A Tide’s Breath Apart

…it’s a day of hauntings and heartbreak and loss, and maybe just missing things that you never had (but were close enough to hold on and never let go)…

…the theme of the poems I’ve been reading on people’s blogs seem to reflect this ‘strange day’ mood…

https://handsinthegarden.com/2020/11/29/2020-11-29-baked-with-love/

https://handsinthegarden.com/2020/11/29/2020-11-28-deep-love-sounds/

https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/2020/11/29/poem-prosblackandwhitephoto/

https://theconfessionalistzine.wordpress.com/2020/11/25/2-poems-by-mark-tulin/

https://poeeternal.com/2020/11/29/leadnotflower/

https://punknoirmagazine.com/2020/11/29/a-strange-night-by-ian-lewis-copestick/

Here’s my ‘strange day’ experience…a kinda, sorta teasing visit from my cherished muse…

A Tide’s Breath Apart

I slept the sleep of the dead
if the dead dreamed
during their thick & heavy sleep
I dreamed
not exactly of you
but waiting for you
knowing even in the dream
that you weren’t coming
even though I knew you were
only separated from me by
a sparrow’s breath
a ripple on the tide of time
I can’t cross
except in dreams
except in this dream
where the meadow holds us close
together
and where
I’m reminded of your last
might-have-been look
before you walked away.
You, grey, clear, and so delicate;
a strand of grass, clinging
to its coat of winter frost.
I hold you close
and not at all delicately
but only in my dream.

–Willow Croft

On Muses, and the World Not Seen

A short blog today; if you’re in the U.S. it’s a holiday for some (but not for the poor turkeys!).

We’ve had a rare heavy snowfall here in New Mexico. It’s lovely and overcast for once, but I am still pining for rains and a stormy ocean outside my door.

I (successfully!) made pumpkin muffins, courtesy of a recipe from Blessings By Me, a blog I follow: https://www.blessingsbyme.com/2019/09/13/pumpkin-muffins/. They are scrumptious!

I’ve had a new muse show up in the other-dimension space. I’m enjoying having a new source of inspiration. Got a poem titled “Tidal Pool” out of it, and even a short story that I’ve submitted to Sirens Call Publications (the irony, right?). The deadline is not until November 30th, so if you’re looking for a home for your dark fiction, check out the latest theme:  http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/open_subs.htm.

Speaking of sources of creative inspiration, I also had the chance to read poetry by Alex Vincent. The book is titled Below the Surface, and it’s available here: https://alexvincent.bigcartel.com/product/poetry-book.

It’s not a full-on review, I’m afraid.

When I read poetry, it’s like looking at art. It’s an…impressionable…experience. Very right-place-right-time, in-the-moment happening. Visceral and yet symbolic synchronous experience.

And there’s a little part of me that, when I read poetry, I want to keep it all to myself. The feelings and thoughts inspired by the poems. I don’t like to talk about it much with others. But I liked the poem about the horror convention (it brought back memories of when I met one of my muses in real life), and a darker one that (if I’m remembering correctly) was set in a motel room.

So I’ll leave it a secret between me and my muse(s). But I’d recommend reading his poetry for yourself. https://alexvincent.bigcartel.com/

But, I’m grateful to all my amazing (imaginary!) muses that keep showing up in dreams and the odd serendipitous, synchronous moments. (Until next time, in our shared alternate dimensions…)

Keep writing, keep creating, and keep dreaming…

(You’re welcome to share your sources of inspiration and your personal muses in the comments if you wish…)

 

The Journey Back to Earth

VersionsOfTheSelf2.jpg

 

Whew, finally getting around to reviewing some books for #writingwednesday!

First up, Versions of the Self (poetry) by Christy Birmingham.

Linky links:

Amazon

Goodreads

Christy Birmingham’s When Women Inspire blog: https://whenwomeninspire.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/christybis

Review:

I’ve followed Christy Birmingham’s blog for years, and, likewise, she’s been a strong supporter of mine. I think she was one of, if not the first, who purchased my book of poetry when I self-published (Oh, Createspace, how I miss thee!). But this is the space for honest reviews, and, being an honest, ethical, straight-arrow type, with a healthy dose of blunt forthrightness, here goes my honest review. (Please, stick with me to the end of the review.)
I wasn’t sure how I felt about this book, the first time I read through it. I felt somewhat removed from the poems within, and I couldn’t understand why. As a woman, going through what seems a similar journey of self-transformation, why was I feeling unsettled? Why didn’t it grab me straight from the beginning?
It wasn’t until I sat down to write this review that I realised what was giving me this sense of disquiet. I spend a lot of time in other realms. The theme of my own poetry book is all about journeys to other worlds. Alternate dimensions, astral travel, tandem dreaming, visits to fairyland–however you want to classify it, it has very little to do with the “real” world. And my short stories reflect more of the same–fantastical, surreal, spooky, and a little escapist (or so I hope!). I spend so much time up here in my head, or a million miles from it, that I’m not very present. I constantly receive gentle instructions to become more grounded, to visualise coming down into my feet. But it’s not a place where I’m most comfortable. I want the deep vastness of space; of the ocean. Of anywhere but here on Earth.
Christy’s poems reflect exactly that sort of grounded earthiness I’m constantly trying to avoid. Being present, being in the moment. Being real, no matter how much it hurts. Or how confusing it is. From my way-out-there, interdimensional traveller perspective, I see her as a very present poet. And I’m also not used to reading that in poetry.
And it’s a necessary, and lovely, stability in the rareness of the feeling her poetry inspires. With each poem brings another block to lay on the foundation under my feet. As a woman, as a denizen of this planet no matter how much I dream myself otherwise, she connects me back to the Earth under my feet; to my own “Version of Self” that connects with lines of her poems.
“Gliding under Water” reminds me of the simplicity of being a young girl in a pool; a time where my sensory experiences were more immediate. Though her work is titled “Versions of the Self,” I see it more as a stripping away of those versions to achieve a strong core, bringing us along with her as she goes back to basics. To having strong roots. And water, ironically, also helps root the reader in a very real, relatable experience of loss and change, in her poem “Within a Few Feet”. We have no choice to be present right along with the poet, because her pain is ours. It’s a pain that, sadly, lies in most women, and maybe the human race in general.
Lastly, she reminds me that it’s okay to be down here, in the muck and mire that is Earth, to “start at the bottom” (from “Bottom of the Waterway”). Because it’s only from there that we will learn to fly.