Featured Poet: Eric Alder, winner of humorous poetry contest

One Stop Spotlights Eric "Bubba" Alder
 

Welcome to One Stop Poetry. Dustus here to introduce today's guest, Michigan blogger Eric Alder—winner of our Humorous Poetry Competition!

As you may recall back to when I hosted Week 22 of One Shot Wednesday, I introduced a Humorous Poetry Contest. Many brave poets submitted poems to be read on a future episode of The Arts Web Show —written, filmed, and edited by artistic blogger Richard North (aka Kseverny). Unfortunately, there can only be one winner, and for this contest Richard chose Eric Alder's narrative poem entitled A Fine Kettle of Fish. As a result, and in addition to providing the link to the video clip presenting a reading of A Fine Kettle of Fish by Eric Alder, I am pleased to both feature Eric and spotlight three of his excellent poems.

Eric "Bubba" Alder

About Eric (in his words)....

"I got started writing in a college Creative Writing class. I had to keep a daily journal and write something (anything) every day. I did the 'dear diary' thing at first, then started writing funny stories. As I learned more about them, I began trying other types of writing.  (I got an "A" in the class) ...I've always been a reader.  I first got into science-fiction—still my favorite genre. About ten years ago I decided I wanted to read more of the 'great books' of literature. Then, five years later I got into poetry, which opened up new creative vistas for me.... I started blogging in November 2007, on my now defunct Windows Live Space, which has since been migrated to WordPress."

Eric's Sense of Humor...

There have been many instances where I have visited someone's site during One Shot Wednesday to read a comment by Eric that is both timely and extremely witty. And when it comes to his poetry, whether it shines through his words overtly, or lingers subtly between his lines; his sense of humor is ever present. However, as you are about to discover, Eric's attention to precise writing implements humor as just one aspect of many quality features that comprise his work.

Following my favorite poem of his that was dedicated to his wife (Perfect Enough), Eric shares with us both his personal favorite (Earth Mother's Song) & his poem that received the most comments (Curse You, Sylvia Plath).

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Perfect Enough
(for my wife Tammy)

You wonder why I love you so
You just can’t understand
My love for you just seems to grow
Each time I hold your hand

When you look in the mirror
You don’t like what you see
I can’t make it much clearer
You’re beautiful to me

You note each imperfection
And notice every flaw
I tell you with affection
Those things I never saw

I look a little deeper
And see the good inside
I know that you’re a keeper
That cannot be denied

You think your hair is just plain brown
And sometimes out of place
I like the way that it hangs down
When you’re kissing my face

The prettiest eyes I’ve ever see
They look so blue they twinkle
But then again sometimes they’re green
Perhaps it’s some new wrinkle?

But most of all I love the way
You always show you care
Even on the roughest day
I know that you’ll be there

The truth is plain to see indeed
It shouldn’t be too tough
Our love is everything we need
And that’s perfect enough

**********

Earth Mother's Song
 
I’ve seen a broad field awash in fog,
gray-blanketed like a misplaced pond.
That same field, one dark summer morn,
lay a-twinkle, festooned with bright fireflies.

I’ve seen a great horned owl appear,
alighting atop a tall pine, majestic and wise.
Resting briefly, then silently swooping down
to disappear into the dark woods.

I’ve seen a pine martin stealing along,
dipping between the fallen birch and cedar,
popping up unexpectedly in a new spot,
red eyes glowing in my flashlight beam.

I’ve heard a tom turkey’s questioning call,
seeking to uncover this brash imposter.
A slow, hidden funeral procession
bursting forth to claim their roost.

I’ve heard lake echoes of spring frogs peeping
seeking mates among the green reeds,
the surrounding din of a million crickets creeping
on a hot August night, throbbing with life.

I’ve heard thunder roll along for miles
'til a blinding white flash strobed silhouettes
of stark, stiletto tree shadows all around
and the deafening clap froze me in place.

I’ve smelled the sweet, pine-scented winds
that blow through the north woods, thick
with undertones of green moss carpets
and ferns inexplicably bright in the shade.

I’ve smelled the musty down of a grouse
that loudly took flight at my approach,
unseen through the yellow aspen boughs,
revealing this visitor clumsy in his ream.

I’ve smelled an oncoming storm
blowing in from the west,
deepening the sense of isolation,
submersion in a still-wild place.

As a child I learned Earth Mother’s song
and it still sings deep within my heart.
I learn a new verse each time I venture
into those places where she yet dwells.

****************

Curse You, Sylvia Plath

Curse you, Sylvia Plath
For making me care
To love your words
Words that nail and rail

Tearing up-down walls

Curse you, for your daddy
No one else could have been
Lady Lazarus in a bell jar
Life, a lie, alive

Hiding behind perfect Arian features

With clean, fashion-sensible shoes
You walked on big city streets
Wet and dirty and litter-strewn
Sweater warm against the cold wind

You would have blown away like a bright kite

I want to fill you on your hospital bed
Watch your cheeks flushing red
With blood the ghouls will later drain
Blood you’ve already tried to let flow

Flowers wither and wilt, unwanted

Why wasn’t I a tulip
Born that much sooner
Just to be yours for awhile
Another unloved lover

Sacrifice sung, then eaten

But you moved in other circles
Traveling about your world
A cold world I can never know
Except from what you tell me

Inscribed in indelible black

Feeling the world too deeply
Drowning in too many seas
While the desert inside
Left your soul arid as

Your words seeped out

Could I had saved you
From yourself, the world
To just be a ragdoll, limp
Would I even care then?

Or do I care because I did not?

Curse you, Sylvia, my dearest
For drawing-out knives
Sharp-tongued words
That break and cut skin

Bleeding as real as now

 ****************

Check Out Eric Alder's main blog: Bubba's Place

Eric also maintains 2 other separate blogs on Blogger:
Haiku blog: http://haiku-koo-koo.blogspot.com/
Photo blog: http://bifocalunivision.blogspot.com/

*Come watch the Video Clip of Eric's winning poem, as performed by the various characters of Richard North over at The Arts Web Show

Cheers,
dustus

A Saturday Celebration: Lord Byron

A Saturday Celebration:
Lord Byron, 1788 - 1824

Today at One Stop Poetry we celebrate the work of one of Britain's most famous poets, George Gordon Byron. He is  6th Baron Byron, born, 22nd January 1788, better known as Lord Byron.

Byron’s short life of 36 years was full of adventure and literary acclaim. From being revered as a national hero in Greece, for taking arms and fighting the Ottoman Empire in the Greek War of Independence, to the famous tale of being cooped up for three days during a “wet, ungenial summer” at the Villa Diodati, which  led to Mary Shelley’s famous novel, Frankenstein.

Byron shared the benefits and pitfalls of celebrity.  Affairs and scandals were to follow him throughout his life, including those of sodomy and incest. These things coupled with bouts of depression, extravagant, flamboyant and eccentric behaviour, an extreme temper, a club foot which caused a limp to blight him all his life, Byron certainly had many sources of inspiration.

Following a violent fever, he died, on 19th April 1824, whilst in Greece fighting for their independence. Such was Byron's standing that having been embalmed, the Greeks wanted to keep part of him with them. It is rumoured that either his heart or lungs remain in Greece. Byron's body was returned to England for burial at Westminster Abbey. However, due to "unquestionable morality" the Abbey refused the burial. He is buried at the Church of St Mary Magdalene, in Hucknall, Nottingham. 

He left behind a daughter, The Honorable Augusta Ada Byron, born 1815, who herself holds a notable place in history. It was she, who worked closely with Charles Babbage, the man who was widely regarded as the inventor of the modern computer, and is known for  being the world's first computer programmer.

As a leading figure in the Romanticism movement, Byron was a prolific writer, and it is his work that we wish to share and celebrate today. There have been so many poems to chose; I am sure you each have your favorites. Today I will leave you with three poems, starting with, perhaps, his most known, She Walks in Beauty, 

She Walks In Beauty
by Lord Byron (1814)

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

When We Two Parted

by Lord Byron (1817)

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted,

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sank chill on my brow— 

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame:

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me— 

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well:— 

Long, long shall I rue thee

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met— 

In silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?— 

With silence and tears.

Epitaph to a Dog

By Lord Byron (1808)

Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferosity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.

This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a DOG,
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead Nov. 18, 1808.

When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,

Unknown by Glory, but upheld by Birth,

The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,

And storied urns record who rests below.

When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen,

Not what he was, but what he should have been.

But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,

The first to welcome, foremost to defend,

Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own,

Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,

Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,

Denied in heaven the Soul he held on earth –

While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,

And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,

Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power –

Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,

Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,

Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy words deceit!

By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.

Ye, who perchance behold this simple urn,

Pass on – it honors none you wish to mourn.

To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;

I never knew but one – and here he lies. 

images all courtesy creative commons/wikipedia

One Shot Poetry Wednesday - Week 27

Welcome to One Shot Wednesday - Week 27

Welcome to week 27 of One Shot Wednesday. We hope you each had a wonderful holiday? I am you host for this week & my name is Leslie Moon, aka Moondustwriter one of the One Stop Poetry founders. We started One Stop Poetry six months ago to create a cyber site where poets, artists & creative types could join and share their insights and their work. We hope that you feel comfortable and welcome here?

One Stop Poetry has new things in the store for 2011. One of those started yesterday on our Monday Poetry Form day. Our intention is to give even seasoned poets a look at poetry forms they may or may not be familiar with. 

We are also creating an opportunity for poets to chat on #OSPChat on Twitter. We will be introducing twitter chat this Sunday the 9th at 3:30pm EST (8.30pm UK). If you are new to twitter, type in the hashtag (#ospchat) and it will connect you to others using the same hashtag (I use Tweet Deck but Hootsuite is also another good app for twitter). You must type the hashtag with each comment to be part of the conversation. Join us on Sundays to meet each other and talk about poetry.

If you are new to One Shot Wednesday, please feel welcome to participate by doing the following.

1, Write an original poem and post it to your blog

2, Link back to One Shot Wednesday from your post 

3, Sign up in the Mr Linky list,(use the URL from your blog) linking directly to your post, AFTER you've posted it. Mr Linky will be open from 5pm EST Tuesday (10pm UK)  until 3am EST Thursday (8am UK). If you need help with this, please ask.

4, Go visit others that have posted. This is a great way to learn new forms, meet new poets and gain inspiration for your next piece. though this is not mandatory we encourage you to visit at least one other poet and give some helpful feedback.

5. For some of you I need to stress - dont feel that you need to comment on each poem. Take in the inspiration of a few with a good cup of tea or coffee.

On behalf of  my fellow cohorts, Adam Dustus , Brian Miller, Chris Galford, Claudia Schonfeld, Gay Cannon and Pete Marshall - welcome and enjoy!!!!!

One Shot Poetry Wednesday (Week 26)

Welcome to One Shot Wednesday!

Hello, Everyone! I'm Adam Dustus, your host for this week's OSW. As 2010 draws to a close, it is my pleasure to begin the festivities for our final One Shot of this year. Before beginning, I'd like to officially welcome Gay Cannon (beachanny) to The One Stop Team. We are extremely fortunate for her skillful help (in addition to her overall wonderfulness); and in case you missed it, check out her excellent Monday post on a familiar face from One Shot Wednesday, Anthony Desmond Scott. 

*Also, don't forget about the One Shot Wednesday "Best of the First 6 Months Anthology." If you entered a poem in weeks 1 - 25, then you are eligible. Please refer to One Shot Wednesday Anthology for more information.

Okay, enough with the speeches, let's get right into it....
If you are new to our weekly poetry meme, here are the guidelines:

1) Write a poem (due to the growing number of links, please post 1 poem)

2) Link your post to One Shot via Mr Linky (put in your name & URL of poem)

3) Please visit the poetry sites of other One Shot poets & provide feedback

4) And don't forget to invite others to join in our community of online poets!

*All forms of poetry are accepted.

Thank you for your participation & support,
dustus

 

One Shot Wednesday: Poetry Week 22

One Shot Wednesday: Poetry Week 22

Welcome to One Stop Poetry! My name is Adam Dustus, and I'll be your host for our 22nd week of One Shot Wednesday.

While it may come as no surprise that things keep moving rather quickly here at One Stop, I'd like to take this opportunity to make a few announcements...

One Stop Poetry is now calling for submissions. If you wish to post an article, highlight an artist, or use our platform to promote a worthy cause; we'd like to here from you.

The One Stop Bookshop is up and in its early stages. If you have written a poetry collection, email us at oneshotpoetry@gmail.com Title the email "Bookshop," and if possible, include the ISBN code.

*******

*Contest Announcement:

Okay, this contest is non-traditional, promises to be fun, and even involves video skits... Our good friend Kseverny (Richard North), the creative one-man force behind the Arts Web Show, would like to read humorous poetry during one of his next episodes (TBA). I told him the One Stop Poetry community may be able to lend him a hand in a way that promises to expose the selected poetry to a large audience. In addition, One Stop will also post what he selects. Think about it.... Could you write a poem that will make us all laugh? If so, email your entry to adamdustus@gmail.com I'll send the poems to K without names attached so he will decide on the readings. Hope you will take part in the fun!

*******

One Shot Wednesday, here's how it works:

1) post a poem to your blog

2) link your poem to One Shot using Mr Linky, where you will be prompted to enter your name and the URL for your poem. The URL is the web address for your poem

3)Visit other One Shot Poets, as many as you wish. Tell them how you feel when you are reading, encourage and interact with them. If you wish to critique remember to be positive and constructive, negative criticism does not help anyone.

4) Tell others about One Shot Wednesday by including a link to this page on your post

I look forward to reading your posts.
Thank you for your participation,
dustus

Friday -One Stop Poetry Featuring Poet Jessica Kristie

With the holidays in the States our schedule is a bit askew. Adam Dustus is off shooting ducks or something so I'm (Moondustwriter) standing in with some fabulous poetry by Jessica Kristie
Just wanted to point out that Jessica is another talented lady who I met on - Twitter. If you aren't there, you should be.

Can you briefly tell me when you first started writing?
I began writing when I was about ten years old.  I was always a very emotionally in-tune little girl, and at an early age searched for some sort of outlet.  I believe I found this venue from a school exercise, then realized immediately it was freeing and very healing.  I wish I could say I have written continuously since then, but it has been off and on with a more consistent run the last five years or so.

What inspires you to write?
I have many inspirations and “processes” for writing.  There is certain music that rings to me as poetry. I play those songs to get me in the mood, and the place I need to be to write. Being a stream of conscious and emotional writer, the flow often needs to be stirred.  I have learned through the years to capture it better and even trigger it more than I was able to in the past.  I also find great inspiration in others writing and will often become inspired by even just a word.  Those moments I love the most and always hope I have a pen and paper close at hand.

What are your hopes and dreams with your poetry?
I just finished putting together my first collection of poetry.  It contains 50 poems and 5 prose poetry works.  I am submitting it to publishers along with a children’s book I wrote, that is currently being illustrated.  I also have a very exciting collaboration I am doing with a photographer. We are collaborating to bring to life a poem I wrote in 11 parts that tells a story.  It is more than just doing a photo to match the words; it is bringing the words out in a unique way. We hope to find a great venue to make it available to the public once it is complete. I am already working on a second manuscript of all prose poetry with hopes to also have it published in the future. 

What is your favorite genre?
Classics always seem to catch my eye from Frost to Neruda, but also find myself attracted to such wonderful poets as Maya Angelou. I continue to find that it is always the romance that pulls me in the deepest. Often it is darker, but romance just the same.  I do hold a place in my heart for the more humorous side of things. It always does me good to laugh and I try to - at least ten times a day.


While e-mailing Jessica,we discovered that we grew up relatively close to each other. My father lived in her home town until his death. We may just have to do a road trip to my favorite city (well one of them) San Francisco. Please enjoy Jessica's fine writing.

Tragedy’s Room

Today I want to put skin around my words

Turn sentences into limbs

And reach across the seas

Finding my way to your door

My blankets of consoling will never do this moment justice

History has been broken

A tear in life’s time table

“Why” lingers at the footsteps you watched from birth

Hands by your side that can’t seem to bring enough healing

This time

Trouble feels so beyond

What you can mend

Warmth can roam

Beyond our flesh

Far past aching bone

It will make its way back

Where darkness looms

Where loss and heartbreak

Now claim this room

Bows break future moments

Pausing time

Covering moons

Lingering in our present

Floating in the in-between

But hands do breathe volumes

When crashing into tragedies door

Look now and know

What strength they hold

Your grip

Your reach

Barriers breaking as we speak

This next poem is inserted into prose that Jessica posted. If you want to read the entire piece, please enjoy it on her blog.

~Nothing~

What poetic justice I weep from my pages

Yet I feel no sense of peace

Painting clouds with my finger tips across
an empty palette

A canvas that mimics hope yet whispers
only dreams

You can’t speak of change

When I Look at you and see the same

You can’t speak of love

When I can’t feel you break through me

I remember when

You speak of nothing

No words

No hope

No difference from one day to the next

Mediocre in this questionable decision

Maybe the hope is within a dream

Or maybe the needle has passed through

Now seamless

The two pieces have become

I remember when you told me

You would not give me up without a fight

When I walked away

You laid down so easy

And still you speak

Of nothing

You can contact jessica @jesskristie

Her blog http://jessicakristie.wordpress.com/

Photography:

Derek Tyson

http://www.flickr.com/photos/derricksphotos/189815067/

Ian Munroe

photograph//www.flickr.com/photos/ian_munroe/4059831412/sizes/m/in/photostream/

One Stop Poetry Featured Poet: Shewriting

Welcome to Dustus Friday on
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

And now 3 selected poems from 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

****************

"For me, skill is the most challenging part of writing. I equate it with putting together pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Inexperience or even impatience in some cases can cause me to force together pieces that somewhat but not perfectly connect. In the end, all of those pieces that only partially fit together cause the puzzle’s picture to appear incomplete, distorted, or unrecognizable."

**********

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
someone said
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
you see
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 

 ****************

*Photo of girl with Love on wrist by Cat

Check out She's Writing Blog @ http://shewriting.blogspot.com
Follow shewriting on Twitter http://twitter.com/Shewriting

Comments & feedback are always appreciated!

Cheers,
adam dustus

One Stop Poetry Spotlight: Dulce

Today I have the honor or turning the spotlight on a very passionate poet, Dulce. I honestly don't know where I met Dulce the first time, but if you drop by Sweeter Poetry, you will understand why I stick around.

Dulce has been writing poetry since she was a teenager, mostly in Spanish, and only for herself. She fell in love with lanuguage and literature and after reading so many great poets/poems at University, she started writing in english.

Today Dulce is 45 and an English Language teacher, teaching english to adults in Gran Canaria-Canary Islands. Enjoy! ~Brian

                                               Woman Coming from the Water by Fusunyeremyam

Perfect
This much I’ve learnt:

Cannot be always right
So hardly ever- in fact.
My knowledge
Keeps on being
That imperfect union
Between the outside
And myself.

But that constant link
With all its imperfections
Does not undermine
The importance of that bond
Of one thing
To the other...


My poetry is a reflection of what I have experienced in life, not only (though especially) love, but also any other human concerns. It's the best way to me to open my soul and get to understand my life and life in general. ~Dulce

Figure it out

I’ve disappeared through

These sheets and walls

That’s not only

Figurative.

From that start

When our hearts lost control

Knowing we were born

To grow apart

But still we insisted on

Sailing to non-existent isles.

Missing days filled

With memories

Of broken stars

As I woke up.

I’ve waited

I’ve dreamt

I’ve felt jealous and

As furious as a bear

…And I loved you

Anyway…

We could not catch the rainbow

But it was there for us to stare

From anywhere

…And you loved me

Anyway…

Guess that’s just

Figurative