Romantic and longing for personal love has never been where my writing goes 95% of the time. My poetry, my therapy, expresses my faith and spirituality more than anything else. Romantic love finds itself last on my list – always more important things to consider.
By the Pond (Dreams, Imaginings, Musings) does not stand alone. Everyone seems to be writing trilogies and so am I. I am actually in my fourth book of poetry on my computer now. The next two will be like the first in form. The titles will layout the same and there will be three sections (new poetry, old poetry, poetry to parents and children). Sections one and three are almost set, it’s the middle sections that I find difficult.
In 1996, I put together a book called Papertiger (a selective journal) by Sidona Marie. I didn’t publish it but did have it copyrighted. It contained the poetry I kept from the period of 1993 to 1996. I burned everything else. I had personal reasons for wanting something documented and dated. I had not looked at Papertiger since 1996 and not until after I published By the Pond. I wanted to see how much I could remember and put in order after so many years later. A test of the reality of it all. While there are mistakes, I was surprisingly accurate. So to the point – to write the middle sections of the next two books, I must read all that old poetry and decide which book to put them in.
Now my head is in book four (a “normal” book of poetry). My poetry in many instances is not for the faint of heart. It, from the onset in 1977, has hinted of darker things. To finish the poetry of the next two books, I must emotionally go backwards but with my current perspective. Not easy – scars may fade but deep ones never quite heal. Those poems, not as well written, reach deep into a dark time for me. This means I must rework and clarify a line here there leaving the content alone – not changing the poems original meaning. This is a painful process I have had to put aside for awhile again. However, I will get it done.
I would like to describe a a poem that will be in book two (not giving away any titles – this one has the title I always thought would be the first). I wrote a poem for it called The Cornfield. It is a poem about a dream I still remember well. Jesus (standing) and me (sitting) on a dirt path next to a dried field of cornstalks. Some short words pass between us like friends would talk to each other – not like disciple and savior. We are exhausted from all we have both been through. In this poem I have written in two parts. The first part describes the dream, its setting, and the words that pass between us. Part two describes the emotions behind the exhaustion. I use childhood games turned sinister to demonstrate the terror and the trauma that has been inflicted. The idea that something once simple, safe, and fun changed, and you are given no choice but to play to survive and/or help someone else. It is kind of poem that, when I write it, feels like that dark trauma I won’t let myself see finds a voice and purges itself just a little more. There are not tears in this poem. It shows a becoming like what you hate a bit to survive and win because you can’t show your fear.
That’s all I want to say at this point. I am sorry – I am not sharing the actual poem at this time. My hope is that if you come away with anything, from this blog entry and my others, it is how important creative outlets can be. I hope you already know that because someone uses darker imagery does not mean they are all dark and evil inside. Some of us have to see the darkness to show the light. They walk hand in hand. Below is one of my favorite Bible verses about how God created all things.
The New Jerusalem Bible:
Ecclesiasticus / Sirach – Chapter 42:22-25
22 How lovely, all his works, how dazzling to the eye! 23 They all live and last for ever, and, whatever the circumstances, all obey. 24 All things go in pairs, by opposites, he has not made anything imperfect: 25 one thing complements the excellence of another. Who could ever grow tired of gazing at his glory?
My poetry has been my therapy over the years. In 1993, an unusual traumatic event occurred with me. Poetry over the years has been my sorting out process. I have always had a strong spiritual nature balanced by strong doubt. During period of tremendous confusion, my poetry (sometimes more like stories my son thinks) helped me remember who I am, how I feel, and what I think and always have from a child. The theme I hope comes through is that we should not have our heads too far into the clouds or too deeply into the dirt. Life lives as balance somewhere in the middle with little visits to both edges. All 56 years of my life I have lived in Michigan. I was born in Kalamazoo September 16, 1958. My parents separated when I was young do to my mother’s mental illness. Dad died in 1965 at 29 from a cerebral hemorrhage. I was 6 when he passed. Grandma Peggy (my dad’s mother) went to court 7 times in a year and a half to fight for my younger sister (Kim who was mentally impaired) and me, because my dad had asked her too. She won custody of us. So, I lived with her in Bangor, Michigan through high school and college. I didn’t begin to write poetry until I went to live with my aunt (my mother’s sister) in Wartervliet, Michigan while attending Lake Michigan College in Benton Harbor. My aunt lived near my mother and her mother (my Grandma Elsie). After 2 years there, I attended Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts major in English and minor in Elementary Education. Right out of college fall of 1984 I was hired at St. Mary’s in Paw Paw, Michigan as a kindergarten teacher. I taught kindergarten for 1 year half days and was moved into a full-time first grade position for three years. I met my husband Gary during that time. On October 17, 1987, we married and I moved to Fennville, Michigan where I still live. Gary and I have a son age 24 and a daughter age 19.
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