A Poem About Writer’s Block–“The Caesura”

This poem came about because of frustration I felt with getting the creative juices flowing.  It’s not much in and of itself, but it did help to get me writing something else.

The Caesura

I cannot write a poem today, I know;
It's cold outside, though sunshine's streaming in
And all my saddest thoughts are round about
Defeating brightness and restoring murk.
There's snow, there's mud, there's water on the street,
And ice, and I in short am disinclined
To search for topics that would repay work
Or reach for words that pictures paint when writ.
My thoughts are either foggy or are blank
Ideas won't come right, no matter how
I stretch, condense, and weave my syllables
And it's sheer foolishness to try so hard.
Perhaps I need a day, perchance a week
Of emptiness and not of diligence
In which to rest and twist some new wry words
And make my concepts fitter to put down.
For note well!  These few words are not a verse
But show my lack and demonstrate the curse
Of being tired of all the subjects terse
Or long and tedious; so much the worse!

© Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/14/17


Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry and its forms and meanings

“Twins”–Another Poem About a Love Quandary

My readers must be thinking by all the poems about love’s fixations, problems, joys, and et cetera that one should perhaps after all give it a miss.  Naw, I think it’s probably still worth it.  But this is possibly one of the more unusual statements of a common problem; that is, when the lover seems divided in his responses.  As most often occurs, a somewhat humorous solution is the one that comes most easily to mind for me.


When I see you divided from yourself
And have to wonder which it is I love,
The neat man, or the man who moves my heart,
Manipulator, or the sad-eyed dove,

Then I begin to wonder "Who am I?"
"Shall I divide myself likewise in twain?
Love both, or choose one, and pursue the goal
Of gaining all his heart, his mind in train?"

Then think I that it must be you have cause
To look opposed thus to yourself and praise
The objectivity you say you have;
Perplexity, though, runs throughout my days.

I wonder, could it be you have a twin,
Or bear a double soul in one, like mine?
For I too have my moments of divide
When I with half myself do fret and pine.

So let's have forth the man with eyes of dolor
Who yet knows how to merry-make sometimes,
And I will love him; if th'other appear
We'll wind up all his stratagems in rhymes.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/13/17


Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry and its forms and meanings

“The Acting of Love”–Taking a Page from Ovid

In his work The Art of Love, the author Ovid advises a lover who wishes to seem sincere in his tearfulness with his mistress momentarily to turn his head aside and stick a finger in his own eye hard to make himself tear up.  Such stratagems are in the rhetorical tricks book both physical and verbal, and not only of lovers who would be proclaimed lovers but of potential lovers who want to deny love.  That’s what this poem is tangentially about.

The Acting of Love

Oh, why do you persist in saying me "Nay"
When you could say "Oh yes, my love" so well?
Persuasions cunning and so bright arise
In your ingenious mind, your lie to tell.

Yet I dispute it not; I must respect
The limits you have set about to guard
Your evidently sovereign right to judge
And your true self to countenance and ward.

But grant me just a right to criticize
The quality of your performance, nor
Think I debate your knowledge; I am wise
And have seen this conundrum posed before.

And thus betwixt your show and my critique
We may somehow find love a thing less bleak.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/12/17

Love as a topic is a difficult thing to discuss sometimes!  Shadowoperator

Leave a comment

Filed under What is literature for?

When Lovers Are Made But Not Fated–“Half and Half”

This is a poem for all the lovers in the world who have to work at love and who feel that it’s worth it, even if they weren’t “fated” to be in love.

Half and Half

My love, we were not meant for one another
In spite of innate sympathies arising
And we have struggled, argued, joyed, and fought
To such degree our harmony's surprising.

For Fate has dealt with us awry, you see,
And made me love while you play off your tricks,
Your ploys, dishonesties, though you seek truth,
And left me thus to sort love from the mix.

For I feel sure you are not without love
Though you may say it is not meant for me,
And yet you show both passion and concern
In what seems more than my due lot, truly.

So, ask you for what you most want from love,
Whether or not you think it in my range,
For lovers true even shake the mighty halls
Of heaven with their cries, nor count it strange.

Perhaps, then, we may pass for lovers true,
My weakness, your denial passing muster
And for half-this, half-that we garner praise
As to the ill-assorted adding luster.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/7/17


Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry and its forms and meanings

Yet Another Lovers’ Dilemma–A Poem Called “Just Where Do I Fit In”?

I was tempted at first to say that this poem delineates a modern lovers’ dilemma, yet further thought convinced me that this has probably always to some extent been a problem for the ages, even if hidden, repressed, or occurring behind the scenes.  It’s a poem about finding one’s true place in the scheme of things.

Just Where Do I Fit In?

She then she then she
To woo me
Whereupon I hastily flee
She and she and she,
Understanding, but
Repulsed, nevertheless.
He then he then he,
Attracted to me,
Clutch desperately
To he and he and he
Insisting they don't love me.
What?  Then why the pretense?
Why the games, why the pain,
No gain
In any case for me.
I try to puzzle it out.
What do I do
To get just we two
Of he and me?
Or grammatically,
He and I?
Oh, sigh.
God and the devil may know,
But I don't, so I go
Alone.  Oh, woe.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/2/17

That’s all for now.  Just a little something to think about!  Shadowoperator

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry and its forms and meanings

A Haiku for Winter

Here’s a haiku (an Asian verse form having 3 lines of 5 syllables, 7 syllables, then 5 syllables).  This one occurred to me to due to personal inspiration, as you may imagine.

Winter Suspense Pulp Fiction
A Haiku

Tissue paper tale--
How will it continue, end?
One Nostril Running.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/10/11

Good for a small chuckle, I hope.   More another post.  Shadowoperator

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry and its forms and meanings

A Memorial Poem–“To a Friend, On the Death of a Brother”

This is a tribute poem for a friend of mine, who recently lost a brother.

To a Friend, On the Death of a Brother

Pebbles and shells
On the beach
Beneath the feet
Of some boys,
Just some boys,
Chilly, perhaps, the day,
Accounting for their hoverings
Near the rocks
With their toes dug into the sand.
And then one day
Caught in the web of time
One dead, the other two mourning,
Loss of young life even at sixty
Or so.
Time with its merciless strings
Of stuff
First holding us in place
To develop,
Next supporting us
As we grasp purchase
Slow step by slow step,
Finally frustrating our attempts
To fly free and be bold,
Like the spirits we once were
And are soon to be again,
A part of the air,
A grace,
And all we know is that once
It seemed our sempiturnal friend,
The web,
As if having flown into it
By the accident of birth,
We might negotiate our circumstances.
Our minds themselves
Have hovered in the mist
Of coincidence bedewing it,
And how we are,
Who and why we are,
Have all been part of our self-portrait
Starting with ourselves,
A dawn picture,
And then beach and city scenes,
And forests and days and evenings
All shared,
Or sometimes endured alone,
Or perhaps even humming
Along the sticky wire
Which holds us in suspense
AS to what the next step
Must be.
And yet, we knew all along
It must come to this,
But hoped
For more daylight,
One more sunset,
One more moonlit night
To sing for each other
Our song of enchantment
And entrapment,
And being together still.
For you, dear friend,
I wish no narrowing of the way,
Feet held down by inanition,
But a broad stroke
Of the hovering fate
Like to one of the boys
Cutting a swathe impatiently
Through the web
That's in his way,
At your own time
Stepping forth to follow
The one gone before,
In joy and gladness
At some remembered afternoon
In the sand, casting stones,
And yelling blithely at others
To hold up for you,
As you are sure and strong,
And they cannot outrun you,
All being free.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/3/17



Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry and its forms and meanings, What is literature for?