Thursday, January 23, 2014

My feelings on publishing my poetry ...

 “All spiritual warriors have a broken heart – alas, must have a broken heart – because it is only through the break that the mysteries and wonders of life can enter us.” ~Mark Nepo

My feelings on publishing my poetry:
To put my words into books is not to say, " Come look at what I have done  ...  Take my accomplishment and hold it ... See these words with your eyes and read me them to understand me ... Fill yourself with my thoughts and perspectives on life ... Immerse your attention in my ego's need to be recognized ...  Let it rather be, as it has always been intended by the writer ... a representation of who and what I am in relation to my experiences ... so that I may be recognized as a distinct creative energy rising from the mass of human consciousness to serve ... as another interaction between love and need, desire and warmth, cold and retribution, sadness and joy, war and silence, a kiss and peace ... any emotion or attachment and another it could by chance or intentional cause encounter through the course of growth or complacency ... It is to say ... Allow me share my Self with you, will you? ... The reflections I have found in the faces and places which have touched me thus far ... the love I have known ... that I have not ... what your dreams whispered to mine while we slept ... How the sight of your face affects me ... When I heard her story I was moved and I wrote ... He gave me something no one else could have ... All the wonders which only take place between sentient beings in the splendor of Nature and Beauty or our Sacredness ... The hope of creation to device a new dance when the ice of Winter is gone and Spring shows us Her essential beauty again ... What shall we share in this renewal? " 
To Put my words in to books is to say, " Grant me the gift of being in your grace and glory to experience us ... Come look at what we have done together. "
© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserve

"Ring the bell that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering,
 There is a crack,
 a crack in everything,
that's how the light gets in ... "
Leonard Cohen

Thursday, January 16, 2014

...and Other Utterances {a form of spoken word}

I have been writing in Utterances for many years now. It seems few understand their function in the world of poetry unless you talk about Spoken Word... I was Uttering when I was a very young girl. So, I guess I was performing spoken word poetry when I was a wee lass in the late 60's early 70's. Though this is not what I "do" now, my Utterances are representative of how writing often times flows out of me. This is the only way to capture it in a form which can be written not recited or performed.


From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia ...
In spoken language analysis an utterance is a smallest unit of speech. It is a continuous piece of speech beginning and ending with a clear pause. In the case of oral languages, it is generally but not always bounded by silence. Utterances do not exist in written language, only their representations do. It can be represented and delineated in written language in many ways.

  • Mathematics and Poetry are... the utterance of the same power of imagination, only that in the one case it is addressed to the head, in the other, to the heart. — Thomas Hill

Morning Passenger

As the crow foretold and because our souls had spoken last night ... when I emerged into the Morning ... It, beginning to greet the day in the same red~orange way it always does from the belly of the sloping cow pasture to the East ... I, on the way to find my bed up the treacherous and icy path ... a hill away from the main house ...  could have sworn we had somehow magically found a passenger's way  ... on which Spring ... slip knotted past Winter's wicked ire of a sling shot ... the breaching light falling ... fire pregnant fragments married to incombustible rhymes on my morning bed ... bleeding out upon care muted sheets ... as orange as sherbet thawed for want of keeping it's promise to the season ... had failed as well as I had ... to remain locked and unbroken by you ... If it were not for the numbness of my fingers and my pen ... thoughts lost in the  liquid lace incantations of Jack frost's breath about the window panes ... and the songs the railing of wheels the Amish buggies are beginning to compose ... in the distance ... as they break the first hard puddles of the day ... I could almost pull you through this keyhole ... tucking you in with me at Wren Haven ... where the Dawn is always fine ... turning to yellow and tawny... wishing for rain and a Summer's day dream.  

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserve

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

You Inspire Me

The tub is full to the rim of soft and swim ... your hands along the slice of my mind this tune is buttering ... up my skin ... less the wet jeans and snow soak socks ... I crawled in with cold notions ... warmed by you'd be home soon ... bring me a bottle in when you do ... will you ? ... some crusty bread and brie ... I'll knot my hair up if you promise to tear it out ... pin by pin and mop the floor ... with my sleepy limbs ... forget the plans we made ... touch me the way you did when you dreamed ... I could never be yours ... sink silk praise into the joy my eyes return ... press flesh upon me with the slowest caged hunger ... reaching a hand for roses of air remains ... illusions held their breath to protest against ... the eventual birth on a pink shadow claim ... rub my laughter raw from your chin stubble parade ... dancing thumbs escapades candlelight peeks to witness .... lusting for the shade you cast on my breast ... staining ... a spiritual tattoo ink blaming rapture ... desire devouring our remains ... the tile floor blushing sweetly ... as we crawl back in again ... tapping the hot vein. 

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

A feature mention


featured "Meant for Me" ,the Utterance below this entry, in their paper today. I want to thank them very much for their support. It is so very much appreciated. They put together a lovely collection of poets. Please, support them and subscribe with the link below. 

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Meant for Me

The words I thought you wrote for me? ...They stitch my winter quilts … from the strands of illusory nouns and layered verbs... torn strips of fabric fantasies sought ... a heart too poetic to walk away … from the poppie fields you bloom in daily … the opium soaked candy traps you lay … for my sweet tooth to lust after … you know I dream you would join me under the warmth … the glow … the what it is to know when you have found … the scent your dreams are coloured with... As the bark of the trees are sugared this night… latticed limbs in diamond bright snow showers … their skin comforted by the ice seeping into it's pores … filling meandering caverns with solidity against the Wind's harsh nature ...which is to be blunt and unkind ... what would perhaps be considered frolic when Summer is upon us ...Rain in that season washing over skin … as a lover would glide expression upon flesh and bone … beneath cotton care... Does it matter when they are never to be mine ...The words I thought you wrote for me? ...They stitch my winter quilts … keeping my soul warm … until the morning comes.  

 © 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved