Thanks to Bastet from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix. This week’s prompt is a soliloquy at a train station. I’ll be using blank verse or unrhymed iambic pentameter as the Barddid.
“Imagine a scene, a train is pulling out of the station and a person standing on the platform looking dejected. What can have happened. Perhaps this person is someone in the station wishing to leave but for some reason hasn’t. “
So leaves the train, so leaves my heart,
Why him I once loved, now I know not?
Must have been his eyes so brilliant a green,
Gems such as emeralds, a sea-green storm brewed.
Was it his cavalier smile, his laugh?
With him I felt wanted, weak in the knees.
I was his Queen, he my adoring King.
He cared for me gently, said I shouldn’t stay —
On my own, for he loved me; fooled me,
Underestimated a woman cruelly scorned.
I saw cracks in the vase, facade crumbled,
An artist’s dream of beauty such a fake,
He left, emptied my pockets of money.
This con thinks he’s safe going to Bahamas,
Since he betrayed me, I say differently.
He’ll be doing some flying, and me thinks he’s done.
Thrown off the tallest bridge, out of the train.
“When I think of eternal, I think there isn’t much that is eternal, at least not on this earth. When I wrote this prompt, I believe I was thinking how even though OctPoWriMo is coming to an end, our words are forever – what we wrote during this month and beyond. What does eternal mean to you?” ——
“Truly, truly, I say to you, he who hears My word, and believes Him who sent Me, has eternal life, and does not come into judgment, but has passed out of death into life.” –John 5:24
Time on earth is done,
When my body is only,
An Empty vessel.
Then shall eternity —
Begin; time will not matter.
For all those gone on.
Time on earth, linear,
It’s hard imagining.
What forever is,
What it looks like and feels like,
Who the maker is?
Death is frightening,
Even in sleep, will it hurt?
Where does our soul go?
This is why I think,
Believing in God is wise,
We can worry less.
Perhaps worry not —
At all; because we know what —
The otherside will bring.
Many say we’re wrong,
There’s no heaven, there’s no hell.
I learned fear of God.
Not that we should be —
Afraid of benevolent —
King; but his word speaks.
Gives us hope for life,
Eternal in Jesus dying for —
Everything done wrong.
We’re not perfect and —
We never will be, we can’t
Keep the Ten Commandments.
Fulfilling God’s law,
Impossible to achieve,
So he sent Jesus.
He hung on a cross,
Cruxifician painful, bled.
He died went to Hell.
Defeated death and the grave,
So with him remain.
When our death comes there —
Is no sting, because those who —
Have faith, believe — live.
That is eternity,
Heaven with God, better than —
Our wildest dreams.
Forgiveness of sin,
Becoming perfect beings,
Paradise for real.
Thank you for following me for #OctPoWriMo. Sorry, I’m behind on my usual prompts! I will catch up and am following a new themed daily prompt for November. Stay tuned 🙂
Welcome to another interview in my interview series. Originally, I was going to make this a monthly feature, but I had a great response from other bloggers and writers who wish to be interviewed, so I will try it as a series which occurs every two-weeks.
Today, I’m excited and pleased to share with you the talented writer and bloggerRyan Stone of ‘Days of Stone’. Please visit the link provided to read more about Ryan and read his superb poetry.
1. Please Tell Us About Yourself.
The blood of the Irish runs deep in my veins but I’m an Australian born and bred. I was raised in a ‘man’s land’ of karate, fast motorbikes, heavy metal guitars, and football with Aussie rules. My love of reading and writing was not readily accepted. Instead, I was forced to indulge my interests under my bed covers by torchlight. But the poets Seamus Heaney,Kenneth Slessor, Walt Whitman, and Maya Angelou — all have a way of asserting themselves in my writing.
Although I have no real love of uniforms, I’ve worn a few in my life so far: the combatfatigues of a soldier in the field and driving a battle tank; the torn black denim of a metalguitarist; and the turnout gear of a fire-fighter. I’ve been a rank-and-file cop, a detective, and a member of a plain-clothes special duties team. When all the uniforms are stripped off, I like to think it is the writer who remains.
I have no formal credentials, only an observer’s eye and an insatiable appetite for books. I’m rough around the edges, but the right turn of phrase will stop me dead in my tracks every time. I love Metallica, Ted Kooser, and with equal passion, my closest friend in the world, my German Shepherd (don’t tell my wife).
“When all the uniforms are stripped off, I like to think it is the writer who remains . . . the right turn of a phrase will stop me dead in my tracks every time.” – Ryan Stone
2. When Did You Begin Writing and Blogging?
The first time I considered my writing to be writing, was towards the end of highschool. I was blessed with an incredibly passionate Englishteacher who managed to channel a teenage boy’s angst and anger into something less destructive. When one of my poems earned me a kiss from a pretty girl I had a crush on, I knew writing was something I’d stick with.
I’ve never been much of a social media fan. But I reached a point where I became sick of waiting several months for editors to respond to my poetry submissions; I turned instead to WordPress. Along with all the great writing and posts I’m able to read from other writers, I’ve developed a wonderful, supportive group of friends, and readers, who offer feedback and advice in a much shorter time frame than editors. While I still submit to poetry journals, my year of blogging has given me a huge amount of enjoyment and satisfaction.
3. What Does Poetry Mean To You? Why Do You Write?
To borrow from my favourite quote by Anton Chekhov: Poetry isn’t being told the moon is shining – for me, it is being shown the glint of light on broken glass.
I love the way a poem can capture more than a photograph, can carry an image or emotion over time and space, and let me experience someone else’s worldview for a moment. I also like the way reading one of my own poems years after it was written can transport me back to a previous ‘headspace,’ for a moment.
” . . .Poetry isn’t being told the moon is shining – for me, it is being shown the glint of light on broken glass.” – Ryan Stone (borrowing from Anton Chekhov)
4. Where Do You Find Your Inspiration and Motivation To Write?
Nearly all of my poetry begins while I’m running with my dog through the rain forest beside my house. Usually, a thought, a memory, or an observation takes root and nags at me until I jot it down. Sometimes, an unusual word or phrase will catchme the same way. My dog has developed his very own ‘here we go again’face which he pulls each time I pause during a run, so I can tap out a note or two on my phone.
5. Do You Find There Is a Time of Day You Most Like To Write?
Predominantly, I write at night, when my boys are asleep, and the house is quiet. I am frequently awake into the small hours of the morning and find my 2:00 am mind is quite adept at slipping out of the shackles my daytime mind imposes. During these hours, I can most effectively explore and develop the notes I jot down during the day.
” I am frequently awake in the small hours of the morning and find my 2:00 am mind is quite adept at slipping out of the shackles my daytime mind imposes.” – Ryan Stone
6. What Are Your Most Current Writing Projects?
I have two fantasy novels I’m working on at present. One is about a princess who becomesa pirate queen after her parents are murdered, the other is about an orphan boy who becomes a magician and later, a king. Both novels began as short stories which expanded and grew during a couple of National Novel Writing Months (NaNoWriMo). Both novels are over a hundred-thousand words and in need of serious revision. As with everything, time is a killer.
Poetry wise, I’m writing a chapbook with one of my closest internet mates (Ajay) who lives in India. It is loosely based around flowers and cultural differences. I’m currently editing a collection of my Senryu (5-7-5) poems, with the intention of self-publishing a small e-book of one-hundred Senryu poems, in the next few months…unless a publisher comes along sooner.
7. Have You Published Any Writing or Are You Planning To Publish Works Of Writing In The Future?
I’m fortunate enough to have had many poems published in a number of online journals, print anthologies, and poetry magazines. I never thought anyone other than my mum would enjoy my writing and rarely submitted my writing anywhere until recently.
A few years ago, I wrote a poem called “Unburied Hatchet,” which I thought had a chance of being published, so I submitted it to a couple of places…and was rejected each time. On a whim, I sent it into the monthly competition in Writers’ Forum Magazine (a magazine in the UK to which I subscribe), and was blown away when it won first prize and £100 (quite a lot of money with the Australian exchange rate being what it is). That first win, gave my confidence a much-needed boost and I’ve been submitting ever since.
” I wrote a poem called “Unburied Hatchet” . . .I sent it into the monthly competition in Writers’ Forum Magazine . . .and was blown away when it won first prize and £100.” – Ryan Stone
8. Can You Briefly Describe The Process You Went Through To Publish or Are Going Through To Have Your Writing Published?
All my publishing to date has been by submission, so I’ll talk about publishing by submission. Whether it’s a print journal, online review, magazine, blog, or something else, the rules are always the same.
Read the publication first, to gain an idea of what style of writing they publish. While it doesn’t hurt to offer something fresh, I usually have a fair idea of an editor’s likes and dislikes before I submit.
Read and re-read the submission guidelines before you hit send. An improperlyworded subject line can be enough for an editor to discount the submissionwithout even reading the poem. Some publications request everything in the bodyof an email, others prefer attachments. Decent editors are inundated with submissions which meet their specific requirements and most, won’t waste their time with sub-standard submissions.
Take rejections gracefully.Analyze any critiques subjectively and apply critiques if you think they are warranted.BUT DON’T GIVE UP – submit, submit, submit. There are a million homes for poems out there and because a poem isn’t right for one editor or magazine certainly doesn’t mean it won’t be a prize winner for another editor or magazine. While I’m realistic about my own writing, I generally look at rejections as a case of a bad fit, not a bad poem.
9. What Is Your Writing Process Like?
Almost exclusively, my writing begins as a note or two on my iPhone (often while I’m running) and later develops on my iPad. My writing environment is incredibly vital to me and the Mac/iPad writing program — Ulysses — puts me in an excellent creative ‘headspace.’ I tend to write a first draft quickly once an idea forms and then I’ll put it aside for a week or two, before returning and revising a poem over and over and over…
I am incredibly fortunate to have found a brilliant first reader. She’s an amazingly talented poet in her own right as well as possessing editing skills second to none. For some reason, I’ve yet to understand, she seems to enjoy my writing and conversation and has nurtured and developed my poetry to no end. My first reader’s input is a huge part of my process in developing a poem from initial idea to finished piece.
” I tend to write a first draft quickly once an idea forms and then I’ll put it aside for a week or two, before returning and revising a poem over and over and over . . .” – Ryan Stone
10. Do You Prefer Certain areas of Writing or Reading Styles or Genres?
When I’m reading a novel, it is usually fantasy and almost always a series. StephenKing’s Dark Towercollection is a favourite, as are Game of Thrones, Magician, TheBelgariad, Lord of the Rings, and Bernard Cornwell’sArthurianbooks. I play a great deal of electricguitar which draws me to music biographies as well, anything rock or metal is fair game. Additionally, I love short story collections: Italo Calvino takes first prize there, and I read as much modern poetry as I can get my hands on.
Originally, my love of poetry was nurtured by Maya Angelou, Kenneth Slessor, JimMorrison (The Doors), and Jewel Kilcher. When I first discovered Ted Kooser a few years ago, my own poetry made a huge leap. Kooser’s book, The Poetry Home Repair Manual, was full of ‘Aha!’ moments for me. Most recently, I’ve lost myself in the brilliant BuddyWakefield and Richard Hugo’s:The Triggering Town.
11. Do You Have Any Helpful Advice For Other Writers?
I’m not really big on dishing out advice, as everyone writes uniquely. What works for one person, won’t always help another person; but I can certainly share what works for me.
The important thing is to write, write, write and keep writing. It doesn’t have to be good. I have loads of writingwhich will probably never see the light of day; however, once the first jumble is out of my head, the writing that follows is much better.
I don’t edit my first draft as I write. I write it all down and worry about cleaning itup later. If I’m only editing a word or two, then I’ll delete and replace. If I’m editing a whole line or large section, I cut and paste in a new version – v1, v2, v3, (etc .) and keep each version in the same document. I find it’s much easier to revise without the fear of losing words or ideas I may want to later reinstate.
Once I’m happy with a version of my work, I put it aside for a few days and return to it later with ‘fresh eyes.’ I find it much easier to spot weak points, sticky spots, doubled up words, bad rhythm, (etc.), when I’m reading it fresh.
The poem is more important than the truth. When I’m writing a poem based on an actual event, I find it easy to place valueon a thing because its memory is significant to me. Often, I don’t want to let the thing go from the poem. This can become a weak point as the particular thing doesn’t make the poem better and doesn’t hold the same value for the reader. Once I let the poem dictate what to keep and what to cut, rather than trying to stay one-hundred-percent true to mymemory, my poetry comes together far tighter.
“Once I let the poem dictate what to keep and what to cut, rather than trying to stay one-hundred-percent true to my memory, my poetry comes together far tighter.” – Ryan Stone
12. Is There Anything Else You Would Like The Share With Us Which You Think Is Pertinent To Writing or Yourself?
An honest first reader who will tell me what works and what sucks without worrying about my feelings, is worth her weight in gold.
13. Can You Please Share With Us Few Links Of Your Favourite or Most Loved Pieces?
Until I saw those wasted hands,
brittle as chalk, I hadn’t thought
how fast the years make ghosts.
I heard them once called brawler’s paws.
For me, they were always more:
cobras, poised to strike.
But his brawling days are gone now;
I could kill him with a pillow,
if I cared enough to try.
Thin sheets press tightly to a bed
more empty than full, his body broken
like the promises of childhood.
Haunted eyes betray last thoughts
of a dim path, spiralling down.
He hopes to make amends.
“Forgiven?” he croaks,
barely there, as always,
and I’m wishing that I wasn’t.
With the last rays of day as witness,
I turn my back with purpose
and hear the silence roar.
In a late-night bar I catch my reflection
swimming in a glass of bourbon;
but I’m staring at a ghost.
– Ryan Stone
First published in Writers’ Forum Magazine issue 163, April 2015 – first place
Finally, our prompt for the day (optional, as always). Have you ever flipped to the index of a book and found it super interesting? Well, I have (yes, I live an exciting life!) For example, the other day I pulled from my shelf a copy of on old book that excerpts parts of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s journals. I took a look at the index, and found the following entry under “Man”:
For further information please see NaPoWriMo. My source is The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors, 7th Ed.
About sufferring they were never wrong,
A little black thing among the snow,
I sit wondering if there is somewhere that is home.
Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold!
I’m merely looking for a warm place to sleep,
To dream of Air and Angels, not to experience bitter frost,
I’m An old, mad, blind, despised,and dying King,
Every where around the world I have seen,
In control of my own life, remembering —
A women’s face with Nature’s own hand painted.
I miss my Queen, Behold her, single in the field.
She’s gone on even when I cried:
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy.
But I jest, I could not stop her death,
Now I sit here in this park praying,
Come down, O Christ, and help me! Reach thy hand,
But this Darkling Thrush is on his own so frozen, he is burning hot,
Seeing her: Drink to me only with thine eyes —Faerie Queene,
Farewell: thou art to dear for my possessing.
My Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose,
There is a Folly of Being Comforted by your memories,
I Go and Catch A Falling Star in the bitter night,
Hoping it will warm these decaying bones,
Life went by quickly, so many Good-Morrows,
Those who know me would say:
He never expected much only prayed — A Hollow M[a]n,
How vainly me themselves amaze.
[I] would drink by myself had I some money,
I have no name I would think, as I Look into my Glass,
In this strange labyrinth [of life] how shall I turn?
Oh Rose, thou art sick, I couldn’t save you,
O Wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being return,
I’ve been trapped in winter so long, I forget, in Pains of Sleep,
Past and Present, blur together and Splendor Falls,
I’m Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
Starlight night, the only warmth, as my breath shows in the cold.
Ten years ago it seemed impossible,
That the world, my loved ones, would forget me,
The long love that in my thought doth harbor,
They say that hope is happiness and you and me will be together soon,
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon,
[I am the] Hollow [man]; Weep with me, all that you read,
You that with allegory’s curious frame,
Don’t miss me, as in the night I freeze,
Thoughts ventured to her,
Why should I blame her she filled my days,
And so it seems she fills, my heavenly thoughts, at rest.
“Sweet,” eleven-year-old Edward exclaimed to his twin Ethan. “A ship from the eighteen-hundreds with canons. It’s like a ship from Pirates of the Carribean but it’s nicer.”
“Yeah,” Ethan added, “There are benches. Maybe, this pirate was rich?” Ethan was trying to gode his brother Edward and it worked.
” Well, I think pirates were rich because they worked for the state as Privateers or Corsairs and raided ships full of cargo,” Edward gloated to Ethan.
“It’s called ‘commerce raiding’ idiot!” Ethan remarked.”Privateers had to have ‘a letter of marque’ from the government or King to raid the country’s enemy’s cargo ships. Often, they took cargo from ships their country was at peace with, they didn’t much care whose cargo it was because they would sell it on the black market either way.” Ethan said smartly.
” Well, the Pirate Black Beard,” Edward said, trying to one-up his brother, “wrecked his own ship The Queen Ann’s Revenge. He ran it aground at the Beaufort inlet in North Carolina. When they found the shipwreck in 1996, it had twenty-six canons and and two-hundred-and-fifty – thousand artifacts.”
“Clearly, you don’t know much about Blackbeard whose real name was Edward Teach.” Ethan said.”He was a privateer who became a pirate in the carribean later on, but his home base was around North Carolina.”
“Blackbeard had a party for his pirate friends located on his favourite hiding place, Ocracoke island. The Governor of Virginia sent Lt. Robert Maynard and the Navy to finally capture Blackbeard in 1718. Maynard trapped Blackbeard and his pirate friends on Ocracoke island.” Ethan taunted, but Edward interrupted him with his own knowledge of Blackbeard.
“Maynard eventually shot Blackbeard who was still fighting him until another guy came up behind Blackbeard and slit his throat.” Edward mimed slitting Ethan’s throat and pushing him. Ethan frowned, trying to finish his story.
“Black beards head was cut-off and hung from Maynard’s ship as a warning to other pirates. Blackbeard had hidden treasure, but no one has ever found it…beat that stupid!” Ethan growled ready to tackle Edward.
“Boys, stop it!” the twin’s Mother yelled,”clearly you both know too much about Pirates, no more Pirates of the Carribean for you two, no Google either…”
What makes a king? A Cesar? A Czar? What makes you royalty? What gives you the birth right to rule the people with mercy or with grim authority? Who decided back in your lineage that you weren’t just a common person but someone to rule the kingdom? Someone to rule the battlefield? Someone to dispense justice to the common person?
Do you believe that other people have a say in how you rule as king?Do you have a legislative assembly? Or a House of Lords? Do you believe in habeas corpus and the Magna Carta? Or are you like many kings living a life with swift and hard justice and treating anyone below you as a pawn? Can you sleep with whoever you decree? Do you murder the innocent and take out those who would take your place as king?
Do you love your Queen or was it just an arranged marriage that begot you a huge dowry of money. Do you behead your Queens when they are not giving birth to sons or if you suddenly fall in lust with another woman of nobility. Does your Queen give you wise advice or would you kill her for saying her opinion. But there are some great Queens who ruled on their own Elizabeth the first and Queen Victoria. What King, do you say to that?
Do you want to be a King? Or was this birth right cast upon you as irons on a prisoner? Do you embody chivalry and rule the court with fashionable clothes and whatever you decree in fashion is in. Do you have many homes? Did you plot to kill your brothers? What makes a king? Who was a good King? It seems like Charlamagne was. But what’s history is textual and what’s textual is history so whoever wrote a book about Charlamagne perhaps left out the horrible things he did as King.
What embodies a king? I think as It is said ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely” so that is why our kings are a dying breed. That they have become figure heads and just a kind of celebrity. it’s too easy to be a bad leader, a corruptable King. So now we elect our Kings only for a few years. And the common man isn’t just common, he could be a modern King — a President or Primeminister. So if he is a corrupt elected official we impeach them or shame them into stepping down.