Poetry Tuesday: III

Happy Poetry Tuesday! I hope that your weekend was restful, and your Monday was nice. My weekend was long, busy, and super-fun (minus a minor speeding ticket), and I’m now starting my two week vacation from work (YAY!). Unfortunately, my long,busy,super-fun weekend means that I didn’t properly prepare for PT (horrible, I know). However, I did anticipate such occasions, having a small store of poetry already in dated files to be used in case of emergencies. And I declare a poetic emergency.

Anyway, this week you’l be reading my first ever attempt at a villanelle. I was entering a collection of poems into a contest, and I wanted to make sure I was submitting multiple styles. Since the villanelle is my favorite style of poetry to read, I thought I would try my hand at writing. I’m big on nature and the kind of scenery you find in rural communities, and I decided to use that as my inspiration. I can’t say that I found my attempt to be 100% successful (or even 70% successful), but I’m supposed to be my own worst critic. (Right? That’s how that’s supposed to work?) I hope enjoy this installment of Poetry Tuesday.


Freedom is flowing.
In and out of the soul it sings,
Like a strong wind blowing.

The bird, so graceful when it flies
With the air gliding over it’s wings.
Freedom is flowing.

Have you ever seen the grass grow so high,
That you become mesmerized by its dancing
When a strong wind is blowing?

A leaf in a stream goes along for the ride,
Content with whatever the future brings.
Freedom is flowing.

Don’t let time pass you by.
Don’t be knocked down by the sting
Of a strong wind blowing.

You have the freedom to touch the sky,
And grow in earnest like a flower in spring.
Freedom is flowing,
Like a strong wind blowing.-CEH


Poetry Tuesday: II

Hello! Welcome to the second installment of Poetry Tuesday. I’m very proud of myself that I’ve kept up for a second week (I’m rockin’ the self-discipline!). Maybe next week I’ll start the second series I’ve been planning.

As promised, I’ll keep this short and sweet. This weeks poem is “Larkinesque,” (1984) by Michael Ryan. I’m not familiar with his work, but I immediately liked this poem, with its cheeky yet serious stream of consciousness. Happy Poetry Tuesday, I hope you enjoy.


Reading in the paper a summary
of a five-year psychological study
that shows those perceived as most beautiful
are treated differently,
I think they could have just asked me,
remembering a kind of pudgy kid
and late puberty, the bloody noses
and wisecracks because I wore glasses,
though we all know by now how awful it is
for the busty starlet no one takes seriously,
the loveliest women I’ve lunched with
lamenting the opacity of the body,
they can never trust a man’s interest
even when he seems not just out for sex
(eyes focus on me above rim of wineglass),
and who would want to live like this?
And what does beauty do to a man?—
Don Juan, Casanova, Lord Byron—
those fiery eyes and steel jawlines
can front a furnace of self-loathing,
all those breathless women rushing to him
while hubby’s at the office or ball game,
primed to be consumed by his beauty
while he stands next to it, watching.
So maybe the looks we’re dealt are best.
It’s only common sense that happiness
depends on some bearable deprivation
or defect, and who knows what conflicts
great beauty could have caused,
what cruelties one might have suffered
from those now friends, what unmanageable
possibilities smiling at every small turn?
So if I get up to draw a tumbler
of ordinary tap water and think what if this were   
nectar dripping from delicious burning fingers,
will all I’ve missed knock me senseless?
No. Of course not. It won’t.