BLOG OF THE WEEK - How To Write a Poem When You're Blocked: A Reprise With Elizabeth Crawford

There are times when the words won’t come, when our cupboards are empty, and there is not even a bare old bone for the dog to be had. I had such a time in 2016, and our friend, Elizabeth Crawford, who writes at Soul's Music,  offered me a step by step exercise in how to write a poem when you’re blocked. As I followed the steps, and produced a poem, it occurred to me that this info might be very handy for many of you. So we did a chat about it. Recently, I was looking through some of the chats we have done here at Poets United, and happened upon it again. I thought it might be nice to re-visit this exercise, for those of you who are more recent members. And those of us who have been around a while can always benefit from a refresher. Let’s dive in!

Elizabeth: How about I walk you through a step by step process of building a poem? Giving you the steps one at a time, maybe three or four steps.

First step is a stream of consciousness list. But you must make some preparation. Make sure you are in a place and time where you won’t be interrupted. Have clean paper and pen. Have some kind of timer near at hand and set it for five minutes. Sit down and relax. Breathe in through your nose, then slowly release it through your mouth as though you are blowing out a candle gently. Do that three times. It is a signal to your subconscious that you are ready to begin.

Sherry: Ready!

Elizabeth: I’m going to give you a word.

Let it float through your mind and begin your list. One or two words, a short phrase, whatever comes into your head. Try to be specific. Use actual names of whatever you see or feel coming at you. People, places, feelings, things, animals….whatever. Continue to write for as long as you can, but for no more than five minutes. No going back to look before you are finished. This is a stream of thoughts, associations, reflections, feelings, nothing more. No sentences, just a few words to remind you.

(For those following this at home, I have a couple of suggestions. 1. What I call word roulette: open a book, or a copy of a favorite poem and after closing your eyes, drop your finger on the page anywhere. Use the word your finger is pointing at. 2. Call a friend and ask them to give you a word, any word that pops into their head. 3. A dictionary works fine, or a thesaurus. 4. Go to past Wordle list posts and do the same thing. 5. Spend a few minutes thinking about your favorite season of the year and create the list of sense imagery from that. Then select a second word from a stream of conscious writing about your favorite activity. 6. Choose a favorite color and write about what it says to you and how you feel about it. Then use that stream of consciousness writing to find a second word by closing your eyes and simply dropping your finger into those contents. 7. Last, but never least, write about writing. What you like most, and least about it. And I also find that words in opposition often work into quite interesting pieces. Choosing the first word and then using an antonym for the second word brings out some very challenging and entertaining ideas.

When we originally did the exercise, I chose your two words very deliberately because you use them more than any others to define your own person, so I knew you wouldn’t have a difficult time relating to them and would have a wealth of material to choose from. I also knew it would make you laugh and that in turn would relax you and make it far easier to write.) 

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Sherry: At my end, I followed Elizabeth’s instructions to the letter. She sent me the word and it made me smile. It was “Wild”. I started writing and word after word flowed across the page. In four minutes I had written 27 phrases!

I was amazed. Since I was not inspired, not writing at all at that moment, that week, that month, I was impressed at how this process revealed itself to be so productive. This is when I began to think, if an actual poem resulted from this exercise, we would bring it to you to help you through your own thorny moments.

I emailed Elizabeth. What’s next?

Elizabeth: Another word, of course. And the same process repeated with the second word. I will send the word separately, so you can do it at your own convenience. Follow the same instructions that you used for the first word. Just jot down impressions, associations, memories, images, colors, feelings…..

Sherry: I dutifully printed off the second word, eyes averted, and set it aside till I had some time.

The second word was: “Woman”. LOL.

I cracked up! I did my five minutes of word-gathering. Along trotted the words, like eager little puppies. I dutifully wrote them down. Not inspired. Just whatever came: seventeen phrases, full of wildness. I was rather thrilled.

Elizabeth: Next Step: Take each of your lists created from the words and study them. Choose three to five from each list that best illustrate your personal sense of the word itself. Sense imagery is best, what we can touch, feel, taste and smell. But don’t eliminate something that you respond to strongly because it doesn’t seem like sense imagery. This is your poem, your words, thoughts and ideas. Choose items from both lists that best express that reality. 

Sherry: I went back and looked at my lists. I took those words and phrases that spoke to me most strongly, and listed them on a separate page from top to bottom, with lots of space around each. I was ready. It was Go-Time.

Elizabeth: The next step is the first line of the poem…..using the two words. Your first line is:

This poem is a wild woman…

And, yes, it may take the boomerang form, or go wherever you wish, using some or all of those items you got from your list.  Above all…have fun.

Sherry:  I applied myself to my list. What emerged on the page was a first draft. Then it was time to get serious. I didn’t have to work very hard before the poem was complete. A poem I was pleased with – and rather amazed by - emerged easily after the requisite trying, discarding and substituting of any repeated words.

Wow.

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Poet friends, this process absolutely works. We are excited to share this with you again, in hopes it may spark some poems when you need a little nudge.

Thank you, Elizabeth, for sharing your wisdom and techniques, for the love of poetry. You are a wonder. And thank you, Sister Wild Woman,  for all these years we have been so privileged to read your wonderful and amazing poems and chat with you about your dragons!

Elizabeth: Sherry, I haven’t been writing anything new for months. Thanks for this reminder and shoulder tap of invitation. My focus has been completely absorbed by the manuscript I'm working on. 

I’ve had a few things pop into my head that might go in the direction of poetry, but dismiss them because of that other Call. I just want to thank you for this opportunity to remember that I am a whole lot more than a “Book Maker.”

Sherry: Indeed you are. You are a very talented poet, and teacher. Thanks for a second look at this highly effective guide for writing a poem when we're blocked. 

We hope you enjoyed this, poet friends, and find it useful. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

POEMS OF THE WEEK: Speaking of Dragons, with Elizabeth, Annell and Myrna

We have a fun feature for you today, poet friends. Recently, Elizabeth Crawford, of Soul’s Music, Annell Livingston of SomeThings I Think About, and Myrna Rosa of Daily Spirit wrote poems about dragons. Elizabeth often writes wonderful conversations with her own personal dragons, so I was thrilled when Annell and Myrna wrote dragon poems as well. I can never resist a feature full of dragons! Let’s dive in, but carefully. We don’t want to get singed by hot dragon breath!

Marananthaheth

by Elizabeth Crawford

SNIPPET

Marananthaheth?

“Yez, little one…”

Do Dragons dance?

“Ummm, why yezz we do.
When we fly.
We flip, we frolic,
how do you zzay?
We loopdaloop.
Iz that not danzing?”

Yes, I guess so…
But do you hear
music, when you do
that?

“Muzzic? Umm,
do you mean
like when you zzing
a szertain zong,
and move your body
to the rhythmz
of the wordsz?”

Yes, like that…

“Little one, the Univerze
is filled with muzic.
Every planet, each sztar,
zings a different
szong. And, we dragonz
hear them all.
Do you know
that the treez,
here on your world
zing, each one, a different
zong, and how do you szay?
Harmonizze?”

Really? How I wish
I had the ears
of a dragon.

She leans down with a smile
and says, “We all have been
given giftz and limitationz.
Each szervez a purpoze.
But, know with
a szertainty, that you
have the ear
of thizz dragon.”

Elizabeth Crawford  4/18/2018

Marananthaheth

by Elizabeth Crawford

Elizabeth: On the spur of the moment, I agreed to do one word prompts for the month of April, poem a day challenge. Got about two weeks into it, and started feeling that draggy, tired, why am I doing this to myself feeling. So, I put up the word "dragon", for the next day's prompt. As soon as I did that, I heard the first stanza of this conversation and started laughing.

Then realized that, for the most part, the dragons, especially Heth, have stepped into that challenge to revive my willingness to continue, every time I've attempted it.

The rest of the poem fell into place quite quickly and was very satisfying when it was finished. I was back to knowing I was in the right place, doing the right thing for me.

Sherry: I always enjoy the deep truth that your dragons speak to you, Elizabeth. You are lucky to have your own personal dragons.

I loved it when Annell wrote the following poem. Let's take a peek:

Annell, in front of one of her art pieces

at an art show in Santa Fe

A DRAGON OF YOUR OWN

Of course the word is dragon

Your "familiar"

He goes where you go

He waits for you to catch up

He has lived long

The subject of many tales

He once belonged to a man from China

That is where he learned to read Chinese

And speak the words in his own way

He learned to fly ages ago

He lived in a castle

Loved by a queen

Played with children on the grass

Few people pay attention to him anymore

He flies around the neighborhood

Eats small dogs for lunch

He is what is called a gentle dragon

He will never eat you

I wonder, do you fly with him

Do you take him to school

He is as old as can be

Seen many things

But loves only you

Annell Livingston April 18, 2018

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Annell: I think in the back of my mind, I was thinking of Alice Walker’s book, The Temple of My Familiar.   A book I read many years ago.   In this book, each character is searching for his/her true identity, and their past serves as both an obstacle and the key to knowing their real place in history, society, and the world.  This book is full of many beautiful ideas and meanings about life, feminism, love and spirituality.   I cannot say how, but the ideas of this book began to weave with my ideas about dragons.

I saw the dragon as a metaphor or symbol that related to our history.   Each life spun out of the ancestors, many tales to be told.   Historically the dragon is a symbol of power, strength, and good luck.   He/she has control over water, rainfall, typhoons and floods.

In this poem, I was writing to Elizabeth’s prompt, for Ladies in Waiting.  I know that Elizabeth is especially fond of the dragon as her spirit animal.  I wanted to make him very personal.  He has lived many years, and at one time belonged to a man in China. 

I think I just dove in and he came alive, he told me about his life, and how people don’t pay much attention to him anymore.  

And then as if I were talking to Elizabeth as a child, and I ask does she fly with him, and does she take him to school?  And I acknowledge , her personal dragon loves only her.

Sherry: A truly delightful tale, and poem. I love it! Let's wrap up with Myrna's dragons, who are feeling a bit sad today.

Myrna's dragons,

created by Martha Roditti

THE GREAT DRAGONS MOURN THE WORLD

A long, long, long time ago

There lived a happy dragon family 

It relied on the power of magic 

That prevailed all around them

Vibrant greens, blues, yellows, reds
All the colors in the spectrum of light

Lived in everything 

Including their hearts

Which beat to the rhythm of rainbows

One day the magic changed

The dragon family was petrified

When colors of a darkened future were revealed

The dragons saw through space and time

Trees, plants, animals, flowers

Slumped until they died

Humans who refused to leave died too

The ones who left never found another paradise

All waters turned brown,
Grey the ground

Earth slowly wilted

The happy dragons were transformed

Into dragons that could only weep
Knowing the world would end
in dark permanent sleep
Their scales like raindrops fell

Because magic had no power over hell

Because when you know your Mother will die

All a dragon can do is cry

Myrna Rosa, April 22, 2018

 I made no attempt to infuse hope in my poem today, though I am hopeful for this earth.  But I just wanted to acknowledge the sadness I feel for earth as it endures...us.

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Myrna: My poem about the dragons was inspired by sculptured ceramic dragons created by my friend, Martha Roditti.  She is a creative, talented artist who typically makes whimsical pieces.  However, with these dragons, she diverted from her usual fun style and, in my opinion, produced a touching, evocative set of very sad dragons.

When I first saw these, I immediately felt the grief of these poor creatures who are helpless to save the world they love.  The art that most impresses us is art that reflects and expresses something that is already within us.  That is definitely the case for me and it led me to try to express in writing the sorrow in me, which they project.

Usually, when I write about the state of our world, I try to at least end a poem with some glimmer of hope.  Not this time.  I allowed myself to wallow in despair at the risk of fueling my fears too much.  It was a way for me to confront the depth of my dread realistically. Hopefully, I let it out, now I can let it go and work to nurture my optimism.

Sherry: I know exactly how you feel, Myrna. Those of us who are aware carry such grief for the state of the world, caused by humans. All living beings suffer because of one specie's mistakes. This poem rings very true for me. I try to hold onto hope, but there is a lot of pain as well, as the flood waters rise, the Arctic melts, and the forests burn or are logged to extinction. And the animals flee in terror. Sigh.

Thank you, Elizabeth, Annell and Myrna, for sharing your dragon poems with us today. They each have something important to tell us, and we love them very much. Do come back, my friends, to see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

BLOG OF THE WEEK - ELIZABETH AND HER DRAGONS

We have chatted with Elizabeth Crawford, of Soul's Music, earlier (here is the link),  about the development of her personal mythology, that infuses so much of her wonderful poetry. Recently she wrote a poem about her dragons, and I thought it would be interesting to ask her to talk a bit about them. Happily, she said yes. Follow me, wayfarer: this way there be dragons!

Sherry: Elizabeth, I am so looking forward to you telling us about your dragons. We are all ears!

Here, but for me, there be dragons

Am learning to speak myself
into being. With a word, a phrase,
can change where I’ve been, what
I might become.

Chart a course by inner compass
locked onto stars only I know
the names of.  Sail seas of inmost soul
pulled by currents of peculiar knowing

Traverse plains of tall grass
on padded paws, moving over
continents wrapped round
this spinning globe of spanned seasons.
Split darkness of interior canyons
on silent wings, seeking that life
which hides in deepening shadow.

Pen in hand, create a map of fine blue
lines, conquering worlds built by other
people’s definitions.

Make myth from these moments of owned
existence, confident in knowing that all
these dragons be mine.

Elizabeth Crawford  1999

Sherry: I love the phrase about speaking oneself into being. I think that must be what we do as poets, especially when we first begin to write.

Elizabeth: This is the first time I put the dragons into my poetry. It is the title piece of a small chapbook I created, which was all about writing poetry. The image is a pen and ink drawing I put on the back cover. I knew, from my History classes, that when the first explorers returned to their home ports, they had numerous maps that were then turned over to cartographers. After assembling the explored areas, the map maker would write in those areas that hadn’t been explored, here there be dragons (or monsters).

I was playing on those words. By that time, I was long out of school, and had begun tutoring certain individuals about writing, believing I had conquered my own fear of being vocal about my truths. In the poem, I claimed the dragons as mine. I guess they took me seriously, because they began to appear in dreams and spontaneous imagery. There were several of them, like 

Neosafalus

Neosafalus

He flew out of the deeper
mists of my inner world.
Thumped his way into
my living space, got up
into my face, and told me
that his name
is Neosafalus.

Whatever that might mean.
He’s a bit on the lean side,
certainly can’t hide the fact
that he is a dragon. Smells
somewhat of smoke, but
I didn’t choke at his
sudden appearance.

Have met his kind before,
know something of their lore,
and understand that he comes
with at least one lesson. They
are a superior breed, have
developed a need to help we
humans to be better
at being human.

He will take his time
and I’m willing to wait
on his discretion, because
whatever that lesson might be,
I already know it is needed.

Dragons live forever, so he
can afford to be patient
with me. We will learn how
to co-exist and when he
is finished teaching, he will
fly once again into those deep
blue mists, but will never
be forgotten.

Elizabeth Crawford  3/22/09

Sherry: One has to love a purple dragon. I love that the dragons come with a lesson. In our chat in 2015, we spoke about the development of your personal mythology. Did the dragons come later?

Elizabeth: I saw the dragons as a natural outgrowth of my Personal Mythology, which had been in place since before my years in College. The story of that creation may be found here:  https://1sojournal.wordpress.com/2008/12/13/a-tiger-named-pain/.

I began to deal with them in a like manner. Their particular physical appearance and their names were clues as to their purposes and meaning.

The color of the dragon is important because it identifies the lessons she/he has come to teach. The image of Neosafalus is a free coloring page, found online. I colored it with India Ink. He was purple, and for me, that means personal power.

The name is also important because it speaks to the dragon’s purpose. I didn’t have to go beyond that first prefix, because neo means newly arrived. I had been involved in a Grammy Nomination that had brought me into the spotlight on a local level, and had opened the doors that allowed me to give one-day workshops, and the tutoring experiences, and eventually to teach at two local colleges.

Sherry: Wow, that must have been a rewarding time in your life! A Grammy nomination! Congratulations! I love the story of the Tiger Named Pain. And I encourage our readers to read the more in-depth story about the emergence of your dragons which can be found here.

I especially love the motherly dragon in your following poem.

Marananthaheth

Dialogue With My Dragon

Zzo, little one, you have come
to my lair bearing questionz?

Not exactly…more for
inspiration. This poem a day
thing can be exhausting. Tired
doesn’t make good poetry.

But, I am a dragon child, and know
little of making poemz. Zzmoke and fire,
yez, wingz and dragon thingz, I may
zzpeak of, but poemz are zzomesing you give birth to.

Not without your help. You deepen
my awareness of all that surrounds me,
set a course, create a path through
this labyrinth of words and definitions.
Show me how to defend soul against
doubts and fears that would conquer me,
would stop me from expressing thoughts,
ideas, that you breathe fire into.

(She arches her neck, peers down at me
with a coy smile of pride) Yez, theze are thingz
I come to teach you. But, you had to chooze to learn them.
(Now it’s my turn to grin and preen with her).

Perhapz, az you are want to zzay,
thiz could be
your poem for today?

Don’t know if it is a poem,
but it sure makes
one hell of a story,
yesss?
And thank you.

(She smiles, then goes all serious,
leaning down so that one whirling eye
is level with my own),

Little one? Doez thiz
mean that I too
can make
poemz?

Elizabeth Crawford  4/26/14

Elizabeth: This poem was written toward the end of an April poem-a-day challenge. I was tired, as I was also giving word prompts based in some of my old pieces. Marananthaheth was in my head, as the words for that day had come from the here, but for me… poem. I had done internal dialogue pieces before and they were well received. So, I typed in the first lines, and then stalled. Same old, same old…people would think I’m nuts, gone round the bend, etc. My daughter stepped in and gave me focus and that is in the notes that follow the poem.

I wanted to express how much her presence means to me, and how important our relationship has been, even though it is imaginary. Dragons have gotten a bad wrap in Western culture. They seem to be seen as the Ultimate snake in the Garden, needing to be destroyed. A dreaded part of the human shadow within the psyche. But, in Oriental culture they are seen as benevolent beings, bringing gifts and prosperity to the human race. When you destroy a piece of self, you destroy the possibilities for further growth.

I got to my sense of the dragons through several avenues. 1. The Anne McCaffrey series about the Dragon Riders of Pern. 2. The movie Dragonheart, starring Dennis Quaid, with Sean Connery as the voice and personality of the dragon. 3. The Dragon Tarot, with the express purpose of self-exploration, not divination. 4. My continuing personal study of human behavior and how it develops.

That last one is, perhaps, the most important one. We develop a world view, a sense of the world, how it works, and our own role within that world by the time we are five years old. Rudimentary at best, but it remains the filter through which we develop our responses, including our coping mechanisms, to deal with whatever frightens or threatens our well being. They are the dragons, come to protect us as children. However, they remain in place and can prevent further growth, unless we make friends with them, and allow them to teach us how to grow beyond mere reaction, and into our full potential. 

So, Marananthaheth has a sibilant lisp to remind me of her origins. But, she also has a loving and nurturing nature, wrapped up in a need to see me prosper. She is red, the color of Creative Fire. She is my imagination, that which allows me (and her) to continue to grow. My desire, when writing the poem, was to make her as genuine and as likable as possible. 

Sherry: She is my favourite of your dragons. I can see her leaning down with her kind whirling eye.  I am also especially fond of  “13 Ways I See My Dragon,” which gave me the idea for this chat. Let’s read:

Digital painting titled Dragon's Lair

13 Ways I See My Dragon

Call her Heth, short for Marananthaheth
which, in her language, means nurturer.
She tells me that all Dragon names
end in that brief, breathed out syllable,
which means Home and all things
Dragon.

I
Bright, shiny metallic-like, crimson scales
that glint in the poorest of light.
Warm dancing sparks of a bonfire,
or another bloody sunrise.

11
Whirling eyes that miss nothing,
especially rapid fire mood swings
of this puny human she calls,
“Little One,” with deepest affection,
that can be felt like a soft woolen shawl
draped over old woman’s shoulders.

III
Crooning an ancient dragon lullaby
that sounds like gentle bells
calling a soul home from distant
indigo blue horizon.

IV
Personal patient Instructor
asking hard as stone questions,
yet willing to wait for months
for a stammering, unclear
thick as fog response.

V
On foot, slow and ponderous as an elephant
crossing a dry river bed,
but in the air, better than any bald eagle
I have ever seen. And far swifter.

VI
Wisdom as deep and turbulent
as an ocean, breathing fire
of life into all that surrounds her.

VII
Unknowing sense of humor
which results in laughter
that bounces off the walls
of her lair and moves
like a fresh spring breeze
to clear the air.

VIII
Restless shape-shifter, able to become
small enough to rest in palm
of hand or, in an instant, grow
to height of a towering skyscraper.

IX
Keeper of the Keys, and Guardian
of The Book of Dragons.

X
Knowing all other dragons
by name, past, present,
and future.

XI
Bends to welcome weight
of this puny human on her back
in order to fly her to distant stars
and other galaxies.

XII
Lover of Light and Enlightenment.

XIII
Protector of all things Elizabeth,
but especially of imagination.

Elizabeth Crawford  6/15/2017

Elizabeth: I don’t think this one needs an explanation. I like the 13 ways form and thought it was time to use it for the dragons, but especially Heth. 

Sherry: It is wonderful. Especially wonderful to have a “protector of all things Elizabeth”. How cool! Thank you, Elizabeth, for allowing us to make acquaintance with your dragons on a deeper level. We will enjoy watching them re-emerge in new poems as the months go on.

Wasn't this wonderful, my friends? Like being told a magical tale by someone who knows dragons personally, which Elizabeth does. We hope you enjoyed it as much as we did. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

POEMS OF THE WEEK - WENDY, MYRNA AND ELIZABETH

This week, my friends, we have poems of inspiration from Wendy of Words and Words and Whatnot, Myrna, of Daily Spirit, and Elizabeth, of Soul's Music. The poems seem to share  a theme of digging down deep to hold onto peace and hope, in the midst of the turbulence around us. We hope you enjoy them as much as we did.

Wendy recently wrote a poem that spoke to me. As much as we love and fear for Mother Earth, it is in her wild places, by her lakes and rivers and forests, that we are most likely to restore our peacefulness. Let's read.

P.M. Bourke photo

THIS PLACE OF GIANT STONES

Again, last night, I dreamt that I was falling – as I often have, throughout the slumbers of my life – though lately, such dreams, have lost their ability to bother me … much. I suppose if you experience anything enough times, over a long period – and live – it loses some of the power it once had, to alarm.

In other aspects of my life, as well, I seem to be developing – in my senior years – a different relationship with fear. As the panoramic vista of the valley of the shadow begins to come into view – albeit, off in the distance (though clearly there is no getting around it) a trepidatious acceptance has started to settle upon me. Though I know (all too well) that, tragically, life can end at any age, the expectation is that human life spans will follow a predictable pattern. Having had the good fortune to stick to that pattern, I am grateful that I have been blessed with (what my Mother used to refer to as) a 'good run’. I like to think I’ve struck a pretty decent bargain for myself … a kind of just-let-me-roll a fair way beyond my threescore years and ten – and I’ll be good to go. I am curious to see if that bargain holds.

This acceptance of the inevitable, may always have been a feature of deepening age … though, the scale of the turbulence and destruction of the times that we live in probably makes coming to terms with our mortality considerably harder than it was for our ancestors. They had planted their seeds (figuratively and/or literally) on a beautiful earth and those seeds would flourish, long after they had passed. Today we – all of humankind – are leaving this planet with far less optimistic prospects. And that – for most of us – is not a nice feeling – and not the way we would choose to leave it … if we had a choice. In effect, we will go to our deaths in fear … in fear, for our beautiful planet. … and all that lives upon it.

That is my – greatest – fear … and I know it is a deeply felt concern that many of you share. I fear for the children of this world. What a world we are leaving to those innocent little souls. I am afraid for their future, and I am afraid for the planet that we are in the process of destroying.

When I was a very young child, a shocking scene from a war torn country came into our living room via the nightly news. And when I asked my Mother what was going to happen to the people that had been filmed, she said: “Life finds a way”.

And so, I turn, again and again, to the sky and the sea and the forests and such places … that are life affirming, and to such people … who are active and engaged in initiatives to heal this earth. I do what I can, to try and make a difference. And I live in the hope that … life will find a way.

this place of giant stones
that time and river transform –
in the vastness of this earth …
so many miracles
waiting to happen

We have come to a place where, those of us, who love this earth … live … and die … in the hope … of miracles.


Sherry: I resonate with the feeling of acceptance, of inevitability. A deep resignation is coming over me, who has for so long believed in the transformation of human consciousness, that light will triumph over darkness. Like you, I find my peace and strength in the wild places, that so want to live, to survive, as does Mother Bear and Sister Wolf. As do the struggling peoples of the world.

I share your hope for miracles. And I love your mother's quote: "Life will find a way."  With or without us, she will. 

Wendy: “This Place of Giant Stones” came out of my very strong concerns about the damage that is being done to our planet earth – primarily over the last one hundred years, through human-caused (anthropogenic) climate change. 

In 2007, The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (a panel of 2,500 scientists in 130 countries overseen by the United Nations and the World Meteorological Organization) warned that millions of human lives and nearly a third of the planet's wildlife and plant species could be wiped out if global temperatures rise as little as 1.5 to 2.5 degrees Celsius.  The panel predicted a rise of between 1.8 and 4 degrees Celsius by the end of this century, if measures are not put in place to reverse the current trend.

That stunning prediction was issued 10 years ago.  Since then, very little – in terms of what is required to stem this looming disaster – has been enacted.  I find that terrifying:  not for myself (I have lived my life); I find it terrifying for the children of this earth and for all life on this planet. 

I think, people of conscience, have always been predisposed to extend their vision beyond day-to-day concerns.  But the issue of global warming brings a whole new urgency to awareness and active engagement, simply because it is an issue that cannot be ignored.  We all must do our part to try and heal this planet.  As a writer, I write of my concerns … and the impending dire, consequential end result of climate change – is a big concern. 

Personally, as a poet, I find that the haibun and prose/tanka forms, work well as poetic vehicles when writing to extrospective issues (some might say:  universal issues)  – and I have found myself turning to that prose-poem format more and more, lately.  Perhaps it’s a sign of the times.  

Sherry: I share your worry, Wendy. With the new regime in the U.S., I am newly alarmed. The planet doesn't have four more years to neglect climate change.  Those predictions are very sobering. We are feeling the affects already, in many places. 

Thank you for this powerful poem, and for sharing your knowledge and your concern. 

Myrna wrote a poem that really spoke to me. With all the No's on the nightly news, Myrna found an Inner Yes. I think her poem will help us to find ours, too. Let's read:

RUNNING TOWARDS HOPE

I'm giving up
No longer will I persist
Expending energy like fumes
From an old bus
Dark smoke polluting my lungs
In stead my heart will
Positively beat
A different drum
Whose noise rises
Above
the tunes of doom
That I fear

No longer will I focus on what
May be inside black holes
I'll turn my cheek the other way
Only looking where the moon is bright
Enough to illuminate my night
Though I know it is the night
That may reign
In hearts like coal
Waiting to burn
Us, who resist
The blindness of dark power

I will say NO to thoughts
Of peril, feelings of helplessness
That haunt my emotions
I'll let my shadow cling
Trying to defy the sun
While I keep running
Reaching for the brilliance
Of my YES

Sherry: We must reach for the brilliance of that YES! Wonderful, Myrna.

Myrna: "Running Towards Hope" came about after a dinner out with friends.  After we talked about our lives, the inevitable discussion arose.  We are all concerned about the condition of the world, One of my friends spoke about the importance of not succumbing to the weight of the world's problems.  She talked about need to keep our energies in high vibration so that we not only resist negative forces but overcome them.

She spoke of how we need to maintain our spirits high so that we vibrate at higher frequencies.  Then she asked what we all do to rise above the grief when we are feeling low.  There were many responses.  Some refrain from watching the news, others seek the company of children, others meditate.  I realized that at one time or other I also did all these things.  But nowadays I usually elevate my mood by going outside, walking, spending time with nature.   I also get a lot of joy from drawing and painting too but I get the biggest burst of high energy, happiness?, when I write a poem that I especially like.  I know I am not yet at that place of joy, of being able to escape the effects of  what goes on in this world, but I'm trying to take my friend's advice and run towards hope. Though I clearly see the negative, I will try to stay positive.

Sherry: And I will, too, Myrna. Your friend is right. We need now, more than ever, to be beaming positive into the world, to assist the transformation of consciousness, to not let the dark side win. Thank you for this beautiful and wise poem. It is inspiring.

Elizabeth's poem is about turning to one's inner resources for strength - as well as to our online friends, who know our hearts so well. Let's take a peek:

something about a grain of sand
and how the part is a manifestation of the whole

___Thotpurge

GRAIN OF SAND

I see the pity in your eyes
when you find me here
always in these rooms
alone in a world, I seldom
enter.

Joke about being a Hermit
and, although you smile,
it is softly thinned by nodding
glint of darkness and
disapproval.

You are aware of the gap
and curvature at base of spine
that continues to shorten
my stature, while slowing gait
of others who walk alongside.

Yet, I accept that you don’t
understand, how easily I slip
into this chair, type a few words
and am instantly in touch
with a world beyond your ken.

Because my ‘friends’ are people
who love words, I have tasted
exotic spices of India, smelled
pale orange roses of Australia,
and walked the beaches
of British Columbia with a wild
black wolf, at my side.

You shake your head sadly, say,
“You need to get out.” And never
know how, each day, I travel
further than you have ever dreamed
of being.

Elizabeth Crawford  4/24/2017

Sherry: I am a hermit, too, Elizabeth, so I really resonate with this poem. And with the online community being our connection to other poets, and to the wider world, and that being more than enough. I especially love your closing lines. It is true, we travel farther than our real-life people ever dream. I love this poem. 

Elizabeth:  This poem came very quickly. On the spur of the moment, I decided to use the idea of “Inspiration” for the April PAD Challenge. Specifically, where I find it. Which meant many of my poems for the month were inspired by lines, or words, I found in other online poets’ work. 

When I read the line from Thotpurge's Unfaithful Eye, I immediately began hearing echoes of other words thrown at me through the years, by family and friends.

My Mother: "You are still young enough to find a nice man to take care of you." My response: "Can’t find what I’m not looking for."

Older Sister: "Are you sure you are not a lesbian?" My response, after hysterical, raucous laughter: "Yes, I’m sure."

Both friends and family: "But, why would you do something you don’t get paid for?" My response: "Because I love doing it and find the deepest satisfaction in that process?"

The poem itself is a deeply personal response to someone I love and cherish, someone who believes that the time I spend on the computer, writing, is akin to the nerds who turn away from living and get lost in gaming and such. And although this individual knows all about my physical disabilities, and loves me, she is dedicated to getting me out and about, believing that will cure all of my ‘ills’.

After writing it, I finally remembered a piece of scripture that helped me to understand a bit of where it came from:

New Living Translation
"Hypocrite! First get rid of the log in your own eye; then you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend's eye."

Which brought me back, full circle, to Thotpurge’s "grain of sand." And also reminded me that a Prophet (for me that means Poet), is never totally embraced in his/her own home town, or space. 

Sherry: I love the equation of Prophet = Poet! And I laughed almost as hard as you did, at your family conversations. We poets are such a conundrum to our families. Smiles.

Thank you, Wendy, Myrna and Elizabeth, for this thoughtful sharing of how you each draw from your depths the resources that get you through and keep you strong. I feel newly encouraged by your words. I hope our readers do as well.

Isn't it wonderful to read the wisdom of three such strong women, my friends? I love it! Do come back, my friends, to see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!