I’m A Little Bit Lost and Feeling Contained

Grow_DammitI need to write. I have so much inside of me right now that it’s threatening to explode.  Apropos since one of the prompts I got in my email today was “finding a bigger container,” which included this marvelous picture.

Is my life feeling uprooted? Do I feel like I’m in a container too small?  Maybe.  I spend a weekend feeling out of sorts due to a new infatuation with someone totally inappropriate but those feelings are still there.  I found the answer to a years and years old question of what bird I was hearing at night.  I have written an essay on it, and that needs to be typed up, edited, read by someone other than me, and hopefully it can be used to send off to a magazine.  I’m actually quite proud of the piece, even though it’s only in ‘shambles’ right now.  It’s actually not that bad.  I was relaying the story off to my writing group this last Saturday and one of the ladies told me that maybe I need to ask the question of why has this bird become a part of my life. Why has it just now revealed itself to me?  kind of like a spirit animal or guide.

Now personally I don’t believe in spirit guides and all due to my Christian faith, but at the same time, I did start thinking about it.  While the answer I came to might not be anything other than what I came up with in my own head, at the same time, I felt a bit of comfort in the result.

It has taken me years to discover this bird and it has driven me nuts year in and year out; but I have kept plugging away, trying to figure it out, not giving up hope that someday I might, just might find out what it is. The only thing I can connect it to is waiting for the right man to come along and just keep plugging away and waiting for the right person.  And also keep plugging away at my writing and someday I might be published.  Keep focused, maybe not to the point of insanity, but seriously taking moments to write furiously.  I’m not going to date furiously; I do have my standards…… Though one can sometimes dream.  (I have not been blessed with the cream of the crop around here….as I was talking to one of the ladies at the library in regards to books, I seem to have more crap of the crop around here.)

I am dabbling in poetry, at random points.  I have four poems that have started all on the same subject….. See above in unhealthy desires….. and then again on this and that. I have a post I want to write about letting words flow, but that will be when my brain is more focused.  Even now as I write, I have gotten distracted by election returns, a news story, looking out the window, my dog, my family.  I can’t stay focused.

-Paris-is-always-a-good-idea.--JournalI’m venting here.  I’ll blame Dona on this.  It’s her prompt that has me writing. I’m dreaming of Paris.  I’m dreaming of a man who love’s Paris but is taken….. so I can only indulge myself in anything French… My family indulged me with necklaces of the Eiffel Tower and a pair of earrings and I’m so Frenched/Eiffel Towered out but I love it.  “Paris is always a good idea” says Audrey Hepburn.  It is so true.  Said taken man spoke something in French to me all because he noticed my Eiffel Tower necklace.  It’s. So. Not. Fair.

What is this post but nothing more than frustration creeping out of me.  I need to run (it’s been almost a week since my last run) and I need to escape the ties that bind. Whatever those ties are. I think I need to write more and think less.  Now if only I could turn off my brain and let the free thought explode out.

I should stop.  The chickens are calling.  ‘Wheat, wheat,” they say.  I need to clean the coop and water and feed the feathered creatures.  Side note, wet chickens smell horrible.  I say that because it rained today and I had to scoop up my pal of a rooster, Mr. Blue, and put him away. He was wet.  P-U!

Restless and contained.
Kate

Everything Stopped poem & My 24 Hour Romance poem

A photo by Joanna Kosinska. unsplash.com/photos/B6yDtYs2IgYSo, thankfully Robert Brewer posts a Wednesday poetry prompt, because I was feeling a bit down at the end of PAD. While I might have been cutting down on my writing, I had gotten in the flow of writing poetry every day and I was in serious withdrawal.   So the first Wednesday prompt after the end of PAD was ‘when everything stops’ and this week’s was ‘running its course’.  The first prompt had me writing about when writing stops, but that didn’t go very far. So I ended up writing about one of my characters. So poetry for my heroine. Here it is first.

Everything Stops
Everything stopped when he walked up
to the bar and bought her a drink
that she declined, but smiled prettily
and her eyes invited him in, though
her words were cautious.
He was her night to her day
Opposites in a crashing world of
guitars and drums and pictures and
still motion.
And all around the noise was a roar
But they stood like long lost friends
afraid to touch but longing to
step over the line in the sand
separating one beating heart
even though they had only just
met.

 

I rather like how it turned out because I can see how my two characters meet, in this moment where they are kind of oblivious to their surroundings.

My second poem for ‘running its course flashed to me when I met a marvelous man three years ago, or was it two?… and I suddenly understood instant attraction and it was kind of wonderful, and I still flash back to that first kiss that was something to hold other kisses up to. Sadly, I pined for too long, but oh well, I have my weird moments.

My 24 Hour Romance

Our relationship ran its course in 24 hours
from beginning to end
though I pined for you for thirty days
or more, or less as I slowly forgot
or gave up, or moved on…… I don’t know
But I still taste that perfect first kiss
and I still shudder in longing
and I still hope you would come back
Even though I know you never will.
For twenty four hours I was yours
until you said I would make someone a
perfect wife.
Why couldn’t it be you?

I feel that that is a bit bitter sounding, and maybe it is. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of other people telling me I’ll make a great wife for someone. You never want to hear that from a guy you like.  Maybe I’m a bit morose right now. May gets to me sometimes. Probably because it’s my birth month and my life comes back to haunt me in its own way. I start doubting my life, or what I’m doing, or the lack of things happening the way I had planned. Most people do it at the start of the year, you know, New Year’s Day? I do it on my birthday.

Well, despite morose, in some ways, I hope you enjoy.

Kate

PAD Day 28 – Important – Important Documents, Dreams, and Words

The prompt for day 28 (sob, how can it be almost done!!!???) of PAD was Important (blank).  I liked Robert’s one prompt idea of Important Documents, so I went with that. I actually had ideas floating around in my head all day, but just didn’t want to sit down to write. I had hoped to keep the poetry flowing in a steady day to day thing, but I wanted to do other things tonight. Or last night since it’s technically morning right now.   I think I was channeling Boris. He’s been in my mind since I finally got a letter from him a week ago. So, old feelings have resurfaced, much to my chagrin, though the muse has been at work.

You know how the Greeks had their nine women muses?  Well for women, I think we need men as our muse. Or at least I find men inspiring. Maybe not.  Maybe it’s just Psyche’s Call that I’m listening to.  For those that are wondering about that phrase, I just am giving promotion to one of the women in our writing group who sends out a writing prompt ever day. They are not your normal ‘word’ prompts, but more of a thought process digging deeper into one’s psyche.  I urge you to sign up and check them out. They are thought provoking and while they haven’t ever really made me start a story, they do make me reevaluate what I am writing, or make me look at what I’m writing a bit differently.

A current prompt from Psyche's Call

A current prompt from Psyche’s Call

Important Documents

I hold out these important documents
tied up in manila and twine and brass rivets
and cogs and wheels and locks and keys.
They hold things so dear to me, but I’m handing
them to you, trusting you to not tear me apart.
I hold documents so dear to me, out to you,
you who has been a part of me over the years.
I wrote them to you, for you, about you,
then tucked them away safely for years,
afraid of showing myself to you.
But you have been ever bit as safe
as the warm blanket that holds me at night
never judging me for the words I wrote
for you, about you, to you.
Thousands of words, written too big to say out loud.
I can only whisper them, or write them down.
My heart too afraid to utter a syllable of sound.
I know you won’t shatter me, but I still hand them
to you and ask you to read what I say
inside my very soul each time I say your name.

Important Dreams

These dreams are what build universes
and stories
and chapters
and titles
These dreams are what make my world explode
in color
in song
in dance
These dreams are what turn out words
in rhyme
in poems
in laughter
These dreams are what make me create
a world
a hero
a love story
These dreams are what are so important to my life
in hopes
in longings
in promises

 

Important Words

I wrote out a poem for you, or two, or three, or millions more.
I have them in scraps of colored paper and index cards.
I wrote them on pictures, on postcards, and notes.
I have important words for you to hear though I can’t say them.
They are too big to say out loud, to small to write them down.
They are what make you a dream, and me the goddess writing them.
They are what make you the mystic and I am the mystery unfolding.
They are what make you the sorcerer and I am your slave.
The magical words bind me to you in simple ways.
The words tie me up in hopeless thoughts too confounding.
The words cling to my skin like sand on the beach.
The magical words are my shackles and my freedom.
Come read them and take them with you.
Take them from me so I forget what I said.
Let me throw them to the wind like petals on the prairie.
Only you could ever know what they mean to you and me.

 

Clearly there is a theme, of sharing words with someone, but also being afraid to, but then knowing that person would not hurt you. It’s a weird feeling. Maybe it’s a feeling that’s too big to express. Maybe I have been writing poetry for too long and too many this month. Maybe it’s a good thing that the month is almost over of a poem or more a day. Because clearly I have been writing more than one poem a day.

Kate

PAD Day 26 – Love/Anti-love – I Was In Love With

So apparently for ‘seasoned’ PAD participants know that a Tuesday two of ‘Love/Anti-Love’ is all part of the deal.  Last time around, in November I didn’t get anywhere with a sonnet on love.  This time around though, whew. Oh, too many emotions in this one. Too much of myself, too much of what was, and what is, and what will never be.  Sometimes this is where poetry hurts.  Sometimes this is where I’m actually afraid to share it with all of you because it’s something personal.

I wrote the other day about a childhood crush, but that isn’t the same as the first time being really in love. I think it’s too pure really.  My first love/crush was when I was too innocent to really know a thing. But my first love was when I was 24, and I seriously lost myself for two years.  No really, I can go back in my journal and there is nothing for two freaking years! I hate myself for that. I can’t even remember what happened in those two years.  Ugh.

I Was In Love With

I was in love with a  boy;
a man not grown up, but I loved him
so much, my heart hurt
and my life was his and I lost myself
for two years.
He was my world in chaos,
but my life was chaos and
he was not my safe haven.
But I was his, and I was lost
and it took me years to be found,
not before almost losing myself again
over another man boy.
But a man I’ve never met
found me and and found myself
and let me find me until I fell
in love with him.
But I’m still me, and more of myself
than I ever was alone.
And I’ve become myself
in more ways than one
and I love this man
in more ways than one.
But he is him, and I am me
and never the two shall be as one.

 

Then there’s this one.  Anger in that one.  The second man boy I dated semi tricked me into saying I loved him.  It was more when I was distracted with my dog and it came out the wrong way and it was on the phone and it was not real. I was so annoyed with myself, and him. And it didn’t last long at all. And I call that a ‘whoops’ moment in my life. I don’t even count the guy as a real thing.  I’m laughing here. But enjoy. I don’t know if it’s anti-love enough, but I’m counting it as one.

I Never Meant ‘I Love You’

Don’t tell me I love you, you tricked the words
out of me but they are lies.
They were words said in distraction.
I never really meant them for you.
Don’t have me throw lovely things in mud.
Because words like these for you are diseased.
You wanted what was untrue, but you thought it real.
These words are not real but fantasy I hate.
You say you love me, but I can’t reply.
And trickery isn’t love to me.
So go off and say I was untrue to you.
But these words were never meant for you.

 

PAD Day 4 – Distance… Somewhat At A Distance

Susan Wooldridge talks about loaded words in Poemcrazy, and personally, the past two days have had loaded words for me when it comes to writing and PAD (Poem a Day). Yesterday was ‘three’ and three can mean so many things. I started playing around with three broken hearts, imagining two men in love with one woman. I think that come from reading Outlander and really falling in love with it.  But there is this forbidden fascination with being loved by two men. Maybe it’s the lack of a love life, or just the fact that I love guys…. But anyways…. Three can mean so much. Maybe not to others, but to me it does.

Someone at a Distance by Dorothy Whipple

Then today’s prompt was ‘Distance’.  I started singing Rod Stewart’s ‘So Far Away’ and thinking about the title to a Persephone Books title, “Someone at a Distance” by Dorothy Whipple.  Then Robert Brewer (head dude of the PAD) suggested distance and running.  Well, all three of those things kind of fit together and here is what I came up with.

 

Enjoy.

Somewhat at a Distance

Somewhat at a distance there
A pinprick of light and hope
But that dot still feels so far
Away
Thirty-four years I feel I’ve waited
Pounding the pavement thin
Impatient and exhausted for the end
To come
But isn’t the journey the adventure?
At least so they say to sound brave
To me the fulfillment means
Adventure
To spend your life with another
Now that is the real quest
Companionship is the adventure
The gain
But I wait here along for him
As he waits alone for me
Spread apart by space
Alone
Someday I hope we smack full force
And our life not the end but beginning
To start that great adventure
Together

 

NB. The last two stanzas just came to me! Whew!  I love it when a plan comes together….. ~George Pepard

Kate

Moms – Day No. 29

keep-calm-and-call-mom-76Today is Mrs. B’s 60th birthday. How is it possible my mother has gotten so old? I can still remember when she was my age… Oh God, I’m old!  Back when she was still getting carded. Back when she was teaching me and my sister, working as a nurse, and managing our gorgeous house. How did she do it all? Let’s just say I did not inherit any of that from her. My mother was like Sarah Jessica Parker in “I Don’t Know How She Does It“, which we just watched last night and is an incredibly good film. Watch it. You won’t be sorry.

Moms: they are so important, with the caveat that they are good moms. If you ahve a bad mom, then I’m truly sorry. My mom is great, and that’s not me just saying that because I’m supposed to. Sure, because we are nothing alike we have our moments  where we do not agree. At all. But even when  we have those moments, which seems to be more frequently, we still get along. I think. I trust Mom’s advice and she is who I do talk to when I need to vent. She can read me too well, and tends to do that regularly, sometimes to my annoyance, and other times where it’s really helpful.  As number 6 of the 13 Things No One Tells You About Being A Woman says:

6. The most complicated relationship you’ll have is with your mother. In your teens, you hate her, in your early 20’s you miss her, after that you rely on her advice as if it is Bible. Most women don’t want to become their mother, but they still love and respect her — and end up becoming much like her anyway.

It’s very true. Granted, I have not had the missing her part since I still live at home, but when she goes places for longer than I think she should, I worry about her. We have a unique relationship.

Mrs. B’s girlfriend is a great Mom. I watch how she loves her kids and I kind of get a gooey feeling like a hot brownie in my chest when I think about it. And if I needed a surrogate mom, I bet I could rely on her.  I actually know quite a few cool moms out there.

For years, I wanted to be a mom. I wanted to be married at 22, have four kids, home school them all, name one girl after my great-great-great grandmother; Phoebe. I had names picked out for my kids….. Sophie, Paul, Phillip, Rose, Charles….. Those are just some of the names. I had grand ideas about being a mom. While at the same time scared out of my wits that I could even be a mom.

But none of that has happened. And now part of me doesn’t want to be a mom. Oh sure, I want to have my own baby, but honestly, kids scare me. They scare the heck out of me. I don’t know what to do with them. I have never baby sat in my entire life except for once and that time scared the heck out of me and I was just next door watching the 8 year old boy for an hour… No big deal.  I view kids as ankle biters… You use a fly swatter to move them along…. Okay, maybe not that bad.

This is kind of ironic because I like writing children’s books. I like making things for kids. I like all that fun stuff. But I don’t know how to even talk with kids. Sigh. So I don’t think I would be a very good mom. But again< I’m not sure I want to be a mom> i like to think I could be a very cool aunt. Or if I married a man who was older and already had young grand kids… I could be a really cool young, hip grandma.

So, do you love your Mom?  Is Mom the most important person in your life? Do you agree with No. 6 above?

Kate

Being Beautiful

Pearls, curled hair, yeah, this is my beautiful moment.

Pearls, curled hair, yeah, this is my beautiful moment.

I was sitting reading my journal from earlier in the year… it’s something I do to reflect…… and I came across an entry  from near my birthday. I was describing being called beautiful.  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but I have found that it is one word that while wonderful to be called, can hold a whole lot of meanings or feeling behind it.

I have been called beautiful by plenty of men…. despite which I still wonder if I really am beautiful because what I see in the mirror sometimes is meh.  How I look isn’t what makes me feel beautiful. Sometimes for me, wearing Stetson for men, a string of pearls and having my hair in a simple updo makes me feel so incredibly beautiful in my own mind, that’s all that matters.  But having a man call me beautiful is a rather interesting thing.

First there is Boris. Boris is fire and ice and extremes. He calls me beautiful, gorgeous and such regularly. It’s his greeting. It’s his way. His way makes me feel like I am the sexiest young woman ever. Okay, I’m not young anymore, but well, I still don’t feel like a woman. I am one….okay, I can go with lady better.  Considering he calls me young lady all the time too.  His beautiful is like stepping into pure heat and desire.  I can’t explain it.

Then there was Neeko.  Darling boy. I mentioned him earlier in the year.  What I wrote in my journal was, ” He calls me beautiful and it feels like pure sunshine happiness. Not sexy, but like I’ve stepped into a rainbow. Gooey inside. Unexpected. Undemanding. Nick is daisies and buttercups and sugar sweet.”  Maybe it was safety, but I felt like me with Neeko. I didn’t have to impress or be any more than me. Something I struggle with. I’m always worried about someone’s opinion, but with Neeko I could just be, like I had stepped into a meadow….. Bella’s meadow.

More recently there is someone that calls me various forms of beautiful, but it’s weird.  I can’t put my finger on it….okay, maybe I can. I am not interested in this guy, and he says he’s not in me, because he’s in his mid fifties, but sometimes I get this weird vibe that makes me kind of shudder. I sit there and think to myself…’no, please don’t call me anything endearing.’ It’s one of those disturbing moments in life where what someone says to you makes you feel so uncomfortable.

I think who we know that calls us beautiful means something different from each person. Sweet, sexy, disturbing…… And various other feelings.  Sometimes I smile and giggle insanely when I’m called beautiful. Other times I take it in stride.   I have to say that a sunshine and daisies beautiful is like eating the best brownie, and the fire and ice extremes beautiful is like that first sip of whiskey.  It’s sexy in it’s own way.  Sunshine and daisies, which I am not a person who would ever really go for that vibe, is really, really nice.  And it’s so hard to explain….. Okay, wait, I just read what I wrote. One is safe while the other has me in a constant state of alert.

Hmmm. Rather interesting, isn’t it? Do I know which one I want? I tend to go for sweet because at the end of the day, the safe is nice, steady. Comfortable. But that being said, the extreme and sexy is well, adventurous and exciting. I think a bit of sweet with sexy is really nice.

So what about you, ladies.  Do you have different vibes of beautiful?  What makes you feel beautiful?  Words or your own inner self?  Does something you do make you feel like the goddess you are?

I’d love to know so share with me.  I feel I should add in a One Direction line… but I’ll leave that up to you.

Kate

 

Right For Me – A Poem

472622366Back over my birthday and the week prior I met a darling boy/man, and I was still dealing with new feelings about Boris.  Recently my emotions have gotten the better of me as I watch The Bachelorette and drool over gorgeous men, at the same time dealing with Boris and possibly someone new in my life.  (Online dating can be a whirlwind in it’s own way)

I have had poetry and romance and kisses in my head to the point where I have this perpetual knot in my chest.  I can’t write it all down enough and I am getting stuck and lost in my mind more and more. Fortunately, I was able to capture some of what I’m struggling with in a piece of poetry.  I am titling it ‘Right For Me’ because I’m not sure what else to call it. I think my birthday….. no, pardon Neeko, was the catalyst to all of this.

 

 

 

 

Right For Me

I’m too old for you
Too young for him
Just right for me

I’m too close to there
Too far from here
I’m just in between

My words too long
The story too short
The plot just right

I’m looking back
I’m plowing forth
Just standing still

I like you a lot
I love him a little
I’m happy with me

I wish on you
I hope for him
I dream for me

 

Just a little something to express myself.

 

Kate

 

Unrequited Letters – Flash Fiction

He poured his heart and passion into the letters he wrote her. Long, romantic missives. Short, tiny notes folded into secret notes. He told her of his hopes and dreams. Of his delight in her newest dress or the remark she made as she conversed with the grocer. 

He had mounts of letters. Piled so high a slight breeze might disturb and send the snowy sheets into a cascade of drifts and eddies around his small study.

For he never sent her the letters. Always afraid of how she would respond to his devotion, he wrote letters till he died, always pining for her.

 

Letters, and specifically love letters, have been in my mind lately. I have been thinking about writing letters to lovers

Bright Star (film)

Bright Star (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(not that I have any at this moment… and note the use of the plural. I’m laughing at that) Writing letters to friends and families. I love how John Keats and Fanny Brawne wrote letters, though that whole thing is rather tragic. We won’t go there.

 

I love letters. Have I mentioned that a time or two? *said with tongue in cheek* I’m sure you could search my posts for just letters and find all kinds.

 

I long to write a lover a love letter. Pull out my red wine ink and pen something that is romantic. And this bit of flash fiction made me think of that and unrequited love, which has hit me a time or two.

 

Telling Fortunes

Published in the US - 1895, US Playing Card Co...

Published in the US – 1895, US Playing Card Company (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m not someone that believes in the occult, nor do I go for all that mystical thing or fortunes or tarot…. I am honestly a Christian.  But I am still fascinated by things like fortunes or tarot.  Just because. I can’t explain it. And even in the Bible, games/lots were thrown. It technically wasn’t biblical, and it doesn’t follow along with trusting God.

But again, it still interests me.

Someone in my life is frustrating the heck out of me and I just found out today I don’t rate as high in his life as he does in mine.  It’s rather depressing and I’ve been trying to mentally deal with that.  A few years ago I found this fun way of determining who you will end up with using playing cards.  Yes, I suppose it is rather ridiculous in the scope of things, but I decided to play with it today.

Here is the original link.  How to tell if he likes you, and other sleepover occult games

So, I just ran my cards, picking the main person, someone new and a possibility, someone who I don’t consider but like talking to, and then someone I can’t stand.

The results….. Um, I ended up with the one I wanted, and it was relatively decent in the scope of things.  I suppose if one believed in this, it would be hopeful…..

But I don’t believe in tarot………. Do I?