Thoughts on a Chilly Thursday

Lately, I feel like I’m a struggling flame, flickering and fighting to stay lit. Something keeps dumping small amounts of water on the wood so there is nothing to take hold of in order to grow into a snap, crackling fire.

I took the poetry down. For me, poetry is personal. It takes a lot for me to share it. I don’t want critiques. I don’t ask for it. I write it for me. I write what I feel. I write when the urge hits. I probably shouldn’t have posted it in the first place, but being National Poetry Month, I wanted to participate.

I love poetry. If it strikes you or makes you feel one way or the other – great! I like that. It is supposed to do that. To me, poetry is the purest form of writing there is. It is a window into a person’s soul. It is a bloodletting of sorts.

If I am aiming to get it published, then of course I would polish it till it sparkles. And if/when I do, then perhaps I would ask for opinion in the form of critique. Most – if not all – my poetry IS a first draft – written at once from a sudden outpouring of thought and feelings. Is it perfect? No. Do I expect it to be? No.

I find a beauty in that first spark – that unpolished raw spark of thought. That is what I enjoy. That is me.

Other than that, it is chilly here. Mom said she heard two to four inches of snow is a possibility up north tonight. Blech. I don’t want it hot. But I wouldn’t mind warm enough to sit out on the deck and bask in the sun. I’m thinking temperatures in the 60 degree range would be nice.

Right now I guess the chill matches my mood.

0 thoughts on “Thoughts on a Chilly Thursday

  1. As a fellow poet i may give you this advice. I used to think poetry was for me also, then a friend of mine brought me around to see the light. She told me that what I write can help someone who is going through the same thing. I write about a lot of personal struggles, but the words I write can be applied to someone else’s situation. That’s why I started blogging. You never know who your poetry could touch, after all you were given a talent…no need to hide that spark especially the way this dark world needs all the light it can get.

    • Totally and I understand that. My point was that I do not write poetry for critique by others. I don’t critique other poets (unless directly asked to) and even then I do not like to. But yes, poetry speaks volumes and can help others for certain. πŸ™‚ Thanks!

    • Thanks Amanda. I’m having one of those days where I am filled with immense doubt (of myself) and I tend to do brash things (such as making the poetry “private”) It is a rainy chilly day. I’m ready for sun. πŸ™‚

  2. We never know how critique will hit us. Sometimes we are grateful for it. Sometimes we bristle, even if the critique is “positive.” I totally get it! I think I understand what you mean about sharing the personal– I’ve been struggling with this for ages on my blog. My poetry is usually far more personal than my regular blog posts. Blogs are “journals” and we DO want people to read them, but I guess it’s up to you and me to decide how we want to hear any responses we get. So, I feel ya babe. I miss the good ole days of spilling my guts in a journal and dreaming that SOMEDAY someone would read my stuff. Boy oh boy, am I glad that no one read most of that crap! I’m a much better writer for all of that practice though! It’s true– we do much of our practice in the wide open now.

    love xo


    • Hi Elizabeth,
      Thank you for your comment! I agree. It is never easy. As I said to Amanda – I’m full of self-doubt today and sometimes I have a knee-jerk reaction to just take stuff down. Makes little sense. I should not feel that way but sometimes it gets the best of me. I used to keep journals until someone broke into my private things and read my thoughts. I stopped. Once in while I’ll pour things onto the page but most of my release comes through poetry. I will probably put them back on the blog. Today for some reason, “hiding” them made me feel like I “did” something – as silly as it is. LOL.

    • πŸ™‚ so much comes from that first spark. It’s so pure – even though it may not be perfect – it is in its own way. isn’t it?

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