Today, my friends, we are featuring three wonderful poems by Audrey Howitt, of Audrey Howitt Poetry, Alive and Well, and Annell Livingston of Somethings I Think About. Pour yourself a piping hot cup of tea, and settle in to enjoy the words of your fellow poets.
This poem from Audrey really took my breath away when I first read it. Let's take a look:
Audrey Howitt photo
i met you in the sun
you wrote your poetry
on clouds
blue on white
a daisy, your pen
until grey streaks pushed
your kind aside
deeper and deeper
into the edges
pulling petals apart
a litany to tiny ends
the wilt of a berry
on your breast
rebirth it's red
this new ink
the leaves your pages
poetry, your breath.
you wrote your poetry
on clouds
blue on white
a daisy, your pen
until grey streaks pushed
your kind aside
deeper and deeper
into the edges
pulling petals apart
a litany to tiny ends
the wilt of a berry
on your breast
rebirth it's red
this new ink
the leaves your pages
poetry, your breath.
September 16, 2016
Sherry: Wow! So beautiful! Tell us about it, Audrey.
Audrey: I am honored and thrilled to be featured---I feel like my poetry is shifting right now--or I as a poet am shifting--one or the other or both--anyway, something of the old is being left behind as the new starts to take more focus--this piece was about that process for me--it feels like a loss of some kind, and I am uncertain right now where this shift is taking me--but I am trusting that it will be a good place for me--
Sherry: It is always interesting, when things start shifting within. Would you tell us a bit about this inner shift?
Audrey: I am honored and thrilled to be featured---I feel like my poetry is shifting right now--or I as a poet am shifting--one or the other or both--anyway, something of the old is being left behind as the new starts to take more focus--this piece was about that process for me--it feels like a loss of some kind, and I am uncertain right now where this shift is taking me--but I am trusting that it will be a good place for me--
Sherry: It is always interesting, when things start shifting within. Would you tell us a bit about this inner shift?
Audrey: So as much as I understand this shift, and I am not really sure that I do, I sense a kind of deepening or maturing that is starting to happen in my writing. I think I have been writing for 5 or 6 years now. When I first started writing, I was always trying to make my pieces poetic--make them beautiful by putting the words together in a way that pleased me--they were pretty I think--and then I started running out of things to say in that way--I would sit for long periods of time with blank paper in front of me, or worse, start writing and then hating it, just tearing up my work--I began to think that maybe that was all there was to my writing--and that maybe I was done --I had never really thought much about what I wrote--I wrote it and very seldom edited anything.
Now, I feel as though I am waking up a bit more in my writing. I am paying more attention to metaphor and the emotional content that underlies the writing. I am also sitting with my pieces longer than I used to before I post them. I am trying to understand where they come from and what they mean to me on a deeper level --all of that means that I am posting less often--and working and re-working my pieces more than I used to.
I want my pieces to be good--really good--and I think for that to happen, I have to tell the truth in my writing--and as I move more toward truth, I find that making my pieces pretty is less interesting--that is the story behind this piece--
I feel a bit adrift--
Audrey Howitt photo
A Reweaving
hatred its main bargaining chip
and though i didn't want to,
i cried with each step this morning,
picked up worn linen
woven in youth's innocence
its nubs a part of its landscape
i will reweave it
over time
make it stronger
though you may shout your imprecations
loudly in my ear
i will not falter
i will not halt
i will not hate
so that our children
need not fear
and though i didn't want to,
i cried with each step this morning,
picked up worn linen
woven in youth's innocence
its nubs a part of its landscape
i will reweave it
over time
make it stronger
though you may shout your imprecations
loudly in my ear
i will not falter
i will not halt
i will not hate
so that our children
need not fear
Audrey: I was stunned at the election results. I am still stunned and trying to find words to put to the feelings that not only I, but so many people are experiencing now. So many people are really terrified at what this election will mean for this country, the world, the planet---so many people will suffer I fear. Since the election, hate crimes have skyrocketed here--even at the local elementary school, racist graffiti was found this last Friday. And I think we are just seeing the beginning--
I had not been to a protest since the Vietnam War era--but I went to one Sunday, and held hands and sang the old songs--We Shall Overcome seems so appropriate right now.
Fragments Geometry and Change
by Annell Livingston (2015)
#204 11�x11� gouache on w/c paper
regrets lie around like dead flowers in the garden
the season for fresh blooms is gone i prepare for winter
leaving wet suits on the line summer's laughter fleeting
yet my heart is filled with the warm cargo of summer beach parties
picnics hold the shell to your ear gentle breezes heard
waves pound the shore seagulls scream the sun sets in the west
regrets left behind to return another season with thoughts of you
hearts entwined with silver thread there is no danger we will forget
our tongues lap warm milk from the bowl you were torn from me
years gobbled up your brindled coat thrown over the chair
your presence remains memories of summer fill my heart
from the bridge i see the ship leaving shore
mist settles in the view becomes obscure the afternoon light
lingers still, i try to follow the ship until out of sight
there is a trail across the water white foam reflections of sky
with a tiny needle i make small stitches to hold memories together
bind pages into the book whisper words hoping you will hear
October 7, 2016
Sherry: This pings at my heart, Annell, the loss, the golden memories, the stitching together and, especially "hoping you will hear." Sigh.
Annell: Thanks for asking for this poem, and for giving me the opportunity to talk about it, and what I was thinking.
Annell: Thanks for asking for this poem, and for giving me the opportunity to talk about it, and what I was thinking.
regrets lie around like dead flowers in the garden
(so many things I wish I had done differently�..)
the season for fresh blooms (spring) is gone i prepare for winter
leaving wet suits on the line
(children leave their wet swim suits on the line, and at the end of summer,
you will often find them there)
you will often find them there)
summer's laughter fleeting yet my heart is filled
(though my heart is filled with regrets, it is also filled with the fun we had)
with the warm cargo of summer beach parties
picnics hold the shell to your ear
(when summer is over, that one precious shell, found at the beach is there on the shelf,
when you hold it to your ear, you can still hear the sounds of summer)
when you hold it to your ear, you can still hear the sounds of summer)
gentle breezes heard
waves pound the shore seagulls scream the sun sets in the west
(the idea of the setting sun, end of day, end of summer�
there is a certain sadness in this idea)
there is a certain sadness in this idea)
regrets left behind (sometimes we forget the regrets)
to return another season with thoughts of you
(yet when I think of you, the regrets return)
hearts entwined with silver thread
(I have an image that I carry, my heart entwined with the ones I love
with silver thread that cannot be broken)
with silver thread that cannot be broken)
there is no danger we will forget
(we can never forget the ones we love�the love remains)
our tongues lap warm milk from the bowl
(I am thinking of my precious kitty here, the beauty of his being)
you were torn from me (and quickly my thoughts change, your death,
which came too soon)
which came too soon)
years gobbled up (the years you were lost to me)
your brindled coat thrown over the chair imagining it was the coat you wore
your presence remains (and even when a person is gone, they are still there,
they pop up unexpected anytime)
they pop up unexpected anytime)
memories of summer fill my heart (still I think about the time
we did have together)
we did have together)
from the bridge i see the ship (again imaging, when you died, you left in a ship)
leaving shore
mist settles in the view becomes obscure (I follow the ship with my eyes,
until I can see it no more, you have gone to a place I cannot follow�.yet)
the afternoon light
until I can see it no more, you have gone to a place I cannot follow�.yet)
the afternoon light
lingers still, I try to follow the ship until out of sight
there is a trail across the water white foam reflections of sky
(perhaps it is the silver thread, that is wound around our hearts�
that creates that line to you)
that creates that line to you)
with a tiny needle i make small stitches to hold memories together
(I imagine myself, sewing, making stitches, holding memories together)
bind pages into the book (a book of memories) whisper words
(perhaps I speak to myself, or maybe to you)
(perhaps I speak to myself, or maybe to you)
(I hold you close, and in some mysterious way, I hope you will hear
what I say to you, you will know how much I loved you) hoping you will hear
what I say to you, you will know how much I loved you) hoping you will hear
Note: It has been two years and five months since my Son died, in some ways it happened yesterday, and in other ways it has been a lifetime. The shock has softened, and I am glad he no longer suffers the pain of his illness, (here it comes) but I still miss him so. Wish he had not died. Wish I could have known he would die so soon�.wish it could have been different�.he was who he was, and I am who I am�.I suppose it was as it was, and could not have been another way. I wonder�.what makes us think it would have been better if it had been �my way?� I am grateful I was there when he died. To be with him, to comfort him, to hold him�it all happened so quickly, the healing takes time, an important element in the healing.
This poem could have been called a �Mother�s Lament.� There are some things in life that are hard, and over time, they do not fade away, they crystallize into marble. Some regrets will always be there. We will live with them for as long as we live.
October 7, 2016
Sherry: I think every mother's heart is filled with regrets, things we wish we had done differently. But we know we did our best. Thank you for this very moving poem, Annell, and for sharing your thoughts behind and between the lines.
We hope you enjoyed these beautiful offerings, friends, each one straight from the poet's loving heart. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!
