The process of poetry

I’m daydreaming that I’m back at The Patti Hut in Atlanta. When I read the piece in practice, the last street names will intersect right above me’. One of my MyFriends wants to do a poetfest in Atlanta sometime soon. And I would love to come to that.

I fretted a little about 'is' sweet and kind or 'was' sweet and kind. I finally went with 'has walked' and 'was sweet'.

I also went back and added the comma in the title.

This is linked to www.myspace.com/fenrirbound Blog post for June 11.

The Process of Poetry

June 4, 2009 The poem is Also, Never Forget. From the start of this piece, I hope to let my readers know that I loved a wonderful being who never did anything I could not forgive. She simply found that her love for me had dwindled. The theme in these last poems continues to be my memory and how it hinders or helps the progression of my life.

This is a veiled poem of subtle meaning. None of the items listed could I ever hope to truly forget. I might wish the image of bright eyes and skies and sunlight and the kind words I’m sure she once said to always stay with me. There must have been a sure magic in a relationship that lasted four years. I saw her yesterday and those feelings have already started to evaporate like steam I might try to embrace.

I toyed with each of the last two stanzas before the final part that speaks of my last days. I tried one and then I tried the other. They almost echo the same sentiment but were different enough and lyrical enough to command their own place in this piece.

I believe I have had my last dream of this time in my life. That was actually another title I thought about for this. I might have called it Ode to My Last Dream.

This is linked to Fredislaughing blog at www.MySpace.com/fenrirbound for June 4th.

Poetry : The Process

June 2, 2009 The poem is titled Fred Loves Knowledge andshould be easily seen as a poke at all the things Fred Doesn’tKnow! Even things I thought I could know. I’ve written once before : “It’s like a discovery. Once everything becomes possible, suddenly nothing is necessary.” I didn’t need my old Library Card Number. She just gave me another card.

Nothing in life is common. This is the point I try hardest to convey. No matter the foil or any of the methods used to reach that conclusion – there it is. If you know that thing, if you know every little moment is sacred, then you know everything. Nothing else can ever be taken for granted. Everything else is vanity. That is what I mean by writing about “one true love.” Feel giddy in the knowledge that every single moment should be your one true love.Every eye you meet or word said or touch and breath : These things at every turn should make you laugh with wonder that you have found the love you were meant to be with. Tee-Hee. Whatever else gives you happiness or pride, these things are fleeting. Not until every aspect of life can fill those lonely moments of not having happiness can a true and lasting happiness be known.

Also, the best water IS cold.

This Poem is in www.myspace.com/fenrirbound blog entry for June 2

Poetry : The process only

The poem is titled Time Heals No Scars On a Soul. This is as dark as it gets, dear reader. The beginning of the poemwarns against letting complacency take root in life and soul.‘Watch out for that tangible shadow’, I write as if I knew what Iwas saying. Well I do know that time is not your friend. I may once have thought that it could douse some burning bridges, butI am proved mistaken time and again. Time serves more to mire than to heal.

For all the darkness of this poem, it has some great imagery in it. I did know everything when I was younger. I could feel that I’d made Gods quake with my questions. I shared a scar with anyoneI’d had any emotional connection to that had been severed. I thinkthat is why I like to read young writers. There is a part of me remembers those grand notions and wars with the writer who nolonger wants such conflict. Truly there is wisdom in peace.

By the end of the poem, I ask the reader to recognize how the startof every peace must first be found within. Only by finding and winning those unmarked places of oneself can a right balance bemade. Looking before you leap just gets you damaged more oftenthan not. Here is the kernel of upbeat hope to be found in thispiece. I believe I can find those rare places of my soul. I must. Istill look and, even now, encourage every reader to do the same. These are the things that must be done before time runs out.

This poem can be found at www.myspace.com/fenrirbound for June 1st

Poetry Process

May 29, 2009 The next poem is titled Broken Plates and Other Superstitions. I started writing this as an argument against superstitions, but the poem morphed of it’s own volition into justification for such behavior. The reader may get the initial feel for the way this piece was suppose to go, though its not difficult to follow the shift in direction.

I equate death with demons in this work and the hope here is that my readers may once again touch upon this love of life I keep writing about. It is a continuing theme that also gives life to my poetry. It is not really so much a choice I make as it is an unconscious direction my writing takes me to.

I actually labored a little on the spelling of Smoky hills. I didn’t want to label yet another work of mine as Appalachian-centric. I do have readers from other areas and I never like to categorize what I write as readable only to a certain geography. I believe in my reader, though. And everyone knows where I’m from anyway. Smoky it is.

I purposefully gave my dancing devil a female gender. It’s a play on the transitory nature of how we perceive evil. I follow the female naming almost immediately by calling the devil by one of his old names. Gamesman was a hard word to settle on, but I did it for this very reason – to further delineate the devil female/male perception.

The poem ends by condemning the bliss felt by the devil. It can never be a good thing and perhaps that is reason enough to counter any wicked thing in whatever manner you think best. Just so long as it gets done. This poem was really fun to write and I hope my readership has as much fun with it as I did.

Find the poem Broken Plates and Other Superstitions at www.MySpace.com/fenrirbound in the May 29 blog.

Testing why I never used this blog

I'm not really writing a poem
I'm writing an adventure to see if my
poetic style is now accepted
I don't use any outlandish
or crazy devices
I indent and use my
puncuation sparingly
These things are fairly simple and
innocent devices that I'm sure
I've heard of other poets using
Maybe things have changed
Maybe this adventure
was a poem
all along
FRS

The Ice Storm That May Kill Me

I write to get through the bad times. I write to get through the good times. I believe I will live through this.


Bold am I in these close days nearer to fire than safety
_with blankets and canines and the embrace of love to
__capture fleeting moments spent seemingly out of time
When we walk in these flashes of shuttered house fronts
_with our cloaks and coats pulled tight under chins and
__hands in pockets and scarves creating tiny slits to see
___we closer know the grace of a warm home and joys in
___the light eyes of those happy to see us come again
It is with a certain daring that I hold the lady tight
_and peek around reality to know a bit of the future
It is then the most important to remember that
_I have forgotten more than I can know in these close days -
__The turn of hand around the ring
___The simple scents and sounds of Spring
I can’t recall the notes these choirs sing
Sure am I of such few things
_but not in all my days have I felt this
These are the instant breaths and quickness of
_expectations that
__lead to beliefs in fates and signs of things to come
Here is the speedy heartbeat to hurry the state of mind
_that sees our moment in the sunshine when all others
__should have their cameras in hand
I feel that instant in time when if I should take another step
_it will be Fall that follows Winter for the first time ever
And where there are no leaves now upon the tree
_suddenly an explosion of earthly colors are before me
There are shades, too, of heavenly occupants where you
_swear there is a circle of light surrounding the morning
I, who have always feared angels, welcome them now
_in this future seen by holding the hand of certainty
__in this quickness of expectations
___where my breath comes fast with second sight
I honestly believe I may live through this ice storm
_to see a vision take real form and know that it
__wasn’t just a dream
_________________________________FRS