Tag Archives: poet

April 29, 2024 · 9:04 pm

A Poet Travels 1550 Miles

She was maybe 5 feet 2 inches. Her hair was white and done in the classic grandmother style, short with big curls. She carried two pages, yellowed with age, with her to the front of the room. I could see that the words were written by a typewriter. I wondered how long she had been holding on to these poems. She took a breath and shared the inspiration for the first poem. With venom still in her voice she explained how her ex husband never paid child support, so as a single mom she held down three jobs. Too many nights she would be working while her young son would be sleeping. The poem was written at work as she thought about her child.

The poem used a refrain filled with dragons and castles. Her love for her child was clear. She shared her second poem about fireflies that had such a cool ending the whole room responded with a group, “Ohhhh”. As we snapped our appreciation she turned to me and smiled.

Earlier during the poetry workshop we were working on a poem, and she had written a powerful phrase, “A shadowless soul”. As she smiled I understood her line.

The open mic continued with a range of poetic styles and backstories for each poem. Stories of loss, of family pride, and even one about how hard it was to decipher a poem written down on a bar coaster.  There were tears, laughter, and for a while a sense of community. This was the power of poetry, but more importantly the day revealed the power of the human heart.

I recently finished the book Walking the Trail by Jerry Ellis. He walked the Cherokee Trail of Tears backwards to his home. Along the way he met a variety of people, some giving him objects for a burial ritual he planned when he returned home, but all shared some part of their story with him.  During the book he would share how he thought of those people, how their stories were part of his story now.  

After the three author events I have been a part of, I understand that spiritual connection. Once I shared the inspiration for my latest book of poetry, While Death Waits, many people would share their stories of loss. Tears filling their eyes and voices. A moment of remembrance, and I think of healing. For a moment our stories bonded us, gave us a chance to know we were not alone. This is the power of poetry… the strength of the human heart.

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March 16, 2024 · 9:17 pm

I Quit

I just spent almost two hours on the road thinking about how to write this post. I was traveling back from Lincoln where I competed in a poetry slam. The winner represents the state of Nebraska at the Blackberry/ Peach national slam this summer.

I got last.

That means the judges scored my poem and my performance the lowest out of all the competitors.

Last.

I’ve been working on my delivery, my pauses, my speed and pronunciation of words, especially throughout the whole poem. To speak clearly at the end as I do at the beginning.

I got last.

And right now, when adding other poetic endeavors, I quit.

I have been writing poetry since junior high. I have self published six books of poetry, participated in the April Poem a Day for five years. I have been sharing my works during The Jam, a weekly poetry / spoken word / music space on X for at least 80 some episodes. I have notebooks, post-it notes, and other scrap paper with rough drafts of poems.

Right now, I don’t care. 

The frustration and heartache of trying to be a poet is too much. My confidence is shaken. My chest hurts. This feeling sucks. It seems that I deal with more negative aspects of chasing this dream than positive moments. My tank is empty.

So, today, I quit.

Now, tomorrow?

Well, that is a different poem.

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May 26, 2023 · 7:27 pm

I Have Nothing to Say

According to Radoslav Chakarov, writer for Web Tribunal, as of 2022 there are 600 million blogs, with 6 million posts going live everyday.

There is nothing I can add to that monsoon of writing.

And let’s not forget, I could ask AI to write for me. It would be quicker and produce content at a more constant rate (which I’m not good at). I did write this post by the way.

 But what I mean, honestly, is there is no reason for me to write anything. No logical reason. I don’t make any money, Radoslav Chakarov shares that less than 10% of blogs make any money.

So why am I even doing this? 

For the few people still reading, why?

Yeah, I will go Dead Poets Society on you:

I write because that is who I am. I am a poet, storyteller, blogger… I am a dad, a husband, a person who can get lost in the stars. My spirit is at ease when I write, even if I have nothing to say.

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March 5, 2021 · 9:59 pm

Reason to Fly

I enjoyed taking the trash out to the end of the driveway today because it felt like spring. There was not a cloud in the sky. I placed the garbage and recycling totes at the end of our driveway and then just stood there enjoying the beginning of a nice day.

I noticed the moon was visible, then a plane that was approaching the moon. I took a picture of the moment.

When I first saw the plane, I thought it would be cool if the plane would fly across the moon. It would make for a fun picture. As I watched, it became obvious that the plane would miss the moon. I found that sad for a second. Then this classic quote came to mind;

As I watched the plane, getting ready to take the picture, I thought how wonderful the view must be from the plane. I started to think about my own goals, about being a writer, about being a poet. I have never made it to the moon, but the view has been breathtaking. 

Crazy dreams are worth chasing. They allow us to fly, to rise above the routine of living. Crazy goals give us a chance to see our life from a different view. Chasing a dream is a ticket to a different understanding ourselves. Reaching for a dream as far away as the moon keeps our eyes and hearts up. That airplane was not going to reach the moon, but it was a beautiful morning to fly.

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January 27, 2021 · 10:20 pm

Reflections Jan 27, 2021

The girls are settling down. The house is becoming quiet. My headphones are playing some of my favorite songs as I build a writing playlist on Spotify. Earlier I wrote a poem for my personal challenge to write a poem in 100 different forms. It was poem 81, a haibun titled, “A Father’s Gift.”

But the writing muse is still burning. I am not sure where this post will end up, but it should be good (it will be musical).

I am tired. I am tired on so many levels, from the perpetual cycle of hate expressed in our culture, to the perceived apathy of living from people around me. I could link to any number of news articles to reveal how much pure negativity there is in this world, but I am tired of viewing those stories. If I took a random picture anytime during the day, it would show people staring at their phones. As if the height of living is text messages and photos saturated with filters.

In some ways, life is pretty simple. It is who we are and what we do with our time. A simple concept, yet filled with possibilities. Maybe it is because I am just months away from my 50th birthday, but time is a constant force in my thinking. I swear I can hear the grains of sand when all is quiet. I still have goals and aspirations I want to accomplish… the time to complete those is running out.

Again, maybe it is because I’ve been living for 50 years but I know that love works. I do believe that we have the choice on who we are. We are in control of how we treat people. What I don’t understand is how we keep thinking hate and pain make this world a better place. What saddens me the most is how deep this has gone. How many kids aren’t loved by their parents. How mean we can be to someone sitting next to us. How easy it is to tweet venom.

I have faith, though. Love is more powerful. Love is strength. I know I can’t change the world, but I can build my world, my home, my life with the foundation of Love. That is a start.

And then there is the pursuit of dreams… if I could figure this part out… Would I like to make a living from writing? Yes, I would. Will I? I don’t know. Money is not the main goal of my writing aspiration, respect or recognition is. To know that when someone says my name, they consider me a writer, a poet. I understand that most of that falls on my shoulders. How I present myself to the world. I know I am a good poet. My words do make an impact for readers. Yet, I feel like the world views me as someone who has a nice hobby. And I don’t know how to change that…

A final note as I wrap up this informal and somewhat musical blog. Even in these troubling times, this life is wonderful. There is pain, troubles for us to overcome. That is what makes the next day better than today. Tell your friends and family that you love them. Have a good cup of coffee and turn up that jam and dance.

Because when it is all said and done, today is the only day you have. It’s worth living for.

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October 14, 2020 · 10:16 am

An Open Letter to a Dream

My intentions were to write a scathing, angry letter to you. To address all the failures and heartache this dream of being a writer has caused me. I wanted to tell you about the sinking feeling I get when I read another rejection email. How my stomach becomes a rock that pulls my confidence down into a dark hole. Even the edges of my vision go grey like an Instagram filter.

I wanted to ask what the purpose is for having this dream. I have been writing since the fifth grade. My personal blog, It is all Connected, has over 100,000 words. My creative blog, Creative Corner, has 187 posts, most of them poems. I participate in the Twitter very short story (#vss365) community. I have self published five books.

For what?

If I stopped writing, nobody would care. 

But I have this dream of being a writer. That when someone says my name, they mean poet. I have this dream of someone recommending my book to a friend. That a poem I wrote is someone’s favorite poem. 

But instead of an emotional letter, I am caught again in the tangles of writing. I feel the joy of articulating my thoughts onto paper. The power of creating an emotion or thought through words for the reader. I am looking forward to creating the blog post for this letter. I will create a cool title banner for this. Maybe find a video to end with…

But what you have done is light a fire in my soul. I am thankful for this dream. Even with the frustrations and rejection emails I will experience in the future. I have this dream of being a writer, even though I know deep down that the dream has already come true. These words prove it.

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February 17, 2020 · 9:07 am

Our Gift is for Others

The hardest part of our gifts – of our talents – is that they are not made for us; they are made for other people.

Let me explain…

Yes, there is a payoff for our gifts for us. Our talents enrich our lives, brings us joy. In some cases we even become rich and famous from our talents. There is a payoff for us. But we can live our whole life without expressing our talents. We can be happy. We can even be rich and famous without spending a day working on or sharing our talents.

I am a writer, a poet, a blogger. But I could spend my time not writing and be fine…

Here’s the catch.

My gift, your gifts, are meant for other people.

We have a responsibility to give our talents to the world. This is where I am going to dive deep; the why of it all.

I’ll continue to use my writing as an example, but you can swap in your gift for the rest of the blog. Ready?

A void. There is a void in our lives and in the world if we don’t share our gifts. Yes, the world will go on. Our lives, as mentioned before, will go on, but there is a void. We and others will miss moments of joy and inspiration that can change the world. I know, you think I am using a hyperbole here. I am not.

You may have seen the movie, Coach Carter, where the above clip originates from. Or have read the quote, “Our Deepest Fear” from Marianne Williamson. Part of our light is our talents. Our gifts are meant for others.

One of my favorite moments as a poet was the night I attended an open mic in Omaha where I was able to meet a young poet who was inspired by my first book of poetry that I self published in college (And I Never Told You: 20 Year Anniversary Edition). His mom bought him a copy of the book at a local coffee shop when he was in high school. He is now a regular performing artist in Omaha and Lincoln. It was only because of social media that I got to meet him and know the story.

My story highlights a hardship of our gifts… knowing what happens after we give our talent to the world. Even if we become rich and famous, we don’t know how our talent helped someone.

Stephen King is one of my favorite authors. He knows his talent is appreciated by people because of the money he earns, by his popularity. But he has no idea how his books gave me an escape during some tough times. Stephen King doesn’t know the joy I’ve experienced sharing his stories with my kids. Taking them to see the new movie version of It. He doesn’t know… and that is OK because his gift was meant for me.

As a writer I know it is hard dealing with not knowing how my words affect the world. I am sure it is the same for you. I write something I think is awesome and nothing. No thumbs up, no like or love icon activated. No retweet. I have to be OK with that because my words are meant for other people. Writing brings me a sense of joy. It is awesome when a poem finds it way out of my head and onto the page. Then I must give that poem to the world for others to use. The same applies to you and your talents. If we learn how our gifts helped someone, inspired them, that’s cool, but usually we will never know. That’s not the reason for giving.

Do you see the void now? If you do nothing with your talents you miss out on a deeper joy in your life, but the world suffers more. When you share your talents you gift the world opportunities. Opportunities of inspiration. Opportunities of joy. Opportunities to change. Your talent is a gift… give it.

Image by Myriam Zilles from Pixabay

 

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