Tag Archives: little bits and pieces

An Ironic Look at the Process of Inspiration–“The Formula”

It’s been a little more than a week now since I’ve had the opportunity to put up another poem of my own, and while I understand that one can’t always be inspired to work on specific things or in specific ways, there’s still that sense of frustration that arises when a “dry spell” occurs.  So, I decided to write a poem about that; one gets one’s topics where one can, after all!

The Formula

"Sit and think for a bit,
It'll come to you;
It always has before,
Why should now be any different?"
And yet, now is now
And then was then,
And poetry
Is not made to order.
Unresponsive to logic
Even in its most rhetorical form,
It follows a line and melody
All its own,
Declines to be summoned
Except with most respect;
Stays only to hear
Its own self speak,
Though it insists on
Not being thought
A pompous twit, a prig,
But a voice from a heavenly aether,
Or a cloud.
What a put-up job!
Attributing itself
To a series of unknowables
Or unmeasurables, in the course of things,
Like muses, twilit nights, the moon,
Sorrows, radiant sunshine,
Genius or capacity for self-deception,
Anyway--
Really, what has ever been
More uncompromising than poetry?
More querulous, hard to please,
Stubborn, self-dramatic,
Quick to anger,
Slow to compromise,
And all-in-all
Difficult to compose
And call one's own?
Yet, I suppose
If I wait for just a bit,
Give it a chance to seem humble
As if dropping in on me unawares,
Uninvited and unheralded,
Then I won't have to threaten it
With becoming prosy,
With writing a short story instead.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/28/17

Who knows if I will be able to continue poetry posts in the near future?  Yet I couldn’t resist sharing this wry expression of frustration at an at least mild case of writer’s block.  Shadowoperator

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

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

 

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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

 

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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
Attempted
To woo me
Whereupon I hastily flee
She and she and she,
Repulsed.
Understanding, but
Repulsed, nevertheless.
He then he then he,
Seemingly
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.
Perplexedly,
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

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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

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What’s out there? A Poem About “It”–“What Is It”?

This is just a short poem, made more to start to investigate a compositional problem than to propose a final answer, though the ending might seem final.  I’ve found that I often end a poem with a reference to God, and though in each case the reference was sincere and thought out, I don’t want it to get to be too easy and automatic, because that’s not what faith is about.  So, I’m sort of thinking now about what it means to turn at least to the Infinite for explanations of things, even if you don’t believe in a specific god or gods or goddesses.  This brief ditty–and really, it can’t be called more than that–was the result.  Not one of my best poems, but useful, at any rate.

What Is It?

What is that something out there
That other folk deny
Is it the being I call "God"
Or is it just "I'm I"?
For Popeye with his spinach
And God, out of iams,
The both of them are known to say
Just "I am what I am."
And though the foot and rhyme are true
I fear I have to say
That other people doubt me more
Because I "God" display
In many poems; in many rhymes
"God" seems the answer true
For what I simply can't explain,
With mystery endued.
And I find often it helps me
To think someone's in charge
Though even I dispute results
Which in my life loom large.
So leave me my illusions,
Let me think amorphously
That I perceive a bit of truth
And that it perceives me.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/3/17

Though I’ve had this problem particularly  this time round this year in writing poetry, I always wrote around it before when I was younger, because people seemed to disapprove so very much of the idea of God, and they were and are people I respect for their other qualities and abilities, certainly many of them intellectual.  But now, I’ve come to a time in my life which is sufficiently trying and difficult (though it was so before as well) that it makes me feel better to let the truth of my feelings out, be damned and full speed ahead!  I hope, though, that whatever your own beliefs, you feel welcome to express them with people who care about you, or just with people you know–it’s hard to feel that you can’t express freely what you truly feel, whatever that may be.  Shadowoperator

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Just a Moment’s Thought–A Poem Called “Advice”

In the last few days, I’ve experienced a slight slowing down of poetic inspiration, which may mean that I need to return for a while to posting on other people’s works, I don’t know.  At any rate, this poem, “Advice,” a moment of whimsy, was all that really occurred to me today.  At least it’s based on conversations and experiences we’ve all had….its universality will have to speak for it!

Advice

Don't worry about quickly
Worry about well,
She said,
Anybody can do quickly.
Yes, but, I said--
And forget about
What to call it,
You know,
It is what it is.
Yes, but--
And don't try to second-guess,
You can drive yourself crazy
Trying to second-guess
And figure things out.
Yes, but--
Above all,
Get more than you give,
It's a mug's game, else.
Yes, but--
I know how you feel,
But you've got to look
At the bright side.
Yes, but--
Win or lose, it's your choice.
Yes, but--
And stop arguing with me!
You asked for my advice,
Didn't you?
Yes, but--
Well, what?
You don't understand.
What's to understand?
You have to be strong!
Yes, but....
It's not your life,
You don't know what it's like!
I thought that's what you valued,
My objectivity.
Yes, but--
Do me a favor, okay?
Don't ask my advice
The next time!

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/1/17

That’s all!  Just a thought about casual advice; it’s probably equally frustrating from both sides.  Shadowoperator

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