Too much time has slipped away since I last posted . . . much of it creatively productive, I'm happy to say. Now, with a humble request for your indulgence, I'll try to bring this blog up to date in a literary genre with which I've rarely experimented: poetry!
1. ON FALLING IN LOVE WITH KAUAI AGAIN (Freeform):
Boasting roosters challenge the first golden light
That strings a molten pathway across restless waves.
Palm fronds dance a seductive hula to the music of the breeze,
Warm with sea brine and the scent of plumeria.
Feral cats pace stealthy through yellow-flowered scrub,
Scaring up a tsunami of tiny green dinosaurs.
Under the caressing surf, champagne sand bubbles,
Erasing the trail of my meandering passage.
A pearly shell, and driftwood twisted in an old man's smile,
I kneel at the brink of a tide pool as minnows dart from my shadow.
For a while, I linger in the crowd of coconut oiled tourists,
Umbrella-garnished Mai Tai sweet on my tongue.
Soon though, the green depths of tropical forests beckons,
Whispering of hidden waterfalls cold from jagged peaks.
Gnarled roots stair-step up a path slick with red mud.
"Place your feet carefully," the goddess says.
"My beauty requires caution."
I climb slowly through trees orgiastically embraced by vines,
Razor-edge mountains appear and are lost again in the mist.
Rain drifts across the sky, sudden soft waves easing sun-burnt skin,
And quickly chased away by a peek-a-boo sun.
In the benevolent storm's wake, waves sparkle white,
Enhaloed in a transparent arc of iridescent color.
2. ON MY WRITER'S RETREAT IN BANFF (Haiku series)
Glaciered mountain crags
Tower above snowy Banff.
I am here to write.
A writer's retreat.
Four days to finish my book
With like-minded souls.
Sunrise gilds the frost
Sparkling on my room's window.
I rise, determined.
Thesaurus at hand,
Computer in front of me,
I lose track of time.
Outside for a smoke,
The crystal air numbs my face.
My boots crunch on snow.
Black night, diamond stars.
I join my fellow women
Who also love words.
We talk of our books,
Our memoirs and poems and plans.
The Oxford Comma.
Laughter over wine,
And a collective groan at
Every day we meet
Between bouts hunched at our desks.
So near to "The End,"
I spend my last day indoors,
Finally, I rise
With a mission to complete:
Time to buy champagne.
Corks pop, bubbles rise.
Who better to toast with than
My sisters? My tribe?
3. ON REJECTION LETTERS (Limerick!)
My novel's finally finished, I'm thinking,
So to agents' websites I'm linking.
But they wield all of the power,
Reject my query in under an hour,
It's no wonder that writers start drinking!
4. ON HOW CHARACTERS TAKE ON A LIFE OF THEIR OWN (Especially relevant to me right now as I begin on Book Three of my trilogy, and I'm not sure exactly where it's going to go!)
What journeys will they take me on,
These offspring I've created?
What winding road will they opt for?
To what prospects are they fated?
Sacrilege, perhaps, breathing life
Into sparkling motes of imagination.
My punishment lies in discovering
The perils in the power of creation.
With no beating hearts, no pulsing veins,
No corporeal presence, but still . . .
Their smiles, their fears, their motives, their thoughts
To me, become astonishingly real.
"I know you," I murmur in affection,
Gazing in pride as they stretch their wings.
"I'll set forth the path you shall follow,
For I know what your future brings."
I set them into scenes of peril,
Deep contemplation, or the agonies of love.
"I shall guide you," I say in a whisper.
"Please trust me. I watch from above."
For a while, they follow quite willingly
Through every wild turn of events.
Then a beloved child balks and cries out,
"What you're having me do makes no sense!"
"You brought me into being as a timid soul,
Yet now you ask me to laugh blithely at pain.
Sure, I've grown, but not to the point of
Doing things that for me are insane."
"I know best," I insist. "Now, just do it."
He shrugs. "You'll be sorry, I fear."
Then to my profound consternation,
The false note rings through loud and clear.
Reeling in shock, I sag back in a panic,
My narrative plans shattered and crumbled.
He whispers, "Hush, now. Just follow my lead."
And I nod, enlightened and humbled.
Free will had blossomed in my children,
And I learned in their act of rebelling,
To let them help navigate this adventure.
After all, it's their story I'm telling.