More Rhyme Whisperer Goodness - 'As the Moon and the Sun'

My current immersion in literature of many genres and times - and the state of mind produced by this exposure to a more artistic environment than usual- has made me think of a time not too long ago, one that produced some of my better pieces of poetry.

'As the Moon and the Sun' has become one of the most popular of my poems. It was written about seven years ago. At the time, it was just another poem; one I enjoyed writing, but just another poem.

I've since realised how valuable this poem is to me, how much importance I've always placed on the uniqueness of the individual. And the fact that inspiration can find us more easily if we just accept ourselves for who we really are.

Whenever I feel a bit lost or overwhelmed by people or circumstances, or whenever something good happens because I decide to take a risk and trust my own judgment instead of giving in to those niggling doubts and fears of failure that can assault our senses on the best of days, this is the poem that always comes to mind.

It reminds me that it's important to give oneself space and time to appreciate one's own mind and ways - and that it's smart to seek inspiration and live life to the fullest as an individual as much as someone who's part of any kind of community.

It doesn't diss the value of being with another, I think, but perhaps it's a reminder that the individual should not be neglected in the pursuit of societal goals or ideals.

For those who need that boost of indivualism right now (with perhaps a touch of the romantic thrown in to sweeten the pot), I hope 'As the Moon and the Sun' strikes a chord with you too:

‘As the Moon and the Sun’

Don’t give me too many prizes,
Or I might forget I knew your kiss,
Just touch me as you did this morning,
And forgive me as you were forgiv’d.

Don’t shower me with such coy shyness,
Life’s own nature is too short,
Just speak, and speak out very loudly,
My mind can’t love what’s never thought.

And comfort me each time I falter,
As I comfort you for your own sake,
But, forget the seeking of my glory,
Forget the path that I should take.

The only road that you should travel,
Is the one that’s meant for you,
Do not mistake our living union,
For a union of one heart; ‘tis two.

Fly the way the wind is blowing,
But steer it as you ride its’ wave,
And if our fingers meet upon it,
Do not hold so tight they break.

We might be one when we’re together,
But we are two when we’re apart,
And God’s plan to so unite us,
Can never work with half-played hearts.

Remember, thread and needle’s working,
Would never create a single stitch,
Unless they learned the rhyme and reason,
Of differing in their union’s reach.

So spread your wings and fly forever,
And as you fly, so too will I,
And we shall still turn to one another,
Under Heaven’s one brilliant sky.

For each sky holds in its’ blue grasp,
And even in its’ grey,
A sun of closed eyes at night,
And a moon that sleeps by day.

Each giving light for its own reason,
Each meant for purpose divine,
But neither getting in the glimmering path,
Of the other’s celestial design.

So let us not forget this truth,
We are two although we are one;
And the better one we shall become,
If we lived as the moon and the sun.

(Note: For those who'd like to read more of my poems, do check out my poetry ebooks. 'As the Moon and the Sun' is included in two of them: 'As the Moon and the Sun', and the longer anthology, 'Just Imagine'.)

Goodnight, and happy reading:)

More Rhyme Whisperer Goodness - 'As the Moon and the Sun'

A path less travelled...

As August 2011 begins, I can't help thinking that this has been a mad half a year - full of ambition and ideas, thoughts of nature and the elements and art and artists, and all as starry and dark as Van Gogh's beautiful painting, 'The Starry Night'.

Why such a mad half a year? Well, I'd finally taken time off to pursue my studies:)

Yes, I've been quite jobless lately, and studying William Blake and Samuel Taylor Coleridge to boot:)

It's been fun so far. But while it's been crazily good not to have to wake up early every day and hurry off to work, I have to say it was really disorienting in the beginning to become a student again.

I'd always suspected that I'd come to rely far too much on the social outlet of work to provide me my sources of inspiration. And darn it, my suspicions were proven true so fast!

Left to my own devices, I found myself feeling quite lost. And pretty unmotivated to get new writing out.

But family and friends were there (thankfully!), as were interesting classes on authors I've neglected to read. Studying them is a humbling, humbling process btw, one which has made me realise just how ignorant a writer I am... and how much room there is for any writer to learn and grow.

And though the quiet day to day can be really uninspiring a context for writing or studying or anything, really, the solitary aspect of being a writer and student has had its benefits.

The reason I wanted to take this time off for myself in the first place was simple: I needed to surround myself with an environment that would stimulate artistic growth and good literary work. My day to day job before this was one that wasn't too hectic, but it was extremely dry and dull for me. It wasn't a 'painful' job, but it wasn't passionate either. It was simply - comfortable.

Only, being too comfortable can be quite hazardous to creativity, can't it?

Every single day, I could feel the pull of being a writer thudding deep inside me. But I was unable to give that imaginative passion free rein.

Even when I did take the time to sit down for hours and write - enjoying myself hugely in the process - I became aware of an urgent, wistful whisper playing at the back of my mind. It was a kind of warning that, if too much time passed, my writerly self would simply vanish without a backward glance beneath the quiet demands of my comfortable job.

The thought scared me. I loved writing too much. I wanted to become a successful writer too intensely to simply give up that dream without a fight. I just wasn't sure if the fight was one I was equipped to win. This doubt ended up diluting much of my desire to make it as a writer - I thought that failure to make a living at the writing trade would be the ultimate defeat. Faced with defeat, I simply gave up trying (a curse of the perfectionist, if you will).

But the desire to write can be a stubborn, obsessive one, and this time I'm glad that obsession has had a positive turn to play for me. Basically, I was faced with the choice of carving a strong career path that didn't involve writing, or taking the chance to chase my dreams and make them happen. I knew that something in my life needed to change drastically if I were to choose the latter path. But enough time had passed that, emotionally, physically etc, I was confident enough to take the plunge.

Doing something drastic is different for everyone, of course, and comes in many guises. For me, the drastic  change to my world manifested in the risk I took to leave behind a secure job so that I could further my studies in literature and reignite my passion for storytelling.

In taking this time off  - a time off that I've worked hard for many years to finance btw, which makes it taste all the sweeter:) - I've found my creativity growing in leaps and bounds. In fact, my initial hopes in this respect were quickly exceeded!

Not only has reading works of nineteenth century Romantics and debating literary theory  stimulated many, many thoughts creative - it's been an added bonus that exposure to works self-published by writers of old (and which subsequently went on to become classics) gradually influenced me towards entering the world of indie/self-publishing.

Now, a multitude of my stories/poetry have been sent out into the world. And they are actually finding an audience! What more could a writer hope for?:) I might not be the next millionaire writer out there - though I really hope that happens! - but knowing my audience exists is a huge motivator for my writer's soul:)

I suppose the question of the day is: How do you know when the right path has been taken, when the right step has been made in any endeavour?

Answer: You don't.

The important thing is, you have to follow your heart, dig in to acquire the skills necessary to make what you do the best it can be, and hope it all works out. If you must, have a back up plan. But make sure it is the back up, and doesn't become the only plan without you realising it/because you fear failure (which was my bugbear for the longest time).

Hmmmm, in the spirit of taking risks and paving paths that are often easily dismissed, I'm reminded of a well-known poem that's always been one of my favourites. I'm sure many of you love it as well. It captures a kind of magic - the magic of the moment if you will - promising that if you follow its shadowy trails, certain paths can change your life forever. I've loved Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken' since, well, forever! And I hope you enjoy it too:) -


The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

by Robert Frost

A path less travelled...

A Compliment For Poetry? Who'd Have Thunk It?:D

I've been a reader for as long as I can remember. I'm betting I learned to read before I could even walk, tho my mum might dispute that:) But I've definitely been reading since forever...

I can even recall vividly the moment I completed an entire book in one sitting: in case you're wondering, the book was Enid Blyton's The Enchanted Wood.

I stayed cosy and warm on my living room couch, unmoving and absorbed in those black words on white paper, for close to half a day. And wow, it was amazing to get drawn into an absolutely different - weird and magical - world from the one I knew I lived in.

That sense of wonder and awe at the power of the written word to compel a reader to travel all over the Earth and beyond has stayed with me since childhood. I'm always surrounded by books at home. And somehow, as messy as it sounds, I find a way to surround myself with books of some sort or another when I'm at work.

I love reading. I simply adore reading. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't read another book. And I really can't fathom how some people go their whole lives without reading books. Everyone's different, of course. But to not read out of choice... That form of existence is anathema to me, and would no doubt depress me out of my wits.

Now that I've got across my love affair with reading, perhaps you'll be able to understand why writing became my more obsessive love. Maybe I'm trying to reproduce the magic I experienced reading the works of others. Maybe I simply feel an urgent need to contribute to the library of fascinating, everlasting stories that the human community has been compiling since the dawn of all things dreamt and spoken. Maybe I'm a dreamer who enjoys escaping reality sometimes:) Whatever the reason, I write every day, even if it's just a few words on my blogs, and I never fail to enjoy the experience of dancing with language and thought each time I write.

I think that ever since I read The Enchanted Wood though, I've been hoping also that some reader out there might just find my writing as wonderful and enchanting as I found Blyton's so long ago.

This hope was more like a dream, you know - ie, I never really thought this would happen in reality. I've since been proven wrong, and gradually developed what I thought was a healthy relationship with writing and being a writer.

But - somehow, there's always a 'but', isn't there? - when I started putting my writing up as ebooks on Smashwords and Amazon's Kindle Store, all the old doubts crept back in.

I'd spend days wondering which works would get the most attention from readers, which would be the most attractive and enjoyable to others. What if no one liked anything? What if every single piece of my writing sucked big time?? (yes, I became a bit nutty at one point:D)

Whenever these thoughts plagued my writerly mind, I girded my loins (hmm, never thought I'd ever use that phrase in my writing) and reminded myself of the power of self-promotion:D Frankly, I thought my short stories would do far better than my poetry, and was prepared to market 'em for all I was worth.

But the funny thing is, out of all the works I've written so far, it's my poetry that's given me my first (four star) Amazon review:)

Given the wonderful compliments in that review - especially a comparison to Emily Dickinson that made me go numb with shock (and awe lol) for some seconds *still jumping with glee inside as I write this* - I've become more convinced than ever that this is the path my life must take, but I've also realised how insecure a writer I can be.

I didn't think I'd need validation from others, but that's obviously untrue, especially since it was after that review that I began to feel really good about the effort I'd put into arranging all those messy words into perfect, neat, remarkable little sentences. All those late nights and frustrated thoughts of never making it as a successful author finally seemed worth something tangible, real... something Blyton-ish in power:)

Hmmm it seems that, for this writer, validation from readers is akin to sweet, soft balm for the writerly soul:)

Whatever happens from now on, at least I'll always know that someone out there has read and liked my work. What a gorgeous piece of knowledge for any author to have at the back of their mind as they sit down to create beloved, intimate tales for others to read:)

A Compliment For Poetry? Who'd Have Thunk It?:D