Tag Archive | poetry

When a Good Thing Ends

ChristmasThe day after Christmas, and all through the house,

the wrappings and ribbons were lying about.

The boxes were empty, and the lights have grown dim,

It’s time for the house cleaning now to begin.

Momma with her vacuum, and duster and rag,

Papa stands ready with his full garbage bag.

And what do my wondering eyes do appear,

The yard is free of Rudolph for another year.

Okay,  okay . . . it’s not Robert Frost poetry, but I made another attempt at writing poetry. Tell me to stop!

What I’m trying to say is the hype of the  holiday has come and gone and in another week, the decorations that we painstakingly put up to make our houses and apartments look festive will once again be packed away until next year. The coziness of moving furniture together to make room for the Christmas tree will go back to its assigned spot when the tree is hauled to the curb or stored downstairs under a tarp. The warm glow of the colored lights will be replaced with glaring light bulbs in lamps, which will help us limp through the January, February and March. (If you live in the Northern Midwest, you might also include April and sometimes May before the promise of spring appears.) It’s barren when the red, white, green, silver and gold lights and bobbles won’t appear until December 2013. Even a little sad. But every year we sense when it’s time to put away the toys and decorations and once again get back to work.

For me, it’s two new novels and a book of short stories. That’s my New Year’s goal–to keep writing, striving to improve and getting my tales out there where others can enjoy them. That’s my profession and my curse. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So enjoy the last few days of the holiday with friends and laughter. I thank you for making my acquaintance through this blog, and after we turn the page of the calendar, I promise to put away my nostalgia, too.

A Literary Stretch or Stench?

Woman writer

I’ve decked the halls and put up the tree,

There’s little space left for me!

But Christmas is only 10 days away,

And I’m still fussing with what to say

To friends and neighbors and family, too

I guess a simple greeting will have to do.

So Merry Christmas to one and all,

May everyone of you have a ball!

As you might tell, I don’t fashion myself as a poet. Not even close. But just now, the above eight lines came into my head, and I had to write them down before they went into the hinterlands of my mind. I guess I need to prove to myself that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to fashion a decent poem. Why? My grant writer is always pushing for me to give it a try. She’s put forth several lucrative grants that want poetry.

I find this interesting because I have so few friends who don’t bother to read poetry. Like me, the closest thing to poetry they pick up is a Hallmark greeting card. Personally, I bypass the Helen Steiner Rice poems. Syrupy poems just aren’t my style. They don’t ring true to me. Instead, I head straight for the cards with a punchline. Often I stand giggling at the card rack, as people eye me with suspicion.

But now that I’m committed to be a professional writer, getting books published, applying for grants, and entering contests–I tell myself I should be able to write poetry. But should I? After all, I’m not a technical writer either. Why try to fit in a box that might be uncomfortable?  Remember the experience in the insurance/investment business, Barbara?

So, do I use poetry as an exercise to stretch my creative juices or leave it on the shelf with other areas of writings that I do not tread? Take horror stories for instance. I don’t write them either.

Pee is for Poetry

Today I’ve promised myself I’m going to work on my novel. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve been writing everyday, but I just haven’t gotten around to Stephania in a few days. (You remember my problematic character. Right?)

I’ve taken a detour into revising and honing several short stories for entry into contests. It’s been a fun journey to unearth a few unpublished works and polish them to a healthy shine. But now, I get a letter from my grant writer who wants me to take a whack at poetry. I’m admitting right now, I’ve never thought about myself as a poet. In fact, my self-assessment boils down to the fact that I think I’m too dumb to understand poetry, so how in the world am I ever going to write the stuff? But to make Miranda happy, I will attempt to rhyme and reason and hopefully come up with something worthy of submission.

And then it happened! Inspiration struck!  I woke this morning at 5:30 a.m. with a poem in my head, and like many of my characters, the poem nagged me to write it down! This is what I came up with:

My boy Ernie was a loyal pug,

Every morning he gave me hugs.

Until one day,

He was stolen away,

Now I’m crying for that wee lug.

What do you think? Is this a prize winner?