I don’t really get hashtags (I don’t Tweet, except during charades when I’m impersonating a bird), but I thought it looked nice, so here it is again:
It’s been a couple weeks since I left behind my second draft for a world of eloquent language, descriptive phrases, and rhythmic syllables; a dimension of emotional release, creative wonder, and nonsensical metaphors (can green be nightly?).
While I miss being surrounded by my characters, the break has been therapeutic. Instead of worrying about dialogue and plot holes I’m just breathing. That’s what poetry is to me. A deep breath of fresh autumn air. It calms and invigorates me, teases and comforts me, cleanses me and takes away the stresses of modern day society.
When I write poetry I have no face. I become a disembodied voice with no name, a pen moving across creamy paper without a hand to guide it. Because poetry just is. It doesn’t have to make sense. It can be meaningful. It can be pointless.
But it’s beautiful.
As National Poetry Day (with the theme of stars), I thought it would be fitting to contribute with my own poem, written entirely for this purpose and in one, short sitting. I hope you like it!
Silver in the blood purple glass of the ceiling
Dancing on white crests of sleeping ocean waves
Nestled in icy mountain peaks, shrouded with mists
And outshone in the reflection of snow
Gathering in rivulets of frigid earth nectar
Collecting below in moon-shafted glades
A pool of fey, shimmering serenity
Edged with shadow-grass blades
And fleeting wondrous glimpse of
Playing with their Mother, the Silver One
Gathering handfuls of them, like diamonds
Tossing showers of laughter and wisdom
Over each other’s ink-night hair and pale skin
Washing courage and deepness into pores
Glimmering in iridescent joy and sorrowful grief
Distance and time rubbed into immortal youth
And never-ending beauty
The stars, in the blood-purple glass sky
Watch their sisters on the earth
Mourning them, envying them
For to be alive on living soil
In moon-shafted glades and gently lapping waters
Is warmer, cool, compared to the far-year
Distance and icy starkness of the heavens
They wait to be chosen
Reflected in man’s eye as beautiful
Loved by the goddesses
Subject to a poet’s loving, yearning, grieving pen
The stars watch
As they are watched by mortals
Who yearn to be among them.
Did you do anything to celebrate National Poetry Day?
WordPress is still being picky and is being difficult about links (and tags), so here are the long forms for links of interest:
- National Poetry Day website: http://www.nationalpoetryday.co.uk/
- Robert Parry’s NPD post (where I heard about NPD) http://robertparry.wordpress.com/2012/10/04/sonnet/
- Anthologies – the page where I’m recording where my poetry/short stories are published/to-be-published: http://www.letthemgrumble.wordpress.com/writing/anthologies
- Vanilla – a poem I wrote last week: http://www.letthemgrumble.wordpress.com/writing/vanilla-a-poem
- The Starry Night Wikipedia Page to learn more about the painting: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Starry_Night