Weekly Poem

Pleasure

True pleasure breathes not city air,
Nor in Art's temples dwells,
In palaces and towers where
The voice of Grandeur dwells.

No! Seek it where high Nature holds
Her court 'mid stately groves,
Where she her majesty unfolds,
And in fresh beauty moves;

Where thousand birds of sweetest song,
The wildly rushing storm
And hundred streams which glide along,
Her mighty concert form!

Go where the woods in beauty sleep
Bathed in pale Luna's light,
Or where among their branches sweep
The hollow sounds of night.

Go where the warbling nightingale
In gushes rich doth sing,
Till all the lonely, quiet vale
With melody doth ring.

Go, sit upon a mountain steep,
And view the prospect round;
The hills and vales, the valley's sweep,
The far horizon bound.

Then view the wide sky overhead,
The still, deep vault of blue,
The sun which golden light doth shed,
The clouds of pearly hue.

And as you gaze on this vast scene
Your thoughts will journey far,
Though hundred years should roll between
On Time's swift-passing car.

To ages when the earth was yound,
When patriarchs, grey and old,
The praises of their god oft sung,
And oft his mercies told.

You see them with their beards of snow,
Their robes of ample form,
Their lives whose peaceful, gentle flow,
Felt seldom passion's storm.

Then a calm, solemn pleasure steals
Into your inmost mind;
A quiet aura your spirit feels,
A softened stillness kind.

Charlotte Bronte

Dear Self

Dear Self,

Ten years from now I might not remember what I did today, so I decided to fill you in.  At the present time in my life, I’m struggling with weight and it’s been discouraging.  I lost two sizes and put some of it back on since the beginning of the year.  It’s been a juggling act to say the least.  You’d think looking at pictures where my face looks like a blowfish and my body resembles a linebacker’s would be enough to flush out the fat.  So far, it hasn’t been.  I’ll admit, I miss my cigarettes in my fat moments, they gave me options.  Maybe in the future, I’ll be thin and healthy.  *lifts coffee cup* Here’s to hoping.

Right now, I’m sitting in my living room watching the tree in my courtyard move with fury as leaves hang on for dear life.  It isn’t just the weather here I’m anxious about, but the weather in Europe.  The love of my life is on his way here except he’s been delayed by the volcanic ash.  Yes, there was a volcanic disruption in Iceland several weeks back and continues to interfere with flights.  As I look out my window excited for his arrival, he sits in Heathrow waiting for his plane’s turn in the diversion process.

Change- it’s the big word these days for me.  Ever since meeting my love, I signed up for an online program to get a Certificate in Web Design, taken some teaching tests, all to add to my resume.  My condo is up for sale and once my love finds a job, I plan to move where he finds work.

Along with these changes, I hope to find a home for my poetry.  There are plenty of Grants and Awards for collections of unpublished poets.  I’ve slowly been doing revisions on my 2008 thriller novel.  My writing, as writing goes, has progressed in a positive manner.  When I started writing, I was cursed with the ‘tell’ syndrome until I read examples and practiced ‘show.’  I thought I’d provide a sample of my ‘show’ to show the improvement.  “Swollen flakes fell slow and aimlessly like fire ash accumulating on the ground.” and “Global strength to submit to while dark roasted eyes sear into my soul, stealing anything left of independence.”

So self, in ten years I hope to be thinner, have a different job, living with my Love, and have a collection of poetry published along with my novel.  Do you think that’s asking too much?  I’ll find out in ten years when I look back at this post to remind me of what was going on, what I wanted and where I wanted to end up.   It all starts with invented dreams, work them into reality, and let the touch of love plant and blossom them to fulfillment. 

Bea

Have you ever written a letter to yourself?  Try it sometime, put it in a box and read it years from now.   You can share something with us now about what’s going on with you.  *smiles*

Natalie Merchant's Leave Your Sleep

Yesterday, I attended The Poetry Center of Chicago’s invited performance of Natalie Merchant’s, Leave Your Sleep.  This is a collection of poetry that Natalie Merchant composed music to and sang the poems and/or excerpts.  She took children’s poems from poets such as Charles Causley, Rachel Field, Robert Graves and E.E. Cummings to name a few.  It was a great way for me to enjoy National Poetry Writing Month.

Natalie admits to not having an interest in poetry until now, saying, “The poet holds the mirror that reflects the true shape and touch and taste and sound of all the things that bind us together and keep us apart.  The poet’s work is putting silence around everything worth remembering.”

I’ve been a fan of Natalie Merchant since her days with the 10,000 Maniacs drawn in by her unique voice.  When I saw her in concert years ago with the 10,000 Maniacs, I remember the closing of the concert, the bow and then the stage became empty.  There was a hush that spread throughout and Natalie Merchant came back on stage alone, sat behind a piano and played Verdi Cries.  It was the first non-classical/operatic song I cried to listening to her solemn voice take a strong hold of my emotions.

Natalie Merchant didn’t surprise me demonstrating her growth in talent.  During her performance of Leave Your Sleep, she had a slide show behind her as she clicked from slide-to-slide showing the name, dates, poem and pictures of the poet.  Natalie gave a small synopsis of the poets with intelligence and wit then sang the poems with an instrumental accompaniment of two guitars and a cellist.  Her voice fit perfect with every poem, and the music she composed only made the beauty of the poems shine more.

I urge anyone, especially parents with small children to go out and buy this wonderful collection of musical poetry.  You won’t be disappointed. 

Thank You, Danse Macabre!

 

All writers receive rejections and get discouraged, so I’m no different when the rejections start coming back.  My attempts with poetry started in 2008 to test the waters for talent and see if I could follow in my great grandfathers footsteps- Baltrus Sidiskis, a published poet.  (I was going to post one of his poems, but it’s in Lithuanian and I wouldn’t be able to capture the essence of it.)  Towards the end of last year I began submitting my poems to literary magazines. 

After plenty of rejections, Danse Macabre, found something in my poetry and published a few in their February “Kismet” issue.  For personal reasons, it’s poetic to have my debut poems in an edition meaning fate and fortune. Furthermore, a very sweet friend of mine emailed me to let me know “La fortuna di poesia” means “Luck Poetry” in Italian.  The magazine will also be publishing another one of my poems in their April issue.  I am very excited about my poetry getting out there and want to thank Danse Macabre for giving me the opportunity to be a published poet.

Also, a thanks goes out to my long distance buddy, Aunty Bug for posting about my poetry.  Much appreciated friend, but I have to add that not only did we meet in DC & Chicago, but Michigan too.  We just might conquer all the states by retirement.
Have a great Sunday everyone!