One Stop Poetry!
Today my guest is shewriting (aka Sheila Moore). Her poetic intentions and reasons why she began writing prompt me to reconsider the powerful creative outlet of poetry. Sheila's posts on the She's Writing Blog and for One Shot Wednesday, in addition to being lyrically emotive, are clear in tone and presentation. Through varied line structuring, and effective use of imagery, shewriting composes lines to which many readers relate.
A Poet's Journey...
"I started writing when I was ten years old as a way to express and process my feelings. Writing was the only healthy emotional outlet I had for a long time and it continues to be one of several that I have now....
"At age eleven, I attempted to write my first book. I had just returned home from a week-long Girl Scout camping trip where I met several girls who were dealing with serious life issues such as addiction and eating disorders. I felt compelled to write, to make sense of the confusion and sadness I felt for these girls. However, I became discouraged as I quickly realized that I did not have the perseverance required to write a book. At this point, I believe that my poetic muse was born."
Shewriting's Motivation to Express Emotions....
"As a writer, I feel successful when three God-given assets are present during my creative process. These assets are inspiration, passion, and skill. For me, success is not solely dependent on positively touching another person’s soul, although when this happens I consider it a precious bonus. My best inspiration usually comes from life experiences that elicit intense emotional responses. My passion for the written word stems from a need to express difficult emotions such as anger and fear in a way that makes them less foreboding and to record pleasant emotions such as joy and love in a way that makes them everlasting."
"As a musician uses notes to compose symphonic masterpieces or a painter uses colors to create breath-taking portraits, a successful writer uses words to construct poetic oeuvres." —shewriting
she writes LOVE on her arm
she wants to live a long lovely Life
but demons whisper under their breath
daunting words abuse her sanity
and evoke menacing thoughts of death
she wants to be open to other Options
than those which hopeless perspectives create
for in making the ultimate sacrifice
all truth and goodness are lost to self-hate
she wants to unveil a vast Void
that people, places, nor things can fill
her ego claims it can save her
while her spirit cries out for God’s will
she wants to expose ego’s Exploits
all its fallacies and empty lies
for some who come to believe in them
fall victim to unjust suicides
Hold My Hand
A warm summer breeze blew strands of auburn hair across her soft, youthful face.
He held her hand and offered the ring. She answered with a fierce embrace but thought…
Will you hold my hand when dark clouds move in and a storm brews up above;
When the anger in our acts and words overshadow our sweet love?
Will you hold my hand when lightening strikes and tears fall down like rain;
When lovers’ quarrels burn like fire and affection flows down the drain?
Will you hold my hand when dense fog sets in and we are blind to the other’s care;
When bills pile up and time slips away and the kids are all that we share?
Will you hold my hand when strong winds whirl and a tornado touches down;
When good health is in peril, jobs are lost, and devastation is all around?
Will you hold my hand when hot days turn cold and sickness ferments our pride;
When fear freezes time and for us to survive, our love can no longer hide?
Fifty years later, a warm summer breeze blows strands of silver hair across her elderly face. He holds her hand and offers a ring. She responds with a tender embrace and listens…
We have weathered life’s storms, the squabbles, the bills,
The jobs, the kids, and all of the ills.
My lover, my mate, and my best friend,
I hope you knew I would always…
hold your hand.
Willingness is the Key
Where is the key
I cried earnestly
I need the key
to be happy
Look under the bed
behind the bed
or out in the shed
I dropped to my knees
begging God, please
I’m on my knees
full of dry heaves
I fell to the floor
they called me a whore
I laid on the floor
‘til they walked out the door
I stood up in the room
mesmerized by the groom
we danced in the room
and ingested the ‘shrooms
I sat in the chair
and tried not to share
the cards dealt to my chair
a royal flush, no a pair
I pulled up to the table
and ate ‘til unable
to stand up from the table
I belonged in a stable
The key, the key
I want to be happy
I need the key
please give it to me
The key that unlocks
where happiness docks
the lock of all locks
that humanity mocks
Wasn’t found hiding
under my bed biding
no action, just hiding
from life’s daily tiding
It was not in the shed
with the car, shiny red
nor in the weight that I shed
or in the people I wed
I did not find it in ale
nor in any male
drugs caused me to ail
gambling, too, did fail
There wasn’t enough
food I could stuff
nor was money enough
why was it so tough
To bring happiness here
in what’s not seen in a mirror
right here, right here
where there’s pride and there’s fear
Only after the fall
as I do recall
first I had to fall
to know at all
About the key
I could never see
because the key
was inside of me
"A skillful writer knows not only how to find the right pieces or words to use but also knows how to fit those words together in a way that creates the clearest, most meaningful portrayal of his or her message. I think that skill development comes from practice, studying others’ writing styles, formal training, more practice, constructive feedback from others, good mentoring, and more practice. God willing, writing will be a life-long endeavor for me, which brings to my spirit much excitement and gratitude. "—shewriting
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Comments & feedback are always appreciated!