And Now For Something Completely Different

I have been quiet, mostly because I’ve been very, very busy. Writing-wise, I like to function like a Swiss Army knife. I write short stories, novels, plays, games, audio dramas, museum monologues, flash fiction, radio segments (that’ll be a thing soon, stay tuned and pardon the pun), blog posts, …

It’s a lot.

But there’s one more thing that I do write, I just don’t share it very often.

Poetry.

After all this time, I’m usually pretty blasé about showing my writing. If I can handle editors, Amazon reviews, and Stonecoast workshops, I can handle almost anything, right?

Stonecoast has hooligans!

Stonecoast has hooligans!

Well…poetry is different for some reason. I’m not sure why. Maybe because poetry feels so much more vulnerable and exposed. Closer to the bone, in a funny way—it feels like the words stand out so much more.

But hey, exposure therapy, right? I’ve also been feeling contemplative, if slightly melancholy. Almost like, in the middle of summer, I can feel the first faint winds of autumn approaching.

And hence a rare poem from me. Post-Stonecoast residency, I’ve decided I’m an odd mix of Romantic and Classical sentiments. I like feelings and nature and making up stories. But also, I like form and structure and order. Which probably explains the following. Enjoy!

That long June morn, long years ago,

I watched the rose and lilac grow.

And like them, you were all in bloom,

As heavy hung their sweet perfume.

I watched their blossoms budding clear

And did not know the winter near.

 

That first fair morn, I could not guess

The depths of summer’s loveliness

As on we walked amid the dew,

And rose and lilac ‘round us grew.

How bright their blossoms then appeared—

As even then, the winter neared.

 

Though swift the season slipped away,

And sooner closed each passing day,

Still did the brightness of your eyes

Outshine the hard autumnal skies.

I marked the dwindling of the year

But still denied the winter near.

 

December’s chill came soft and slow,

As soft as rose and lilac grow.

So gently did the lurking frost

Caress the blooms already lost,

But oh—how cold the touch of fear

When first I felt the winter near.

 

Through all the years’ unceasing snow

No more will rose or lilac grow.

Like them, you were not meant to stay,

Though endless seemed that summer day,

And longer still the sunlit year,

The winter now, at last, is here.

 

-KT

What I’m Listening To This Week

Pretty sure I have a new theme song: “Hymn to the Fallen,” from the film Saving Private Ryan. Funnily enough, I hated this piece the first time I encountered it. My choir was doing it, and the choral part does not make musical sense in isolation. This piece needs the brass and drums to work—the choir is really just another instrument.

It’s hopeful angst, which seems to be my thing. The drums tattoos give me shivers (especially the first and last ones), and the massive choral crescendo around 3:53 makes me want to write all the things ever.

Above all else, it’s a swan song. Maybe that’s why I’m loving it so much these days…

 

Posted on July 28, 2015, in Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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