Ramblings from a writer

william_cullen_bryantToday I sat down to look over a poem I wrote earlier in the week. I have sent it to a few good first readers to get different viewpoints. I have spent way more time on this one poem than I ever planned on, but then I never really planned to write it either. A line just sort of popped into my head one day, so I wrote it down and the rest followed. That’s usually how poetry works for me. Often that is the way stories work too.

I am pretty much one of those people who write by the seat of their pants. I rarely plan anything out. I think it is more fun that way, even if it is a bit chaotic. However, if I am writing non-fiction, then I do plan things more carefully. I have the ability to plot things out, I just don’t usually do it because it seems to make getting the words down harder for me. I tend to daydream quite a bit as well.

The idea that I don’t plot things out drives a few of my writer friends crazy. They always plot. I know others that never do. I mean, there is always a vague idea where the story is going. Usually.

I do have eight pages of a work in progress that just kind of popped in my head like poetry normally does. That one I have no idea where it is going. It probably won’t turn out to be anything good enough to share with the rest of the world, but it is fun to write so I am keeping up with it as sort of a writing exercise.

Anyway, my rambling point is that I have spent a lot of time working on a poem. I like this one and I want to get it right but it isn’t quite there yet. I am not sure where “there” is but I am working hard on finding it.

 

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Changes come to Camelot

Hello everyone. I’ve been slacking a bit lately when it comes to blog posts. The truth is life
has been full of changes recently, which has left my mind foggy. It is hard to pick one thing to write about when there is so much going on and it is even harder when you are smack dab in the middle of all the changes that are happening.

Change is one of the constants in life. Things always change. Today is a big day for change too. Today I say good bye to the best boss I’ve ever had the pleasure of working for. She is off to greener pastures (and hopefully better pay).

It isn’t good bye forever of course. It is just the boss/employee part of our life journey has come to an end. Now, I hope we will stay connected as friends.

There will be more at a later date of the other changes going on in my life, but for the moment I will leave you with a poem that pretty much sums up how I am feeling.castle-195105_1280

Camelot Falls

By Tammi A. Miller

Camelot has fallen

Mordred is at the gate

The table is now splintered

And our lives left up to fate

Our Royal leader must depart

To travel Avalon’s golden shores

We are knights without direction,

Boats who have come unmoored

We will not long stay adrift

Using knowledge our leader taught

Yet a bit of worldly good is gone

Such a truth can not be fought

Our banner has been trampled

The staff broken by unnamed foes

The colors stained and tarnished

Our morale crushed by heavy blows

We still have our beaten armor

And with it, weapons sharp

We can battle by strength and mind

Though what we lack is heart

We are without a sovereign true

Without a mentor to guide the path

We must choose all on our own

How to miss mistake’s quick lash

Camelot has fallen

Mordred is at the gate

The table is now splintered

And our lives left up to fate.

Poetry in Whining

A Monday Lament from a Night Walker mugging fork

My back aches 
My shoulder hurts
I want to go back to bed

My bones creak
My brain’s still asleep
I hurt to much to be dead

My coffee is faulty
My movements are halting
Monday has come around

I worked the weekend
And work tomorrow too
Yet I am still Monday down

Monday’s have their pull
On the working world
It doesn’t matter when they come

At the beginning of the week,
In the middle, At the end,
Even after the setting sun.

Late Night

Weep not for me and my lost sleep

Pity not my missed nightly dreams

For I have been traveling the word roads

I slipped between sentence spaces to journey

I danced among worlds hidden in print

I’ve drunk the tears of dragons and feasted on fears

Now I return to this world sated

I may yawn till my jaw cracks and my eyes may blur

But every traveler pays a cost to take a worthwhile journey

And I have willingly given away sleep and what nightly dreams may have come to mine.

The poetry of sleepless nights

I couldn’t sleep Saturday night.  I had gone to a Doctor Who themed picnic earlier in the afternoon with my daughter.  We had a good time and met some new people.

I was hot, tired, and just a tiny bit sunburned when we got home.  I thought about taking a nap but it never really happened.  My brain would not stop.  This unfortunately continued until around 5am Sunday morning.  I tried just laying there. I tried reading a book. Nothing worked.

I spent most of the night cobbling together poems I have written over the years to see if I had enough decent ones for a chapbook.  It passed the time and by 5am my brain was finally calm enough to let me sleep.

I still need to locate or write another five or six poems. (I have them scattered everywhere.) Then I need to get them copy edited.  After that…well it looks like I will have a book of poetry coming out at some point this year.

 

Poetry

Alice_in_wonderland_1951I’ve been reading poetry lately.  Yes, yes I know. Nasty habit. All those feelings and thoughts expressed in just a short space with precise words.  But sometimes when things feel too close to heart it is nice to know that others have felt them as deeply.

Now I am not saying that such things can not be expressed in prose.  Of course they can. However, as a poet myself, I understand the need to get a sudden intense feeling down on paper.  Really you are just trying to express things that hit you hard right in the heart.

I often don’t even have the words for whatever it is I am feeling until I start to write them catapillerdown.  And it can be about anything.  Headaches, coffee, heartaches, sleeping children, dreams, simple musings, cats sitting on your feet…I’ve written about them all.  (Okay, all except that last one.  But I have a very soft fluffy white cat putting my left foot to sleep right now, so I should.)

In fact I’ve written two or three poems just this week.  Not that anyone else will ever see them. I wrote one to express frustration, one was a random musing on sanity, and the other… Well, okay that one did end up on face book but it was only a few lines about a headache that wouldn’t go away.

6_950_alice_in_wonderland_blu-rayI love poetry that echoes things that I have felt before.  I love elegant uses for words.  I love harsh slashing phrases that bring feelings to life.   I read Keats, Wordsworth, and Shakespeare but I also seek out newer poets too.   It is the words I am interested in.

I don’t know why I am surprised when I find out that some writers I know are poets as well.  I am, my dad is, why can’t others be?  Writers play with words all the time.  Words are treasured friends.  Is it really a surprise that when we feel things deeply that words are what we turn to?

 

Cereal after midnight

It is almost two in the morning and I am awake and sitting at my computer with a large bowl of fruit loops.  (Yes sometimes I wonder if there is a connection between my mental state and my food of choice.)   I don’t want to be awake and I am rather grumpy about the fact that I am.

The problem is I am not feeling well.  I took a walk in the woods today after I ran a bunch of errands. The trees were beautiful and I enjoyed the quiet time. I even wrote a new short poem.  However I am now paying the price for my stroll through nature.

My head hurts, my face it puffy, and my sinuses hate me.  What I don’t understand is why.  Yeah, I know, pollen and everything right?  But when I was a kid I never had problems like this.  We lived in the middle of nowhere with nothing but trees on two sides, a creek on one, and a field on the other.  I practically lived in the woods as a kid.  When my mom wanted to call me in for dinner she stepped outside and looked up, because more often than not I would be sitting in one of the trees in the front yard.

I know things change as you get older. I realize this even applies to immune systems. But I don’t have to be happy about it.