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Author, Historian, Storyteller

PoetryLeave a comment

It was a recognition born of a realization.

A realization that she possessed, had always possessed, everything that she needed to survive.

She had spent her life relying on the kindness and charity of others, and while she was grateful, she was also resentful.

Resentful that they didn’t believe her capable of taking care of herself.

Resentful that she didn’t believe herself capable of standing on her own.

On her own two feet, strong, shoulders back, face full into the sun, the wind, the rain, anything that should come her way.

Strong.

On her own as a woman.

She would earn her way through blood, sweat and tears and she would be thankful for the outcome.

Cherish the outcome, because it was born of her and nobody else.

And in that moment, that day, she would feel blessed.

Not for the handouts and the pity, but for those who pushed her forward.

Pushed her to work harder, work longer, work smarter and earn every ounce of her accomplishments.

It was a realization born of a recognition.

A recognition that someone believed.

Believe quote

Characters, Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

As I mentioned yesterday, one of the character’s in my book is a poet.  Rebecca is an invalid, and as such is not eligible for marriage so she lives with her sister in Richmond, VA.  Unable to work, or be a contributing member of the household Rebecca escapes into the poetry that she writes.  It isn’t until Kady recruits her as part of her spy network for the north, that Rebecca realizes that she does actually have worth and can be useful despite her limitations.  Here’s one of her poems:

My country she is crying, but there is no one left to hear.

All her sons are off to war you see, against the brothers they hold dear.

The fathers all argue that where they stand is right.

The mothers all roll bandages to wrap the wounds good and tight.

The daughters we are left to mourn, the passing of the day: waiting, simply waiting as we look out across the bay.

My country she is crying, deep rivers of blood red tears.

My country she is crying, but there is no one left to hear.

Characters, Poetry, WritingView all 2 comments

One of my characters in my novel is a poet and has gotten me into a poetry sort of mood.  So here’s a poem for you.  This is one of mine, not one of hers . . . although I guess technically hers are mine . . .

 

Letting go . . .

Of what is right, of what is wrong

Of what is normal, of what is planned

Letting go . . .

Of expectations and anticipations

Of familial plans and childhood hopes

Letting go . . .

Of what should have been, what will never be

Letting go . . .

Of regrets and

Letting go . . .

To learn from mistakes, to see the good

To grow stronger, to improve

Letting go . . .

To revel in the moment, to embrace the now

To forget past pains, to let the future worry about itself

Letting go . . .

To finally hold on