And I Wait

The fear of it all...

I find it truly terrifying sharing my poetry. It's heart breaking and nerve wracking. When I write it I put my heart into it. It's as if my soul has been poured out on to the page and is visible for anyone to see.

I think one of the reasons I find it so scary to share is that in the past people I trusted and looked up to made fun of my poetry or belittled it. This leads me to be afraid of what people will think or what people will say.

So why do I continue to share it...

because it is my hope that someone out there needs to hear it. They need to know that there is someone who has gone through what they are going through. They need to know that there is still joy and sunshine left in the world. They need to know that someone who has gone through what they have gone through has made it through. There is something intensely amazing about the human experience. We feel like we are going through it all alone - but we aren't. We are in this together, even if we may be on separate paths. So I open my heart even through the fear of it all....

(smile)

I can't

I won't

I cry not

How do I

when the world is falling apart?

Don't have strength to

So

when the world is breaking?

(Smile)

the world

is breaking

is crumbling apart

cracking

is tearing

ripping away

peeling off

is sliced through

(the world)

blank

(no) thoughts

and (no) words

stillness +

quiet...

peace?

surrender?

freedom?

or/fear,

inducing

ingulfing -

fire -

y

passion

ate

love

passion ate love

b

cause

of

(no) thoughts

and (no) wo

rds

April's Wordle

I find it great how April's wordle is more happy and vibrant and talks about new. I think I've come to a point in my life where I can write more uplifting and happy poetry. Not always though. May's wordle will just be confusing probably. But I guess that works since my inspiration is Cummings and the majority of people find him confusing.

May's Inspiration: ee Cummings

My inspiration this week: ee Cummings. (AKA Edward Estlin Cummings)

I love his poetry because it is unique and inspirational. He writes his way - following no conventions but his own. His body of work is extraordinary, encompassing almost 3000 poems, two novels, four plays and numerous essays. Although his poetry is avant-gaurde he is still traditional in some ways. His twist on poetry is like no other. He often writes with no capitals or punctuation. If he does use punctuation it is scattered through out the poem - often making the poem read-aloud confusing. He usually writes in free verse and avoids use of rhyme or meter, although his poetry resembles some what the structures of a sonnet. Some are confused by his writings and dismiss him. I on the other hand am intrigued. I love looking for the hidden meaning in the broken structure. Punctuation, grammar, spelling, capitalization, syntax - are just rules we have made up to order our language. Cummings smashes through those rules and structure to pick apart language...and this is why he is my inspiration for the week.

Coming soon.....my version of ee Cummings poetry.

Surrender

I've been working on today's poem for quite some time. Trying to make it perfectly the way I want it. I've got the words where I want them but I don't know what to do about the outline. So I've given you two versions of the poem to look at. The first version has the words embeded into the picture. The second version has the words beside the picture. I can't make up my mind which one I like better. Part of me feels like with version one it is as if the model in the picture is just breathing the words. This is to a degree how I felt when I wrote it. But on the other hand I feel like the picture should be an add-on and not detract or make up the meaning - so that is why I put it beside the words. Any thoughts on the best version.

Surrender in the vastness of reality.

Resign preconceptions of sanity,

relinquishing determination.

Abandon delusional fantasy

the pretence of certainty.

Relenting strong holds.

Admitting my failure

through realization of my dire calamity.

Succumbing to the torrential down pour.

This, the actualization of my trepidation.

A quivering moment

and yet I dwell.

I dwell in misery,

as I inhabit this place

of unadulterated nonsense.

Existing.