Poetry Guest Post ~ What I Learn From Poetry

I would like to introduce to you a guest blogger that I met participating in Robert Lee Brewers April Platform Challenge. Not only does Emily McGee write beautiful poetry, but she writes about her life as a trailing spouse on her blog!

What I Learn From Poetry
By Emily McGee

Jiyuritsu I (free form haiku - yes, this is a real thing)
Rotten leaves coat
the sidewalk
a carpet to

Haiku I
Shadows spread deeply,
devouring my footsteps,
gulping at the ground.

Jiyuritsu II
Lily pads on the pond.
No, it is ice, frozen
in November.

Haiku II
Footsteps in the snow;
and backlit trees at sunset.
Winter glows today.

I live in Atlanta, Georgia now.  There are no frozen ponds.  There are no snowy footsteps.  That's why finding these poems, which I wrote in high school, was such a joy.  They took me back to a place where we wore snowsuits under our Halloween costumes and where the sun set at 4 pm in the winter.  Long shadows, backlit trees, and a crisp coating of ice signaled winter in Maine. 

Not only do these poems remind me of growing up in Maine, they remind me of why I love poetry.  In a poem, especially in a short poem, every word counts.  I am amazed at both the stories that writers tell and the images that they create through just a few carefully selected words.  As a writer, I want my short stories, my blog posts, and even my work-related writing to be that precise.

I don't think I could write those poems today.  I've been gone too long.  I can only picture the rotting leaves and the frigid air when someone else, or my past self, paints that picture for me.  My poems today would have to be about humidity, or the rush of traffic, or the thick layer of pollen that has settled on my windowsills.  But I'm glad I still have those poems, because no matter where I am, I can read them and imagine winter in Maine.  And even though I don't write poetry any more, I still read plenty of it.  I read poetry because it teaches me to be a better writer and because it allows me to glimpse another place, or another life. 

Emily E. McGee loves to read, write, and travel because these activities allow her to imagine other people's lives.  She writes about the good, the bad, and the ugly sides of life as a trailing spouse at One Trailing Spouse (www.onetrailingspouse.com).  You connect with her on twitter (@EmilyEMcGee) or on facebook (www.facebook.com/emily.e.mcgee)


~ Connect with me on Twitter and Facebook!

Music is Poetry

Music is the poetry of the air. ~Richter

<p><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net">Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></p>


  Music inspires me to write, especially poetry. Music itself is poetry. Not one certain song or genre, but music in it's entirety. Flowing rhythmically from the instruments, plucked from the fingertips of an artist; chords float on the wind. The melodies grasp me; singing to me... calling me forth into a trance. Capturing my attention and penetrating my mind, I feel it pulse through my body. Lyrics probe the depths of my emotions, toying with them. Teasing me with a temporary joy... or depression. Absorbing the words, clinging onto the chorus; they mold themselves around my life. For the length of the song... they become me; sometimes lingering for a moment after. It takes ahold of me to a point that I'm moved to write a piece that compares in beauty.

  Taking on a life of it's own when released into the world; it has the power to change... to heal. Music has the power to impress its self upon you... your life will never be the same.

"The birds like leaves on Winterwood,
Sing hopeful songs on dismal days.
They've learned to live life as they should.
They are at peace with natures ways.

You are as natural as the night,
And all that springs from you is good.
And the children born beneath your light,
Are like the birds on Winterwood. "
~Don McLean's Winterwood~

  Music is a part of who I am. It flows through my veins caressing my heart. Ingrained into my brain; etched into my skin. Words spill from my lips; then when put to music... it's pure ecstasy.  A world without music or poetry will no longer be a world worth living.

Without music life would be a mistake. ~Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche


* This post was written for Bloggy Moms Writer's Workshop

~Connect with me on Twitter and Facebook! Also, you can sign up for email updates on the top right hand side of the page.

Shadow Dancers

Shadows shift atop the grass
Dancing alongside the sun
Partners synced so perfectly
Yet they remain unaware of the other
Each equally deserving of ones attention
Depending on their need
Sharing the rhythm of the earth

An oak stands sentinel
Puppeteer of the shadows
Pulling invisible strings as it sways
Leaves twist, flip, turn; rustling softly
Being manipulated by the breeze
Providing a natural melody
Serenading the dancers as they fade into the night


Come connect with me on Twitter and Facebook!

Owning the night

Into the night
The darkness I embrace
A shadow among shadows
I pace
Winged creatures boldly swoop
Invading my space
Becoming an extension of my thoughts


Connect with me on Twitter and Facebook. You can also sign up to receive my poetry in your inbox!

What makes this MY life?

Three things...
Three very small and important human beings.
Little souls with loving hearts; a sweet innocence uncorrupted.
Three sets of curious faces with broad toothy smiles.
Cuddles and bear hugs uninterrupted.

My reasons for waking; my reasons for breathing.
The reason I came into being.
Bright lights unwavering when all else grows dark.
My inspiration; my rainbows from heaven when the world has turned stark.

Three little humans...
Three handsome and very smart boys.
Turning life upside down, inside out.
My caffeine; my medication
Reassurance in a world of doubt.

Temper tantrums; broken hearts.
Tears and a quivering chin.
Lessons to be learned.
Time outs to be served.
Screams and yells much to my chagrin.

Three little boys...
Three little bundles of energy and dirt.
Three times the toys and cleaning.
The mopping and the sweeping.
Three times the Mr. Bubbles and Pert.

My joy; my hope
The reasons I dream.
Giggles, tickles and "I love you mommy".
My teachers in being patient and free.

My boys...
My loves.
My existence...


*This post was written for Kick In The Blog

What poetry is for me...

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Thomas Gray

 I feel too deeply... too much. I write to release the emotions within before my mind explodes from the weight. I write poetry. I write for me.
 Sometimes the words burst forth brought on by inspiration. Sometimes they form slowly and carefully weaving their way through my body; finding their way onto paper. My thoughts, my fears, my whole life written in stanzas, or however I please. Then... I share them with you.
 You must read slowly for every word ways heavy with meaning. It bears my heart; my soul. A journal of sorts. A not so secret diary. A peek inside my head. Every word should be read as if it was the most important on the page. For me... it was. To bring them together is to form a symphony of emotion. Playing and replaying a memory. The story of the author.

These poems that I present are the story of me.

 Think upon them. Learn from them. What emotions do they stir? For everyone it's different and I'm o.k. with that. As long as you go away with a new perspective.


*This post was written for Bloggy Moms Writer's Workshop

I'm Her...

I'm her who's words flow as mighty as the river rippling forth from my mind, streaming through my pen; who's words lie in waiting to be spilled from anothers lips.

I'm her who goes unnoticed, but everyone likes all the same;
who struggles to stand out and become fully realized.

I'm her who has become a random, faceless number for some to display;
a link among a vast sea of others.

In plain sight for one to find, ready to be known, hoping to inspire.

Come find me
Meditate on my words
Feel my emotions

I'm her who's a real human with a story to tell.



She sat beside the open window in a meditative trance listening; watching the pitter patter of drops descending from the sky. No other sound exists. No other scene deserves her attention more than this.
A smile plays upon her lips.

pitter patter plop, pitter patter plop

Charcoal clouds move past depositing the droplets upon the earth dampening everything but her soul. She loves the rain; the cleansing effect it has upon her. She views it as a chance to shed the hurt and ugliness. Another chance to start anew as nature intended.

plip plop plip

Nourishing roots,
Encouraging growth,
Releasing the beauty within.

She looks to the earth for inspiration on a life well lived.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

~Birds of a feather~