Saturday, February 10, 2018

THIS WEEK: A Poem as Reminder to Self

Yeah, Valentine's Day has not been among my top holidays, and it always seems like my feelings of being left out are greatest at this time of year. It's not just about romance. It's a sense of "me also" that creeps into different sphere's of my life until I suddenly sit back and go "what am I doing? Why am I so vulnerable?"

So while working on what was supposed to be this week's story, I had to stop and slap myself.  Out came a poem as a reminder.  Almost every time I get in this mindset, I end up disappointed by what I thought I wanted.  So much of our current culture, through social media, is infused with "look at me!" (she says just before she pushes this post out on it - gack!)

Still, writing the poem was cathartic. It was a good reminder that at the top of my Valentine's Day list should be remembering to love myself, and check that proverbial glass - remembering to note the part that is full, not just the other bit.


Reminding Myself
by Judith Cullen

A conversation,
a convocation,
a somewhere that you are not.

A conflagration,
of contemplation,
you should be there, without doubt.

Saturday, February 3, 2018

THIS WEEK: A Poem about NOT Writing a Poem

It seems an odd thing to say, doesn't it?

I truly began the week with a poem roiling inside of me - heart, head, and gut. It claimed it wanted to be written, but it would not take on any form or direction. I couldn't grab hold of enough of it to begin to see its shape. It kept running around, and around with no resolution or purpose. I fear I am not skilled enough to write wild, free range, circular verse.

When the wanna-be poem came round again - dashing by and blowing raspberries as it passed - I finally grasped just a shred of it.  It struggled and jeered against my tentative clinch, and the thought hit me, "Some poems are private."

PING!  A poem inspired by not being able to write a poem.


Secret Poetry
by Judith Cullen
© 2018

Some poems are public.

Open declamations, innermost
extrapolations, interpreted candidly
for all to experience.
Amplified pronouncements
of passionate embraces, or losses.
Over sights bare for scrutiny.

Some poems are private.

Never fashioned for liberty,
wrapped in lavender scented tissue.
Dubious rhymes sliding
securely beneath stacked socks.
Free verse that you rehearse
for an audience of no body.