want to dream, and to plan, and to know that this is truly ours... and unlike anyone else’s.  I love Dragonfly Girl, and I am glad to be her sister.  I know that she counts her collar and her relationship with Sir as sacred.  I want to celebrate that, too.  I want to make my sacred commitment next to Shepherd, with my family watching, my pack watching.  I want to witness the commitment between Shepherd and Dragonfly Girl as a totally different event, and celebrate it with all the happiness I can give to them.  

I want to see my Sir smiling more.  To feel Him relaxing and enjoying the love we share, and the family he’s building.  I want to know that he feels confident and safe in my love, and in the love of the others in our pack.  I want to see him grow and become the Sir He is meant to be, and I want to walk that road of learning and growing beside Him, learning and growing myself.  I want to cast off old hurts, and see old scars continue to heal, while I celebrate the amazing thing that is our love, and our commitment to strengthening that love for a lifetime.  I want to know that I bring Him more smiles than stress, and that because of my contribution to His life, He finds things easier, happier, simpler and more beautiful than He ever dreamed.

I am happy... and I want more.

  

It's In the Ink

Sir (Shepherd) asked me to write a page about my personal goals for this year, with the caveat that it not be about relationships, and not be about kink --- and I’m not sure where to begin.  I worry that any personal goals outside of my current ones to explore my own darkness and masochism, and to learn what it is that drives me to develop multiple, committed, romantic relationships, will seem shallow and contrived.

The truth is, I do have some basic goals that relate to my writing, to language and poetry.  It is my passion and the thing  -- after flying on pain induced endorphins -- that makes me feel most centered and most myself.  It’s the thing that is most me, outside of kink and poly relationships. I’m troubled though, because Sir and I recently talked about service, and about making my service something that mattered.  I am not sure that focusing on language and poetry benefits anyone but me.  That seems a bit selfish for service.  

 Honestly, things are just beginning to settle in one relationship after a very wonderful and very rocky roller-coaster of a year; and I am finally beginning to focus on the other. Strengthening my primary relationship is where most of my energy is going now.  In addition, life is full of work and moving and new additions to the family and -- well, life is always full.  But I spend a lot of time spinning my wheels when it comes to goals and accomplishing anything beyond relationships and discovering why I kink the way I do.

I realize I’m assuming that personal goals and service are connected.  It makes sense, but I have also been accused of over-thinking things.  


Often. 
And rightly so.  


I think maybe I’ve spent so much of the past three years fighting my way out of the cracked shell of my life -- testing my wings, flying, falling, trying again -- that I haven’t really thought much about anything beyond this.  That process of breaking out of my shell has been an emotionally and mentally taxing one. 

So, I ramble. 

But, coming back to the ink, the words, the language and writing and poetry --- I do have some goals, and they may seem small, or self-focused, or something.  And yes, I am most likely over-thinking, as I said.  One of my goals for 2012 is to finish twelve full length books, a mixture of fiction and non-fiction, just because I want to buy back some of the time I’ve not spent reading in the past several months.  I have lots of books going, and some I’ve finished, but many I’ve just made it through half or three-fourths and then gotten busy, and had to go back to them to begin again.  I want to line out a list of twelve good books and read them all before the end of the year.  For a writer, not reading stifles the flow of language and creative ideas.  I think it’s time to get back into the language stream.

The second thing I want to do involving language is to develop some sort of goal for poetry.  I’m considering a new poetry project each month, whether it’s something huge, like the sonnet corona, or something smaller, like the April poem-a-day challenge that I’ve done in the past. It usually results in a dozen or so good quality poems that can be organized into a chapbook.  I want a goal that actually means I’m producing poetry, instead of playing with it, but not finishing much.

Thirdly, I’ve been given a fourteen volume set of French erotica, and it’s being delivered this week.  I’m so excited, because I love the books themselves, and I can’t wait to see them on the shelf, but I also want to be able to read them, even though I currently don’t understand much French at all.  The goal is to dive into the language, translating poems and prose, and becoming familiar enough with the dynamics of it to incorporate it into the poetry I both read and write.  Beyond that, I want to also incorporate it into my prose and fiction, as well.  I’ve got a story going now that is set in St. Pierre at Carencro, Louisiana, and the bits of French I include give the storyline depth and texture.  I love that people who read either have to know a bit of French, or look up the words to get the full effect.  I enjoy reading works that challenge me a bit that way, and writing them pushes me to be more creative as well.  I want more of that.

I recently watched a YouTube video of a TED talk given by Sarah Kay.  She is an amazingly gifted spoken-word poet, and the things she shared moved me. She made me laugh, made me cry, and inspired me to do the thing that I’m most passionate about.  I truly believe this is why I was created -- words, ink, fiction and poetry, I am a writer, I am a poet.  It’s why I’m here.  I believe poets are compelled to see the world in moments, and to share those moments in words, to inspire people, to make them think, to shine a light on what it is to be human and alive.

 

This is my passion.  How does that translate into service?  I don’t know.  How does it make a difference to others?  I’m not sure.  But it is really what’s in my blood, and I know I’m not doing enough of it.  I don’t finish enough poems, or stories, I don’t post often enough on my blogs about my journey.  I don’t write like I used to, and I am busier than I was five years ago but this is important to me.  I need to find the time.  So, it’s where I’m going to begin. I’m going to set solid goals and work to accomplish them, because this is who I am, and what I need -- to swim in the language stream and spill large quantities of this  ink in my veins.

It’s what I’m made to do.

"Going to an intellectual place when dealing with emotional issues is like trying to do grocery shopping at an auto parts store."

-Michael Rios

This quote struck me squarely today.  I think I may write about it soon.

For now it's a scribble tossed in the drawer.

Vignette

The suitcases, because I travel to Him.

The chair, because I would love to be tied to it.

The shirt, because first He might roll up his sleeve 

and bend me over his lap...and then the shirt also because 

I love to watch Him undo one button at a time, and shrug out of it first.

 

 

Distressed Picture Canvasses

Distressed picture canvases 

 

 

 

Travel Visions

Grace and Ivy

 

 

 

Tea Time Lamp

Vintage Revivals Tutorial

 

 

 

 

 

Chic On Cheap Vintage - fork napkin rings

Chic On Cheap Vintage - fork napkin rings

 

 

Sonnet 16 by Richard Barnfield

Long have I longed to see my love againe,
Still I have wisht, but never could obtaine it;
Rather than all the world (if I might gaine it)
Would I desire my love's sweet precious gaine.
Yet in my soule I see him everie day,
See him, and see his still sterne countenaunce,
Where majestie and beautie beares the sway?
Sometimes, when I imagine that I see him,
(As love is full of foolish fantasies)
Weening to kisse his lips, as my love's fees,
I feele but aire: nothing but aire to bee him.
Thus with Ixion, kisse I clouds in vaine:
Thus with Ixion, feele I endles paine.


Source: The Longman Anthology of Poetry (Pearson, 2006)
The Poetry Foundation

Lifting a Favorite Word from the Muck

Cunt.

It’s slang for vagina.

It begins with a hard-c. It rhymes with punt, stunt and front.

Use it lovingly, “that flower is opening up like a beautiful crimson cunt.”

Use it with edge, “that little fucking cunt just cut me off.”

Use it absurdly, “there’s a certain oaky cuntiness to this Merlot.”

Use it frequently.

And when someone balks or is morally offended, tell them it’s just a fucking word, lifted from a whore street in Old London and first used in print by James Joyce. Then gaze at them with judgmental disdain and tell them perhaps they’re the ones who need a morality check.

Cunts.

— Kurt Sutter, “A LITTLE BIT OF MY SEMANTIC THEORY OF SLURS AND HOW THAT RELATES TO MY AFFECTION FOR THE USE OF ‘SEE YOU AND TEA’”

Letter to Self - 4

A very close friend, a knight I know, has asked me to write letters to myself on a monthly basis.  What's more, he's smart enough that he came up with the idea that I should read them aloud when they're done.  It's amazing how writing them, I feel very much like the me that is encouraging and supportive.  Reading them... hearing them read... I feel very much like the me that is nurtured and cared for by the words.  Though it makes me cry, I am beginning to see the good in this sort of practice.

Dear Beloved,

Here we are again at the place where I am supposed to say something to you, and you are supposed to hear and know that you’re doing okay. The advice is supposed to be positive, and good. I suppose, it’s strange to say “you” and “I”, when we are both just “me”... but there it is.

I’m not sure what it is you need to hear, or what it is I need to say, but I do have faith in the ink. I know that if I just let the words flow, they will lead me in the right direction... they always do. You know, of course, that I’ve been lost in the story of Le Cirque des Re’ves, for several days. The magic appeals to me, the potential for the dreamlike, the intricacies and details that add to that dream’s inherent sensuality. I do love that type of story. I think there is a message in that story for you, and for me.

I think the message is two-fold. First, trust the ink. Trust the magic of creating with words. You are, at heart, a poet, a dreamer, a story weaver. Find the magic that moves you and keeps you awake at night, and get it down on paper. Make that dream come alive in the letters and words and phrases that spill from your pen in a continuous thread. This is, more than any other single thing, who you are. You were made to write. This is your magic, as sure as your deep emotion, and your capacity for love are magical, your true gift is words. Embrace that truth, and live it. Please.

The second message is this - there is always something impossible, something unbelievable, something incredible to hope for. There is a reason to keep dreaming. You’ve been hurt again, and you are tired of the hurting and the worry and the grief. You are tired of being cautious with your heart. I know you’re afraid of risking so much again just to be hurt. You say you refuse to hold back. But you are on hold... and maybe that is wise. Maybe you need time to heal, and that is perfectly fine.

But Beloved, don’t give up. Don’t quit. Don’t close your heart to the possibility that somewhere out there in your future, in your life, there is the magic of falling in love again. You make magic still in your relationship with Shepherd. You live magic in your home, with the life you and Husband have built with children and grandchildren, too. You are extremely fortunate to have such wonder in two worlds.

Just don’t close your heart to the possibility that you might find it in three... or more... the truth is, you never know what you might find if you let your heart believe anything is possible -- and that alone is worth the risk.

There is more love. There is more possibility. There is more.

Don’t close the door.

-Me

Swimming in the Dark Ink

Primordium

"The whole of Le Cirque des Re'ves is formed by series of circles.  Perhaps it is a tribute to the origin of the word "circus," deriving from the Greek kirkos meaning circle, or ring.  There are many such nods to the phenomenon of the circus in a historical sense, though it is hardly a traditional circus.  Rather than a single tent with rings enclosed within, this circus contains clusters of tents like  pyramids, some large and others quite small.  They are set within circular paths, contained within a circular fence.  Looping and continuous.

-Friedrick Thiessen, 1892

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

- Oscar Wilde, 1888

(And so, Part I of The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern begins...)

----------

I am captivated by this book already.  It contains so many lines, so many singular words so much that strikes chords inside of me... individual chords that barely begin to vibrate, to quiver in anticipation of the inspiring words that will spill from my pen later.  Already I've been jotting those words and phrases into my notebook.  There is no music yet, but it is coming - these chords will keep trembling and eventually lend their voices to sweet harmonic inspiration -- and I can't wait to set it down in inky black words, lined up properly, one after another.  

It may be quite a fantastic tale.  It may lend itself to another essay about my own darkness, and how I am chasing it with glee; or perhaps it will weave itself into some dark poem that beats with a life and rhythm all it's own.  All I know is that for now, this reading -- this soaking up of the dark rich imagery and language -- is good for me. 

So very good for the ink in my veins.  

This I need.

And So It Begins

provenience
a sonnet corona by Ephemera

"All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion and desire." 
-Aristotle

I. Chance

I'll entertain that chance may be the cause
for this encounter, with two eyes so blue.
Against such happenstance there are no laws;
though I might wish the opposite were true.

I find I'm staring, wondering at this hue.
It mirrors both the night sky and the sea.
It leaves me drunken, like a heady brew
and dulls my sense for witty repartee.

A moment's circumspection may be key
to aid a maiden choosing her next move.
If only in your gaze she could foresee
the way to her advantage quickly prove.

The longer here I gaze, I must surmise,
perhaps your nature lies behind disguise.

II. Nature

Perhaps your nature lies behind disguise.
The thought alone should beg a moment's pause.
I note at once, your chest it does not rise,
the way mine does with every breath it draws!

Here now, the doubt takes form. With teeth it gnaws.
Yet surely you must breathe as creatures do?
The hand of dread taps, taunts me with its claws --
until you speak, sweet words as if to woo...

"Oh lovely one, I beg you don't adieu!
Propriety would this dark one behoove
to honor beauty such as yours is due,
with entertainment!  Please, say you approve?"

Your two pale lips seduce me with their plea.
An old compulsion tempts me -- wait and see.

III. Compulsion

An old compulsion tempts me wait and see.
"Might I," you ask, "your patient smile renew?"
"Perhaps a bass-line might, to some degree
allay timorous thoughts and comfort you."

At your proposal, as if by your cue,
the pulses of blue melody surprise.
Both pleasure and diversion soon ensue.
I smile and tap my toes in compromise.

My doubts remain, continue to chastise,
admonish me, beware sly danger's jaws!
I placate fears, asserting I am wise,
though over-prudence is among my flaws.

An urgency now beats within this groove.
Should habit hint at danger, I'll remove.

IV. Habit

Should habit hint at danger, I'll remove.
In meantime, let me strategy devise.
A gambit wrapped in words should well improve
resistance to those looks that hypnotize.

I'll flirt and tempt with verse; I'll improvise.
will rhyme in stanzas two and maybe three.
Ah, there he smiles as pleasure fills his eyes!
I can't be blamed for marking victory.

My pulse sings high, my mouth tastes of chablis.
My fingers itch to offer quick applause.
I smile sweetly though; to boast would be
a damper on the atmosphere that was.

I'll counter with a smile, while blushing too.
Of course, clear reason should be kept in view.

V.  Reason

Of course, clear reason should be kept in view.
You speak of chances fleeting, perhaps we
the opportunity should not eschew,
to dance a while as music flows so free.

You take my hand and lead me 'neath a tree.
A gallant bow you swiftly improvise.
I blush and curtsy cannot disagree,
when tongue and gaze of yours both hypnotize.

Your arm goes round my waist, my heart it flies.
I take your hand, my feet begin to move.
The moon spills out her light from shadowed skies.
Familiar steps may well my dread disprove.

The music's soothing cloud settles like gauze.
In mutual passion, soon all doubt withdraws. 

VI.  Passion

In mutual passion, soon all doubt withdraws. 
In nearness of your form my protest dies.
I cannot think to question now because
the sense of you surrounds me to baptize.

I drop my guard and gaze into your eyes,
where blue on blueness begins to imbue
my senses with peculiar, breathless highs
and hope -- which reason later may still rue.

My heart it syncopates and echoes through
my breathless body, begging to break free.
I rest my head against your chest and sue
my pulse for its reckless absurdity.

I care not now for those who disapprove.
Desire may at long last my shy soul move.

VII. Desire

Desire may at long last my shy soul move.
I lean to catch your scent and close my eyes.
Descending guard does your advance improve.
You counter with embraces and deep sighs.

No matter how my weakened reason tries,
with every touch my flesh longs to agree
that we should lengthen this embrace that ties
me into such strong curiosity.

My vision blurred with lust, I cannot see.
You feint and kiss before you bite into
The vein that pulses in my throat, with glee.
And I can only yield to this milieu.

How did I find myself within your jaws?
I'll entertain that chance may be the cause.

-----

A crown of sonnets or sonnet corona is a sequence of sonnets, usually addressed to some one person, and/or concerned with a single theme.  Each of the sonnets explores one aspect of the theme, and is linked to the preceding and succeeding sonnets by repeating the final line of the preceding sonnet as its first line, and by having its final line be the first line of the succeeding sonnet.  With seven sonnets, the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the final line of the final sonnet, thereby bringing the sequence to a close.

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A Poem I Found

The Quiet World - Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
I proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.

After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

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Kindle the Fire

“The instruction we find in books is like fire. We fetch it from our neighbours, kindle it at home, ommunicate it to others, and it becomes the property of all.”

-Voltaire

“Writing is a struggle against silence.”

— Carlos Fuentes

Muse

I close my eyes, and in the inky darkness
night settles upon the ivory pages of my skin.
You come to me, your ebony locks pooling
around my face, your beard rough cheek

rasping my smooth, as you trace the length
and the curve of my arm, my shoulder,
my hip and thigh with slender fingers.
I turn my head, follow your breathing whisper

and arch, pressing myself against you, tremble
as you draw my breath into your lungs.
Your jet black wings, thick as knotted rope,
long as twice my reach, fold ‘round me.

Feathers overlapping, close me in
and I panic -- as always -- at the lack of air.
My heart clamors like a bird against its cage;
your voice fills my head, thickly dark

like a mouthful of sweet, unfiltered honey.
And you speak until my tears are dry.
My whimpers fall silent; my panic subsides.
I surrender the fight to gain my freedom.

Then, and only then, do you sing to me,
in sighing lines of soul-wrought poetry.
The ink in my veins spills with your words,
written on the very flesh you own.

5/15/11