Dabbling in Poetry

 I've shared some pretty personal writing. Some people might not like what I have to say, or they might be upset by what I'm saying. In one of the writing classes I'm taking though, there's a source that has an excellent quote. It's an online book called Words to Write By, and it states, "...If nobody would disagree with you, you're probably not saying anything that interesting." Just something to think about.

And now on to this week's dirt.

 I've had a tendency to dabble with some poetry, which I've shared with my writing group. I love being in a writing group, although with COVID, it's really hard to get together, obviously. While social distancing is going on and the weather is so cold, we're meeting over the phone. With my household being so busy and loud, I haven't had the chance to participate. In the summer, we were meeting in the park where we could put our camping chairs six feet apart. It's always easier for me to meet in person. I look forward to the chance of meeting in person again.

This poem that I shared with my writing group I wrote back in 1997 when I first got pregnant with Bryan. My group helped me revise it, and this is the final version that was finished in December 2019.

Stay Sleeping

The swallows cry in a moonlit breeze,
heartbeats race, tears drip,
passion turns black,
eternity's love is harnessed and chained.
Coldness echoes through despair like a scream.

Where is love, where is happiness?

Longing for life's warmth,

feeling nothing but death's void.

Shrinking, shivering, not dying,

calling out, no one is there.

How good can that be

needing the hurt to survive?

Prospering from fear and loneliness.

Helping, taking a hand

Giving a hand, smiles to share,

Giving blessings, carrying along

Held up to the sky, one sunlit face,

music notes, bouncing, laughing.

The smiles that caress

a soft touch that means so much

words spoken softly, surely,

knowing what has been, what is,

what still needs to come.

Stay sleeping, my dear heart.

To wake up means the pain begins.

Amanda Poehls-Kilpatrick

At the time I wrote the original poem, Nick and I weren't together. I allowed no pictures to be taken of me. I think the first picture taken of me in my pregnancy was on September 28, 1997, which was my birthday. The next picture I allowed to be taken of me was when I was in labor on January 16, 1998. I didn't want a record of my pregnancy for Nick to be able to follow. I wanted him punished for not being there. The last two lines of the poem really reflect that, I think. 

Bryan's birthday is coming up soon. I always get contemplative around his birthday. I told him that for his 23rd birthday (23!), he has to find his own apartment and gain his independence; no more living with Mom and Dad. So far he has a plan to move out in February. It'll be the second time in my life that I'll live without him. I'm worried that I'll fall into a depression without him in the house. I'm excited for Bryan to get out on his own and gain his independence, but I'm afraid my heart will want to sleep because my first born is no longer under my roof. Such conflicted feelings. Perhaps another poem will come out of it?