Tag Archives: poetry

Astray

The happiness felt at finding the right path fades when you discover you’ve ended up back where you started from.
Jenna Dee

Crossroads

Photo credit: Martin Liebermann – http://www.martin-liebermann.de

 

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Fly free

In the end these things matter most:
How well did you love?

How fully did you love?
How deeply did you learn to let go?

~ Gautama Buddha

As your hands slip from mine
know I will never forget
every precious moment.
Your time is now.
~ Jenna

Merimbula NSW. Photo by Jenna Dee

Lost in the wilderness

Have you ever had an idea you desperately want to write about but the words refuse to flow? For a year I’ve tried to write a short story but all I have to show is countless discarded drafts.

To stimulate ideas for expression of my short story I’ve explored different writing genres including poetry, narrative and creative writing.

Reader feedback from my poetry writing attempts tells me my style is too obscure because my intended meaning is usually missed or misinterpreted.

My dabble in creative writing wasn’t much better than poetry and produced lots of chunky paragraphs containing over exaggerated description. When I read my creative writing it reminds me of someone trying to use superfluous words to appear more intelligent.

This led me to narrative style that better suits how I want to write, with characters and a plot woven into a story with a beginning, middle and end.

Recently my interest has peaked in folk tales because they appeal to my simple nature. Traditional folk tales use unsophisticated language and have a moral lesson as the underlying purpose of the story.

Usually folk tales have animals acting like humans, a problem and a virtuous message.  The setting is often in the wilderness, as the woods represent a source of mystery, danger and excitement.

“Writing original fables is a good way to use creative writing to develop critical thinking about ethical issues, consequently building moral reasoning within children”.

So what seems like a lovely simple form of expression is presenting more difficult than I thought. I’m not sure my story lends itself to animal characters nor the wilderness but let me mull it over for a while and I’ll come up with a new draft.

Somehow I will write this short story before I die, I promise.

Acceptance

Closure is something most people desire and I am no different.

As another calendar year nears the end it seems natural to look back and reflect on how the days unfolded.

I acknowledge 2013 as my first year of change after challenging myself to wake up and pay attention.

Jenna DeeIt took many months and multiple attempts but eventually I found closure on some life situations that had been holding me back for too long.

So it is with satisfaction and a feeling of content that I  close the door on these events and walk towards a new year of challenges.
No regrets.

This morning I read this poem on http://smallactofkindness.wordpress.com/ that eloquently expresses the essence of my post today.

You are not your age,
Nor the size of the clothes you wear,
You are not a weight,
Or the color of your hair.
You are not your name,
Or the dimples in your cheeks,
You are all the books you read,
And all the words you speak,
You are your croaky morning voice,
And the smiles you try to hide,
You are the sweetness in your laughter,
And every tear you’ve cried,
You’re the songs you sing so loudly when you know you’re all alone,
You’re the places you’ve been too,
And the one that you call home,
You’re the things that you believe in,
And the people that you love,
You’re the photos in your bedroom,
And the future you dream of,
You’re made of so much beauty,
But it seems you forgot,
When you decided that you were defined,
By all the things you’re not.
~e.h

Ocean voyage

Many moons ago it was within my reach
I let it slip from my grasp
I’m older and wiser now
I see the truth

Sailing on the ocean
Gliding free leaving
the past in the wake
of sea mist

The horizon beckons
both sunlit and stormy
Paradise
awakens the senses

Independent minds flow freely
Guided from within,
humble and obscure
Rippling like a stream to the sea.

Long deep breaths
release waves of relief
the juggling balls fall
imploding all fear.

Disfavour ebbs and flows
everything has its time
clarity comes naturally forward
in whatever way it pleases

Nurture love
show gratitude and be kind
walk barefoot in the sand
and smile.

Joan’s place

white-picket-fenceLike a grand old lady growing old and infirm
Our once quaint beach house lacks vitality

She is broken and old
Lifeless and dull
Heartbroken

Broken old furniture
Cracked and peeling paint
Cobwebs draping
Floors stained and lifting

Photographs of her glory days reflect a simpler life and happy family times
Treasured memories live in my heart forever

Mum was right to go when she did
She didn’t want to rot away before our eyes
Like her house

Should we let the old house rest in peace and follow new adventures somewhere else
or give her new life?

Maybe the time has come to let her slip away gracefully and with dignity like my mum.