None The Less
There’s nothing left in you
for me.
the vaporous possibility
a veil pulled away to reveal
all this nothing
Both birds tucked in bush
empty hands
beak pecked and talon scratched
pale against green leaves
and frothed feathers
There’s nothing left in me
for you.
I am a morbid shadow
the girl we once knew
paper thin
soul and words faded
to a time of never-was
bleached by sun
tattered by storm
Blank
and you
none
the
less
for it.
Hello after a much needed hiatus, I hope that the last few weeks have been grand for you all. I was on a little vacation and decided to allow my normal schedule to soften a bit in all aspects of my life. Writing fell by the wayside, I slept in and skipped out on the morning miles. I just let myself be.
Those are the times that do us strangely good. Now, granted, you can’t stay in that kind of state if you hope to advance your work in progress or be prepared for that fastly-approaching relay race (yikes, maybe I should have ran a little more…) But the respite is an important part of any successful endeavor. I don’t actually know if that’s scientifically proven, but I do know about burnout and I know the only way to avoid it is to rest once in a while.
Plus, life is short…we should pause to enjoy it occasionally instead of hurrying ourselves into the grave.
One of the best things resting can do, is reorient yourself to the quietness inside. When the demands of the world are so loud and the shoulds, and have-tos, and oughts are always at the forefront we often forget what it is we really want. We forget to check in and see if what we’re doing is really what we need to be doing. What we want to be doing. Does it serve our happiness? Or someone else’s?
I’m not sure if it’s viable for you, but I encourage you as a writer, a parent, an athlete, or whatever label you’ve had slapped on your ass, to step back once in a while. Even if it’s just taking a ‘mental health’ day from work to change up your routine. Purposefully don’t do what you always do. Refuse. Resist. Sit quietly with the only person that’s really in control of your situation (no not the toddler, I know it feels that way, but…)
Reacquaint yourself with you.
It can be kind of harrowing. The quiet removal of all you ‘live for’ in a day has the effect of taking a car seat out of the back of your car after a year. You might see a lot of trash and rotting debris beneath all that was so ‘necessary’ (quotes are for effect of the comparison…car seats are TOTALLY NECESSARY). The clear space of you that’s been neglected for a long time. Sometimes that space has been neglected for so long that it, itself, has become rotted and unstable. And with that can come the clarity of why everything that rests on it, all the things you do in a day, feel like they’ll topple over at any second.
A neglected core is unstable ground for building a life.
It can be scary to find that what you once clung to so fiercely is not really what you want deep down. You can’t heal that wound until you clean it all out, study it, and treat it. Life leaves us scars in this way. Places we’ve been, people we’ve loved, that no longer make sense to the path that’s at the true core of our center. They may even throw our center completely off for other areas of our lives. So cull the herd. Start from the bottom and build new dreams, new goals, that fulfill what you need today, not five-ten-twenty years ago.
Don’t forget human, you’re meant to change over the years.
Get deep. Get dark. Get to know yourself again, then work your way up.
Good morning poetry hounds!
I’m pleased and excited to feature the latest submission from K. W. Bunyap, for your VerseDay pleasure. K.W. is an avid hunter and fly fisherman. He’s an airline pilot by day and a novelist by night, creating beauty with images and words to balance out both sides of his beautiful brain. If you want to hear more about how amazing this guy is (including surviving a bear mauling and poor luck with rental cars, check out his awesome website:
Today, K. W. will be wowing you with a poem that settles into a special corner of my heart and it’s love of Autumn. Enjoy!
Aspen Autumn-
I watched the aspens turn today
And witnessed nature’s majesty.
Orange and gold replaced the leaves
Of green, and leapt from tree to tree.The rising sun poked shafts of light
Down through an emerald canopy.
I lay beneath those dark scarred trunks
Of white, and lounged in reverie.I watched the colors of autumn
Slowly replace where green should be.
The hues revealed the steady march
Of time, no more a mystery.Deep in that secret mountain glade
The pigments were a potpourri.
Above, I heard a rustling sound
Of leaves, and something stirred in me.The leaves were changing, Fall was here,
I felt the warmth of Summer flee.
Watching the aspens turn, I thought
Of love, and gave my heart to thee.
Today’s featured poet, sid sibo, is an immensely talented writer and poet, currently living and working as an environmental analyst on the western slope of the Rockies. sid shares an amazing connection to the land and is quite possibly one of the most profound poets I’ve been blessed to meet.
You can find more inspiration and writing at their website: sid sibo
Please enjoy this delicious gem.
RendezvousRime dampens leaf crackle;your boots lift peppered scent.Hunt camp disappears behindcedar bog.Squat. Touch fungus. Listen.Otherfootsteps pause and proceed,pause and advance andthrough breathing balsamthrusts midnight wolf, eyesintrepid suns,nose lifted to strange reek.Three strides apart;you ingest each other.Raven calls out.But wolf ears—steepmountains—focusonly on mystery.Onyx lips open to glacier grin.Ferned plume of tailspins past.Ancient air pours through youand you sink likerain into the duff.Wait. Lichened greenstoneon trembling tongue.Knowledge, basaltic,rises along your backbone.Footsteps circle around,returning.Deep forest dark together,Gold fever curious.Exchange breaths, learning.
Last night was my last class, officially, teaching at the karate school I’ve been at for nearly five years. It is a necessary step that had to happen for the health of my heart and mind. I’ll be taking the next month completely out of that world to reset my perspective and see where my love and energy really belongs. Perhaps I will return, refreshed. Perhaps the universe has other plans for me.
This is the way of the orbiting dance of life.
Even when a move feels like the right one to take, it can be difficult. What we leave behind can often open up holes of melancholy and bittersweet sadness in our chest.
So this is for you; those who are leaving, those who’ve been left. If you are in one of the hundreds of delicate transitions that come with the years of breathing, take heart.
And leave heart.
UnDeparted
I leave behind pieces of myself
In every heart that I have loved.
So that I may live a thousand different lives
And share their journey in a million different moments.
I spread toes in broken sand
and sing with the breath of black loam forests.
Blaze in pursuit of sunsets and stretch,
reborn to every dawn
I leave behind pieces of myself
So that every pulse
in every heart of my heart
Is a star in the sky,
An adventure,
An eternity
I leave behind pieces of myself
In every heart that I have loved
So that I may touch the world with their hands
See the world through their eyes,
Beg them lay still when they need rest
And filter and fiber their blood as they race
down dusty borders of earth and sky
I aid the fire and fever as they fall to love
and mend softly the wounds suffered there after
I leave behind pieces of myself,
In every heart I have loved
So that I may live a thousand lives
Be born and grow old,
Laugh out joy
Cry through despair
So if I am far away from you now,
By streets or by stars.
Know that I am not gone.
I am stitched into your heart
A patch of peace, when the weary world shouts too loud
If out of sight, I am yet undeparted
I’ve left a piece of myself
In your heart.
Oh, you’re in for it now.
Listen, sometimes I get down to the dirt of it all and give you the best writing advice I’ve got and all you have to do is sit back and absorb my witty information dumps.
But I’ve got a case of summer boredom and am itching for something different. Something a little more…interactive. So, today, instead of me expunging on the benefits of plot arcs and character development, or raking you through the coals of The Chicago Manual of Style, we’re gonna play.
I say “play”. You might say homework.
Pota-toe. Potaah-toe.
Here’s the rules. I’m going to give you a writing prompt. You send me your 200-1000 word result. It can be fiction, nonfiction, prose or in poetry form, written in chocolate pudding, or Latin (or in Latin, in chocolate pudding)…the possibilities are all before you.
I’ll choose a winner, send you a set of my signed novels, and feature your story on the blog with all the bragging rights that come along with it. Cool?
And because, I’d never ask you to do something that I wouldn’t do myself, I’ll be featuring my ‘homework’ on next week’s regular Tuesday blog.
So…you see, writers that suffer together…give each other awkward, virtual high fives afterwards? Drink heavily and question the purpose of their existence? I vote the first one.
Because I’m feeling generous, I’ll even give you two options to choose from.
Here’s your homework:
Write about something/one that got left behind by accident.
or
Write about something/one that got left behind on purpose.
On your marks….get set…
Good evening.
Here’s a little wanderlust inspired snippet to remind you to get outside and notice. There are no small things.
Fae
How the acrid hamlets of beneath-log worlds beckonTo faerie hordes seeking cheap rent.
While the construction noise of flicker-rattle interrupts the raven’s sky rage rant,
And fae folk scowl with tinker noses scrunched.
Micha’s golden fish scales, peppering paths,
like midas scattered his trailing tears.
And though foolish told to low-lying men in suits,
Lie they glittering, priceless to me
and the passing of my staggered step.
I would wedge my heart beneath the logs, and gladly sublet.
Belated is better than be-not-at-all-ed? Okay, I’m a little loopy from a day of summer kick offs and emotional rollercoasters from various areas of my life. Here’s what I got. They can’t all be pretty.
Don’t forget to send me your stuff…seriously. I will print it.
Amend
Sometimes the battle cry at end of day,
Is nothing more than a whimper
a sigh.
A pitiful resignation
Of body into sheets and tired eyelids pressing
Sometimes the battle cry at end of day,
Is the knife you did not take up,
The pills still stacked in unopened bottles
The liquid in bottles still stoppered,
House loud with the unopening of vessel
Human or otherwise.
Sometimes the battle cry at end of day,
Is the giving into the aching vice of bone
And the people we cannot change
And the problems we cannot solve,
It is a cry of letting go,
A world we cannot Amen-d
Hey friends. This week is a little hectic with projects, both nearing completion and those just getting started, so today’s blog will be short.
I just wanted to let you know about an awesome conference coming up in Laramie in June (the 7th-9th) hosted by Wyoming Writers, Inc.
Though I’m based in Fort Collins, Wyoming is my home state and I’m excited to be returning there next month to meet new friends and writers as well as attend some stellar classes.
Some of you have heard me talk about Jovan Mays and Angie Hodapp (Nelson Literary Agency), two of my favorite presenters. They will both be there and giving inspirational and technical advice for all levels of writers.
In addition to a seasoned and talented lineup of presenters, I have snuck in as a presenter on Saturday and will be giving a little intro on which publishing path is right for you. (Ahem…the official title is: “Out In The World: Publishing Your Novel in Today’s Market” Fancy, huh?)
Registration is still open and they have several options to choose from, depending on your budget and time. Local authors’ books will also be available for purchase (if you’re in the market for some steamy paranormal romance…along with I’m sure much higher-quality books).Here’s the link if you’d like to check out what they’ll be offering, from classes to the Keynote speaker (the talented Brad Watson).
Wyoming Writers Conference 2019
If you do attend, I’d love to meet and talk writing until our little introvert hearts can’t take anymore. Feel free to look me up while you’re there.
Do yourself and a local writing chapter a favor and join us at this fun and dynamic offering.
Until next week, happy writing!
John Lennon’s quote is the basis for my Tuesday soapbox.
Listen, I do write about writing. I do want to inspire your creativity and help you along with your craft. It’s integral to my purpose in life.
But part of inspiring creativity means reminding you of the massive computer sitting atop your shoulders and why we should never forget to use it.
This week I’ve been researching statistics, studies, and references for an article (probably a book one day) on the staggering racial disparity present in our privatized prison systems, in particular, how it affects young black men in our communities and the short and long-term damage it causes to their families as well as to our society as a whole.
So you know… a real fluff piece.
The problem with scrubbing off a bit of dirt from the surface of something like this is that you expose a teeming cesspool of disease and horror beneath. And once you look into that darkness, falling ever-deeper into that rabbit hole of associated cultural setbacks, systemic traps, and loopholes for those in power, you CAN NEVER NOT KNOW.
You’ve opened your eyes.
You swallowed the red pill.
You know the truth and life becomes difficult.
(Well, if you’re a human being with a heart and a decent-sized sense of empathy, and compassion, life becomes difficult.)
Suddenly, with your eyes open, you see it everywhere.
You see it in the unarmed black woman body-slammed by an officer twice her size, when she wasn’t even fighting back. You see it in the teenagers of color who are convicted of crimes while their white counterparts go free. You see it in the wary HOA’s that lodge baseless complaints against a family because the color of their skin makes the neighbors ‘nervous’, and cause entire families to lose their homes.
I’m not talking about 1955 Alabama here… I’m talking today, here. In our city. In our community.
And I’m ashamed of us, and I’m shaky, and I’m pissed off.
I feel like if I were the mother of dragons…I might pull a Season 8 Episode 5 and burn it all down to rebuild from the ashes.
The problem is too big.
That’s what we’re told right?
You can’t fight the system! It’s so much bigger than us. We don’t have the power. The government controls it. The rich control it. The churches, the states, the universities, the public schools, the whole of American culture…
But if you will remember…
The computer on top of your shoulders. The big 10 pounder. The one that processes thoughts and emotions, chemicals and body regulation, the one that creates poetry, writes novels, formulates complex plot and character design.
That’s not nothing.
That’s a powerful weapon in the hands of an informed public. And the way I see it, once we open our eyes, it’s our duty to shake as many egg pods as possible, peel back some eyelids and make the world pay attention.
Two open eyes becomes four. Becomes eight. Becomes sixteen. Becomes hundreds…
The Beautiful Stuff has everything to do with facilitating the best version of humanity we can muster. The most compassionate, fair, and just human we can be. And when we are faced with a hard and ugly cesspool, teeming beneath a society built on the death and destruction of so many lives, we can no longer live easy.
So neither should the powers that be.
My eyes are open and I will do my damndest to keep those that benefit from the broken and ugly system from covering them up.
We may not have the money. We may not have the loopholes and congressmen in our pockets. We may not have law degrees, or time, or the power of influence on large groups of people.
But we have our words. We have our minds. We have our actions and, I hope, enough anger to bypass our fear. Pay attention and acknowledge that this is a problem. Shine a fucking light on it so the rest of the world can’t ignore it anymore.
Find that spark in your chest. That pinprick of light that knows every human deserves to be safe, to be heard, to be healthy and fed, and treated with respect. Find a way to make it grow. Let it lead you to do what you can to change the inequality of the world around you.
You can always do something. Little. Big. It doesn’t matter the size of the action but the heart you put into it.
One water droplet may not have much impact, but a rainstorm can change the landscape.
Go out there. Be bold. Be heard. Stand up for each other.
