Thursday, August 6, 2009


I have always wanted to be a writer. It's fun, and it's liberating for a shy person who has trouble articulating her thoughts in speech. This is how I can show myself to the world. Even as a child I would write short stories, or poems, to express my love, or even to explain what mood I was in. I write for me. I write to connect with those who are most precious around me. Herein lies the problem. Most people, even those who know me well, have never read my works. I never saw a reason for them to. I figured if my writing was influential, or even good, a teacher would have told me so. Maybe I relied too much on their judgment. But, if only a very few have seen my writing how could the world know me?

Lately, Derek and I have been talking about my writing, about doing more with it. This Blog is my first attempt at expanding my horizons while affording myself a chance of practicing. Derek wants me to go further, perhaps to even publish a book of poems I've already written. At his request, I'm posting a poem of his choice, written years ago. Some may hear on echo of Yeats in the style. I patterned it after him for a homework assignment.

My Son

What world do you enter here,
among the broken willows and forgotten rose?
With darkness on the wind,
from every corner evil blows.

I am sorry, my beloved son,
that this place is no more safe;
that I could not change it,
nor satisfy your grace.

There is hope, among the deep,
rejected by those who cannot see,
burning bright, an ember yet.
But you will stand; you will not flee.

Oh my son, my love of life,
empowered and blessed are you,
for you have strength beyond your foes.
Remember, and be one of the few.

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