thoughts poetical

I’m off to spend the weekend at a poetry retreat in the mountains.

Sure does feel good to write that

(Bored? Leave something poetic in comments.)

12 Replies to “thoughts poetical”

  1. Requiescat
    Tread lightly, she is near
    Under the snow,
    Speak gently, she can hear
    The daisies grow.

    All her bright golden hair
    Tarnished with rust,
    She that was young and fair
    Fallen to dust.

    Lily-like, white as snow,
    She hardly knew
    She was a woman, so
    Sweetly she grew.

    Coffin-board, heavy stone,
    Lie on her breast,
    I vex my heart alone,
    She is at rest.

    Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
    Lyre or sonnet,
    All my life’s buried here,
    Heap earth upon it.


    by Oscar Wilde

  2. Why Mountains Are Bad for Poets

    There once was a writer named Laurie
    Who had an experience, gorey.
    On a mountain retreat,
    She misplaced her feet.
    And that is the end of the story.

  3. the morning sun crowns the mountain’s edge
    spilling onto the desert
    cutting a path to my window
    hitting the pane with a ferocity i can almost hear
    blinds difficult to close
    around a fat cat with one side of fur hot to the touch

  4. i didnt know how to reach you any other way

    ..but i just wanted to say thank you. i wish that i could email you this because its wierd for me to say even over the internet. its just nice to know that somebody out there understands. i used to be a cutter, and one day i got called into the councelor’s office. she called me a control freak and a perfectionist and forced me to tell my mom about what i used to be. now my mom treats me like a dog that could snap at her at any minute. i feel like im under house arrest. my sister doesnt want to go to college because shes afraid ill kill myself while shes gone. my mom jumps at any moment when i look sad or angry. its like im not allowed to be unhappy anymore. i cant stand the fact that everyone has labeled me a cutter even though im not anymore.

    no one believes me when i tell them that im fine now. after reading your book i felt so happy that someone understood that its possible to overcome depression, that it isnt that you’re broken or unable to function. you gave me hope that someday i will be able to get past the things that people automatically label me as. even though i’ve never met you before, i feel like you understand a large part of me that nobody else does.

    thank you. it means more to me than you could possibly imagine.


  5. I’m going through an I-hate-almost-everything-I’ve-ever-written phase (I really, really hope it’s only a phase), so instead of my poetry, here’s a bit by my good friend Bobby:

    “Then take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind,
    Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
    The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
    Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

    Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
    Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
    With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
    Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

    Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
    I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
    Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
    In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.”

  6. I always thought I was hopeless at poetry, until my best friend made me join her poetry forum. Then I realised I actually enjoyed writing poetry, even though I’m not very good.

    My view clouds over
    As the fumes rise
    And the smoky river
    Clouds the skies
    The flames blaze
    And blind my eyes
    In a fear ridden daze
    I say my goodbyes

    Have fun in the mountains. 😀

  7. In the rains of tomorrow,
    blooms a seed of hope.

    I just wanted to drop you a note to let you know how inspiring you are. I love all your books, and although I’m now twenty-one, I still reread them for they give me hope.

    The one that effected me the most was Speak. No surprise, eh? Having been sexually assaulted, it was healing to read. The first time I broke down from the flashbacks. The second time I cried, but like Melinda I watered my seed and cared for it as the blooms of healing burst from the burnt soil of pain.

    I thank you for the hope your book brings to this troubled world. Enjoy your poetry retreat. I wish you inspiration and encouragement in all your current and future writing endeavors.

    A devoted reader and struggling writer,

  8. scott

    your mother and I thought the pictures of Scott on the divan were…gneat.

    Love Dad

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