One more blurb before the poems start, I wanted to give you guys some insight as to how difficult poetry is compared to stories. I can ramble out a story at the same pace your brain shoots off thoughts, I mean of course there’s times when I have to sit back and think- okay what next. It’s helpful that my fingers type the stories just about as fast as my brain shoots it off.
It’s kind of a running joke with people I’ve worked with and my family when they listen to me type. Like a chain going tic tic tic around spokes. Although right now my arm is sore and waiting for surgery but that’s beside the point.
Here, I’m telling you why poetry is so much harder to write than a story. Whether it’s short, novel, love, adventure, meaningful or just fun- stories are just that. They are stories. I walk you through a world and several happenings.
Poems are written words hiding feelings that are hidden meanings to hide the real words.
For these poems, I wrote them in notes in my phone so the first feeling of them were fresh daily (as promised) then I rewrote onto fancy paper because that’s where the emotion starts to come into the words. Then I rewrote them into microsoft word pulling everything I could from them. That’s also when I did the final spell check, grammarly, and read through before deciding I’m happy to call it poetry.
If you can decipher my handwriting well enough then you’ll see where the differences are and some spelling errors (I’m so spoiled with technology I sometimes catch my brain considering trying to tap on the handwritten word to spellcheck it.)
Writing poetry is not just making shit up as I go, it’s also making it flow then stop and feel but also hurt. Poetry is more. It’s less but it’s more. It’s a character further than their hair color and surroundings, interactions. It’s the characters deepest secrets being exposed through prose. It’s feeling and becoming that character just to spew a few words. As a disclaimer, remember these are fictional poems, any likeness and all that.
Poems are dirt
hardened by the sun
a spur of a bee
a flick of its tun
it’s a flowers petals withering
from holding it’s secrets
to understand on a deeper level
it’s trying to say, without really saying
because in the end, a flower cannot talk
Enough of that, now for some uptodate info
I now have a TikTok account, so check out me with my puppies learning to sign and make videos.
There’s only a few months left to get my first anthology- Hot Moroccan Nights– a spicy romance set in Morocco with eight sexy stories written by eight different authors, myself being one of them (my short is called White Sheets.) I have to be honest, I just started reading it but it’s already flipped my collar a time or two. I’m nervous to start reading my own short in Hot Moroccan Nights tomorrow but also excited to compare my writing back to back with fellow authors.
Reminder to my friends reading my online work, the posts stay up for a period of time then will come down. I only keep so much up here at a time since I am constantly entering contests and querying agents.