Time to Take a Breath…Time For a Little Poetry

crazy ladyWhat a week!  Wrangling with a small so-called, publisher and their poorly written contract, (which I turned down). Writers! Beware of scam artists that call themselves publishers!  A week of being in the clutches of an editor (just kidding…it’s a wonderful experience, writers, you should try it) and trying to survive record-breaking summer temps in Savannah.

I said to a friend, just today, (when she said she was taking a few days off but would continue to work from her mobile.)  ‘BALANCE’,  turn your phone off.

So here’s my balance from a frenetic week.  A little poetry; mine, Bukowski’s (of course)  Emily Dickinson and an easy to read sonnet from our man, Will.

Journey through Life © by Trisha Sugarek

poetry

pen and ink ‘Weeping Willow’ by author

happiness, the fire
forges our steel to withstand
pain and thorny times

laughter melts metal
cold bath sets the steel mettle
fine blade to cut life

blade wrapped in fine silk
until the next battle comes
pain and blood drip down
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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

This is my letter to the world,   ©
That never wrote to me,–
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.

Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!     (Emily Dickinson)
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how is your heart? ©   (Charles Bukowski)

Buikowski.photoduring my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
whores

I always had this certain
contentment-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occurring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships went wrong
with the
girls.

it helped
through the
wars and the hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.

to awaken in the cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment
and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.

what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

Have you read my Interview with Charles Bukowski
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#VIII Sonnet by Wm. ShakespeareWilliam Shakespeare

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silvered o’er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
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One Response
  1. noelleg44 says:

    An eclectic group of offerings on the acceptance of the changes that time brings to our lives – Emily and the Bard are particular favorites, along with you, my dear,

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