Everyone has a beginning.
On the tree of life we start
As too green leaves
Bright, yet fragile
Sprouting upon wobbly limbs,
Reaching for the sun in the sky.
It is a beginning.
With spring, comes strength.
Buds burst forward.
We are steadier,
As the winds bend us,
Rain revives us, and
The early years melt away.
It is the middle.
Blossoms slowly open
And the days warm—
So do we—Friendships mature
And the paths we’ve taken,
Grow more complex and take many turns.
Roads branch out in too many directions.
The sun beats down upon us and we bask in the freedom of it.
When fall comes, the
Roots of your past conjoin with each other.
They enables and entrap, and
As pages of life fall to the ground,
A multi-colored array of experiences
Scatter to the wind.
This is the wisdom bought and paid for with life.
Winter settles in and wraps
Around you as your roods grow
More and more tangles together
Until by spring again,
They have become one mass,
Showing lifetime of information,
Decisions made and choices taken.
In the beginning, spring
Brought us together with
The subtle beauty of a Cherry tree
From beneath the snow:
Its blooms peeking up
Begging to grow,
And the lifecycle continues
Until the last petal falls.
G Skye 2016/2017
So obviously, we have moved my site to its own domain and I am really excited about merging my Poetry with my Fiction and Essays. With a poetry book coming out over the summer and two fiction collaborations happening, it just seems like the best time.
Over the past couple of years I have been asked if I could post about BEING a poet along with posting my poems, and so since people have asked, that’s what they will get. I am looking forward to sharing a lifetime of anecdotes on being a poet, even the part where it snuck up on me that I was!
Meanwhile, I have several new poems to post this week, and I hope you enjoy them and that you enjoy some of the essays that I will be posting from years past. They are going to be archived on the site and when we get them up, I’ll let you know!
Mind you, this is going to be a new adventure, but given that I have been recording readings of some of my sonnets (using Original Pronunciation for Shakespeare), I am starting to get a better feel for doing it and a slight better comfort with the entire idea. What it comes down to, is that I even I prefer to sometimes hear a poet read their words, so why should I be surprised that others want that of me, too. Keep an eye out!
Whispers in Twilight
My upcoming book “Whispers in Twilight”, a collection of poems written through out my life time up until now, spanning from 1985 (I was 11) to 2016 should be ready for Launch by August. We had some technical difficulties, but I’m feeling pretty confident that I can get things going now that the sun is shining and the ice has melted away.
As things come together, we will have more information, some promotions and a lot of poetry written on the fly to keep me from loosing my mind!
Have a wonderful day and enjoy Spring (it just got here in Michigan.)
Yesterday, I posted a poem here and to FB, etc. I deliberately indicated it was a Draft, in part because I wasn’t sure about it. Ironically, the cadence of the poem felt to me much like one that I wrote in 1987 when I was 14 and I worried that it would feel that way to others.
Yesterday my poem reached people in surprising ways, I got contacted by several people (even my own mom) about it and for different reasons.
This is why I publish my poetry. I write poetry because I am compelled to, I publish because every once and a while, it touches people.
I wish i could say
That it will all be okay,
And that the worry and fear
Won’t consume you.
So many years of the ups and downs;
Of trying to handle it all.
Just remember that this time
You are not alone
Oh my love, my heart and joy,
Would that I could
Wish all of these worries away,
And be a balm on your tired soul.
Instead just know, I am here, my love
And here I shall be
Whenever there is the need;
For oh how I love you so.
G. Skye, 2018 – Draft
I get asked this often, and while I am not certain that I have a definitive answer, I’m going to attempt to elucidate how poetry is part of my life and why I write it.
I don’t know that I ever looked forward at the life that I planned for myself and said “I want to be a poet when I grow up.” Astronaut, yes. Doctor or Firefighter, most definitely. I even eventually knew that I wanted to be a WRITER… (with all the teenage drama that idea entailed at the time.) Over the years, I became an Anthropologist and Researcher as that is in my bones, and wrote a lot on the side. I wrote my first poem when I was 8, at least that I remember, and I don’t think I every really stopped writing poetry since. It has always been a way I express myself, a way to get my thoughts down and to release an emotion, memorialize a memory or have a bit of fun.
Several years ago, I helped train students for Poetry Out Loud, a national Poetry reading competition– extemporaneous speaking with poetry. It is possibly one of the most fulfilling experiences with poetry that I have ever been part of and I carry it with me to this day. A few years later a friend casually asked me what it was like being a professional poet. I blinked somewhat idiotically at her and asked her why she thought I was a POET. She laughed at me, rightly, and pointed out that not only have I taught poetry, worked on coaching with Poetry Out Loud, but I also had about 400 poems ‘under my belt’. She then asked me how in the world I could not think of myself as a poet.
So, I of course had to think about this… and when I found myself to compelled to write poem about it, I realize that she might be right.
So, now that I acknowledge myself as a poet, rather late in the poetical game of my life, I have focused more on my poetry and spent time talking about it more to other groups of people. My favorite is when I get to talk to high school kids about poetry. They ask the most wonderful questions. My favorites: Do you need to be educated to be a poet? Does it take discipline to force yourself to write poetry?
These for me are the fundamental things that help me grow in my poetry. I have already said being ‘creative on demand’ has been the hardest job I have ever had. Now that I work full time at home, writing, editing and researching, sitting down at my desk and saying “I’m going to be creative today” can be such a struggle. It is important, however, to do just that. You have to create the habits of sitting down and writing if you want to keep things flowing continuously. While I don’t write poetry everyday or even every week, although I’m challenging myself to try that right now, I do try to write every day in some fashion. The process of writing keeps my mind sharp, it keeps me from loosing my verbal lexicon and allows an easier access to my more philosophical side.
I tend to write my best poetry after I’ve had time to think about what I am writing. I rarely writing in a moment of extreme passion, but rather my poetry is that of reflection. When I do write in ‘the moment’ it is often an extreme situation. Poetry, for me, is an expression of a single moment, and therefore once the poem is written (or sometimes even before it is finished) the moment has ended. When I write reflectively on something, it allows me to look at a situation or moment from more sides than I would when I write in the immediate flush of emotion. Each way is good and produces something wonderful and unique. I’m a happy poet, so there too, I tend to not write when in a bad or maudlin mood.
So, that’s why I write, and how, I suppose. Right now I am challenging myself to use my poetry to address things in our society and culture that need a spotlight pointed on them. I’m also started a new challenge to spend a year writing poems in Iambic Pentameter (Blank Verse). If you want to be a poet, look to those who have gone before you, learn their style and skills. Don’t learn them to copy them, learn them to expand your horizons and give you more skills and ingenuity to work with.
Scent is a funny thing to me.
It rules my memories
With an iron fist of
The incense burning on my alter
Comforts and protects,
Reminding me of days spent
In the shelter of friendship.
Ancient flavors and smells,
Their temptation soothes and
Wraps around me
Like arms around a well loved Child.
Hookah’s and twirling scarves
Delicate fabric falling from the hands of
Exotic dancers; imagery from a world
Extinct save for in our imaginations.
Scent is a funny thing to me…
It makes memories so much more
Potent and poignant with
The constant reminders.
Both past and present,
As they weave an intricate
Yet invisible blanket around me
Relax me and tuck me in.
Oh but the purple hues of sunset
Bleed tendrils into the midnight sky.
They urge us to dance beneath the stars
Spinning, twirling, just you and I.
Can you hear the drums?
Does the beat of wings
Keep time as your heart thrums…
And as we dance, to a tune of our own
The dust of twilight settles upon
Like glittering diamond, or crystalline snow
Upon a small, delicate frozen pond.
Listen to the sweet song
Of silence in these woods
In a place forgotten long…
Turn to me, and lay a kiss
Along my fevered brow.
Know how much of this I’ll miss
When dawn becomes the now.
Don’t cry as the birds rise
Beg not for more twilight time
For as you know every eve dies
To bring a us something new…
For a woman of words
They come less easily to me
When I try to tell you
The many things on my mind.
Willing them forth
Brings only confusion.
So, with impatient irritation