Next Time You See Me

The next time you see me
I will have changed,
Even if it is only a day
In between.

The next time you see me
My views of the world
Will have taken me
Down places that I may not
Even be able to explain.

The next time
you see me
Wish me well,
As I will you…
For you can never know
When the next time
You see me will
Be our last.

Writing, and being a writer

So….writing is at least for me the easy part. It is the part I enjoy. I have so many stories,  poems and ideas floating around my head.  Problem is the business aspects.  Oh,  editing?  Yeah I can do that. I am even able to do the publishing,  thanks to Amazon. I am not good at promoting what I have written.

I have been wary of submitting what I write.  Part of the reason is because I am not inclined toward the rejection letters.  While I know that the rejection letters are a part of writing,  my poetry has always been a opening to my heart. My soul laid bare… So I was not willing to face the unending rejection. Which now seems like ego to me. My writing is good,  but all writing can improve. Is having pride in one’s own words not a good thing?  The other reason for my hesitant nature towards submitting is simple.  I really hate the idea of someone else having the rights to my work.  However I have seen some that claim rights to the work they publish. Not many,  and I refuse to submit to any who do.

Well I have noticed that writer’s are often a solitary lot,  I joined a few groups on social media.  I was hoping to interact and gain tips on how to promote what I write.  Maybe a few to make the words better. You know,  be social with others who are into the same thing… And I found the darndest thing.  Most of the social media groups for writers?  Well it is everyone promoting their own books.  No sharing,  no discussion. So I have been going on,  because the writing itself is really not a choice.  I will be writing until I am no longer able…. Still the publishing thing… Well I do that so I can share with others a glimpse into my soul.

So I was in a bad place tonight because of yet another rejection. I posted it on social media.  I really was hearing the same thing I always hear when I fail to accomplish something.  My mother. So I  posted for a change. I had a friend,  also a writer(Kim Bailey Deal) suggest that I needed beta readers… Ok that was a new concept.  She also introduced me to a group of writers who actually discuss writing. I hope that this will lead me to improving my craft,  and maybe to some good new friends.

 

 

The voice of a rose

                    This is the second time I have tried to do this post. My Facebook friends list is filled with writer’s. I did that on purpose. I surrounded myself on social media with writer’s and artists and crafty people, so i no longer felt as alone. This morning, one of the writer’s, Author T L Grey, posed a question. As she posted two pictures with it…one of her (a truly lovely woman) and one of a soft white rose with pink edges….I doubt that she wanted the answer I gave her. The question?  “If a rose could speak,  what would it say?” My response?  “That it was dying and missed it’s bush. The loneliness was unbearable.” Well at first she responded Carpe diem. Then she changed it to read “Why be one of several upon a bush instead of singled out and appreciated in the small space of time in which to bloom? The bush will bloom more flowers but this one particular flower has only a small time in which to shine.” I found this as thought provoking as the original question,  and a bit telling.  So I responded…”While that is true, most do focus on the ways that they are different.  To their own detriment.  The question was what a rose would say. I have always thought it sad that to enjoy a flower we have to kill it. So i hear the sadness of it’s own imminent demise. I hear regret that the rose did not appreciate the beauty of being a part of the bush until the bush was no longer there.  Thus I hear loneliness.”
                       Now understand please that I do realize the fact that my response was slightly morbid. However her question wasn’t what we hear from the rose’s unique beauty. It wasn’t what does the rose symbolize.  So I spoke what I feel any living thing would feel as they die. Death is usually a morbid topic.
                    As to her statement about being just another on the bush? Well have you ever seen a rose bush up close?  No two roses are exactly alike.  So it is a riotous community of individuality. I lived in a place once with three bushes. They were amazing. I admit the question and resulting conversation was an inspiration for me. So i did what my weird little poetic heart does. I did another poem for my latest volume.  And because I can,  I am sharing it with you…..

The voice of a rose

The voice of the rose
Depends on the ear
That hears and it’s
point of view.

The choice of a
Listening heart,
As to hear such
As sadness, 
Adventure or
romantic speech.

None less valid,
Each in their own
Way right.

For why can
The voice of the rose
Not be as complex
as the Heart of man.

*her rose*

image

*I found this one on Google. *

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Insomnia demons and insisting muses.

                         Okay,  i am often treated to bouts of insomnia.  The reasons vary. Often it is just not being able to quiet my busy mind. Last night was the first time in over a month. I am up to thirty three poems out of the seventy I do in each volume for Life drops. I will likely share later one from that. I spent some time writing on the d20 game world that I have created. Lots of details still to do on that one. Managed about two fifty on my steampunk story, and another hundred and fifty on my drow novel. Didn’t get to the others. Helped my sister’s faeries do some for their Facebook page. Shared what i found worthwhile to my author page,  to my shop page,  and to my personal page. Still felt like I should have gotten more done.  Didn’t get my crafts done yesterday.  Still my mind isn’t slowing.  Have cut way back on caffeine.  Limiting myself to two cups of coffee a week and pretty much no pop. Heck even my tea is mostly herbal anymore.  Still there are days when i can’t sleep.  I’m about to try again for st least a short nap.  So until I return…. may you sleep well and have only sweet dreams.

Silence is cruelty

               April is child abuse prevention  month.  So many of my friends, myself included,  are survivors. The thing about surviving is we mostly don’t talk about it. It becomes a dirty little thing that gets hidden because no one wants to hear the truth.  We get told to be quiet or told we are lying. This makes trying to heal all that much more problematic.  One of my friends is waiting to write her story until her mother dies. Simply because every time she tries to speak of what she went through,  her mother tells her not to. The man who molested me was allowed to harm others because when I finally stepped forward no one believed me. It took another to send him to jail. Another friend worries about her son as his father molested him, and was court ordered visiting rights.  Speaking up only works when it is believed. 

My voice shakes… but I have not lied. So for those today whom are out there fighting what you have survived… you are not alone. Speak… no matter who tries to silence you. Write,  if only for yourself,  no matter who tries to stop you. What you say, even if you are afraid,  may help you find your bravery.

The Faeries of Birchwood Grove

The Faeries of Birchwood Grove
By Patricia Harris

Dancing about to and fro,
Look at all the faeries go.
Birchwood grove is a busy place
Where all the faeries dance and play.
Advice and help for you to care
are easily found in abundance there.

Tips on animals, food and herbs,
gentle fun and lots of preserves.
Goods made with Love and care
easily found over there.