Scene 7: Poetry in Progress

It has been raining in Northeast Texas for nearly 18 hours straight and I love it.  I love listening to the pound and splatter of rain drops, the whistle of the wind, the rustling of leaves, the occasional thunder.  It is by far the best ambience for writing... though not so much for gaining the needed motivation to clean :)

So the bulk of my day has been spent writing.  Mostly on my WIP, my first finished novel that I am trying to get cleaned up and ready to send out for submissions come the end of October.  But I have been writing some poetry too, gloomy days are particularly ideal for poetry.  As a side note: beautiful spring days and white-out winter days are also great for poetry.  Sadly, those days when it's too hot to breath, let alone move, are not ideal for writing poetry... or doing much of anything else in my opinion.

I thought I'd share a poem I started today.  A poem in progress.  Then I thought, in a week or so I can share the progression of the piece.  Fun, right?

Seriously, I do.  In fact, I was able to share some of my published poetry with my daughter's second grade class last week.  It was awesome.  It was my first ever writer gig.  I shared some about my journey of writing poetry and what it means to me.  

The first poem I remember writing (and documenting) strictly for personal reasons was when I was eleven.  

I've swept, I've cleaned

I've done everything

Except make my mother happy.

It's rather sad and depressing, isn't it?  Thus is the life of an eleven-year-old, pubescent girl.  Hormones.  But I remember that at that moment when I wrote that poem, I instantly felt better, lighter somehow.  There was a release involved.  It was a miraculous find, this new ability to express myself and unload some of my overwhelming emotions.

That's what poetry was for me, for many,  many years.  A release.  And as such, a lot of my early poems are dark and depressing.  Nevertheless, I had my first (dark, depressing) poems published when I was in high school which was unexpected and exciting.  But the most important thing poetry, and writing in general, has done for me is it helped me find my voice.

It was something I lost in early married life with new expectations placed upon me and children to care for.  I didn't write hardly anything for several years.  And I suffered.  I didn't have my release anymore. And to be quite honest, I falsely felt that if I needed a release I wasn't a very good wife or mother.  I was supposed to be blissfully happy, right?  The truth is, I was scared to let my emotions out.

I'm happy to say I've been back to writing poetry for several years now and I LOVE it!

So, without further ado, The Poem in Progress:

Like a caged lion, I long to run with abandon,
To hunt for a meal of my own choosing,
To, at night, lay down my weary frame wherever I desire.

Like an entrapped wolf, I crave to chase the moon
to wear out my long legs, long before I cry out to it, 
To journey with a pack of my choice,
To be free to discover my own den.

I am like that lonely lovebird,
My heart aches for the company of my own kind.
I can never, will never be truly content in that place
Where I do not belong.

Run lioness.  Lovebird, fly like the wind.
Chase after the world to the rainbow's end.
Let the wolf call out as you race towards your moon.
Find the courage to be your own truest friend.