Tag: writing

Poem–“In Autumn We Don’t Walk Alone”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A piece of white blue lined notebook paper with a shimmer of rainbow .I wanted to come up with a horror poem for the month, but then I thought, aren’t all of my poems terrifying in their own way? So, I settled for a more seasonal, slightly spooky poem instead.

This form is a catena rondo, which I can’t remember if I’ve done on the blog before, and I’m too lazy to look it up to see if I did. So, quick recap: the stanzas are quatrains with an AbbA rhyme scheme; first line and last line of each quatrain are the same; the second line of the quatrain is the first line of the next quatrain; the final quatrain in the poem is exactly the same as the first.

I actually love this form when I have an idea or a theme or maybe just one line and I want to write a poem. This gets the job done.

In Autumn We Don’t Walk Alone

In autumn we don’t walk alone.
Footsteps of leaves accompany us,
ghosts following with a fuss.
In autumn we don’t walk alone.

Footsteps of leaves accompany us,
haunting us through the season.
We’re never alone for this reason.
Footsteps of leaves accompany us,

haunting us through the season.
The echoes of phantoms chasing after.
Can’t you hear their raspy laughter
haunting us through the season?

The echoes of phantoms chasing after,
in autumn we don’t walk alone.
Shadows dash ahead, race us home,
the echoes of phantoms chasing after.

In autumn we don’t walk alone.
Footsteps of leaves accompany us,
ghosts following with a fuss.
In autumn we don’t walk alone.

Poem–“What a Surprise”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A piece of white blue lined notebook paper with a shimmer of rainbow .How about an almost timely reaction poem?

James Dobson was the latest in a long list of evangelical preachers who enriched themselves by preaching subjugation, oppression, and hate before finally exiting this mortal coil.

When he kicked it, I thought, “Boy, won’t he be surprised when he gets to where he’s going?”

I bet he was.

Free verse is my default poetic form, but even that has room for growth. I’ve been trying to play with and experiment with line breaks and format. I’ve been messing with stanzas, you could say.

Please enjoy my messy musings.

What a Surprise

Won’t he be surprised to find

the Jesus he preached for wealth
and the God he prayed to for power
and the Holy Ghost he sent to haunt

the believers and non-believers alike
don’t exist and never did

Won’t he be surprised to find

when he gets to the Hell he so
fervently believed in

that none of the people
he condemned to be there
are residents

Won’t he be surprised to find

nothing but friends and familiar faces
his whole beloved congregation there
and not a bank to deposit his earthly gains

Poem–“Solomon”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A piece of white blue lined notebook paper with a shimmer of rainbow crossing it..I regret to inform you that your poetry break is over.

This poem was part of April’s Poem-A-Day challenge, and the theme for the day was “city poem”. I was working on a library podcast episode about ghost towns in my county at the time and decided that Solomon would be ideal for this theme, even if it was more of a town than a city and it didn’t exist anymore.

The poetic form is an endecha, which is a Spanish quatrain form. Lines 1, 2, and 3 have seven syllables, and line 4 has eleven. The rhyme scheme is abcb.

Welcome to Solomon.

Solomon

A tiny place that once was
almost forgotten but for
stories and memories of
lives that went in and out of the only store.

Sweet memories don’t come from
things that last, that’s what life showed.
Buried by a man named Bray,
all that’s left is a hitching post by the road.

She Dreams of Non-Fiction

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A bed piled with white pillows, messy white sheets, and a rumpled white comforter. Image by JayMantri from Pixabay.I read quite a bit of non-fiction. I enjoy learning things and because my age begins with a 4, I still like to learn things via books. I find that when I’m fixating on a particular subject for very long, books scratch an itch that I otherwise might not reach.

As a writer who reads quite a bit of non-fiction and has frequent fixations, I have long entertained the idea of writing a non-fiction book of my own. It’s sort of in the same dreamscape as writing a personal essay: I’m sure I could do it as soon as I got over the obstacle of not knowing how to do it, or in the case of the non-fiction book, not knowing how do it.

What is a non-fiction book, really? Just a 300 page research paper, but you’re allowed to have a sense of humor and a personality. Okay, I realize that still sounds like a drag, but narrative non-fiction would argue successfully against that assessment. The point is, I never had any trouble writing research papers, so I shouldn’t have any trouble writing a book-length one, right?

In theory, sure. My hang-ups, though, are related to topic. As in, I’d love to write a non-fiction book, but what would I write it about? Most folks who write non-fiction books have an area of expertise that they focus on, or they’re the inquisitive sort that want to learn all they can about something and then translate that learning for other curious people. I fall just a bit short in both of these areas. Nobody would consider me an expert in anything (other than self-sabotage and failure to thrive as an adult, but nobody wants to read about that), and while I am curious about a great many things, I don’t think I’m the sort of person gifted enough to translate that learning into writing that anyone would want to read. Also, the learning takes time and costs money. I’m a little short on both.

If I were to write a non-fiction book, it would most likely be pop culture related. Because what do I know? Reruns. My expertise lies in my ability to name guest stars in an episode of Gunsmoke or Murder, She Wrote that most people have never heard of. To be fair, my specific interests related to old TV shows are pretty niche, like ’70s cop shows. I can’t see that garnering much interest in the publishing trade.

But say I do try to write a book about ’70s cop shows. What’s my focus? Am I writing a reference guide to all of the cop shows produced in the ’70s? Or do I concentrate on how these shows amped up the copaganda in the wake of the rebellious ’60s as a way to subtly shift people back towards the status quo of authority? Am I smart enough to do write either of these books? Probably not. Also, the amount of research necessary for either venture is nothing short of daunting.

I’m not saying I wouldn’t enjoy myself. I’m just saying it’s a lot.

For now, the non-fiction dream remains a dream, but so long as I’m dreaming, the possibility of the dream becoming a reality stays alive.

Poem–“So, I’m a Sin”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A timely poem since it’s Pride Month and I wrote it last week in response to a meme someone posted on Facebook. It said something to the effect that we should be spending the month celebrating God rather than celebrating sin. My immediate response was, “So, I’m a sin, huh?”

Then I unfriended them and started working on this poem.

You could say that I helped them by removing a sin from their life.

It’s nothing fancy. Just my usual free verse style.

Stay queer, my dears.

So, I’m a Sin

So, I’m a sin.

Sent by God to test you,
the Devil to tempt you,
man to corrupt you.
I’m a challenge and an insult
to your great faith.
My very existence is a
disturbance, a slight
to your Jesus.

So, I’m a sin.

My ticket already punched for Hell,
I’m just looking for someone to
road trip there with me.
My pleas to be accorded the same rights
you covet like a precious hoard?
A clever ruse to get you in the handbasket with me.
A trick only the Devil could play,
that only a sin could play.

So, I’m a sin.

Preying on your Good Christian sensibilities
of love the sinner, hate the sin.
Because the sin and the sinner are so close
you can’t tell one from the other,
and you’re not willing to risk your afterlife
on getting the difference wrong.
You won’t waste your Good Christian kindness
on a person you’d rather judge.

So, I’m a sin.

I spend a whole month, thirty days start to finish,
celebrating my continued existence in spite
rather than giving glory to your god,
a god that you say loves me, made me in his image,
and wants to punish me
for embodying his design.
You want me to celebrate a god
who’s already condemned me? Please.

So, I’m a sin.

Mortal. Unforgivable.
Unapologetic. Unrepentant.
Just as your God created.
Just as your God intended.
A final exam that you failed.
Yes, I’m going to hell,
my Good Christian,
and I’ll see you there.

Poem–“Tell Me Anyway”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I regret to inform you that I’ve decided to do a monthly poem. I enjoyed torturing you all with the Magnificent Seven series too much. Also, I’m lazy and I don’t always want to write a blog post, but I’ve got gobs of poems that will never be formally published because as we know, I only write terrible poetry.

This one is from the latest Poetry Month Poem-a-Day. The day’s theme was a Two-for-Tuesday theme. On Tuesdays, the themes were usually flip sides. In this case it was Tell Me/Don’t Tell Me.

I decided to do a triolet, which involves repeating lines and a specific rhyme scheme. It’s actually pretty easy to do once you get the right lines to repeat.

Tell Me Anyway

Some secrets should be kept,
but tell me anyway.
I’ll pretend I heard them while I slept.
Some secrets should be kept,
left under the rugs they were swept.
But those are the best ones to say.
Some secrets should be kept,
but tell me anyway.

Writing Confidence (I Don’t Have Any Lately)

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

There was a time in my writing life when I thought I was pretty hot shit.

Okay, maybe that’s something of an exaggeration. I’ve never quite been so keen on myself. But there was definitely a good stretch where I felt solidly competent in my writing work.

I miss those days.

I think that stretch I spent in which writing was hard did more damage than I’d like to admit. When I was writing easy and often, I felt good about what I was putting onto paper. I felt like it was worth reading, even if not too many people wanted to read it.

When I hit that skid, though, I tripped harder than I thought. I’ve recovered when it comes to ideas and the writing being easier, but I think I lost some confidence along the way. I have no real faith in anything I’ve been writing lately. It’s not that I don’t like it or that I don’t enjoy the process, but once that draft is done, I’m at a loss. As much as I enjoy what I wrote, I don’t think it’s good enough for anyone else to enjoy.

Rejection is a natural part of writing, and there was a time when I was getting rejected regularly because I was submitting regularly. When I hit that dry period, the submitting also hit drought mode. When it came time to get back in the game, I found that I really had no game left. Not for lack of trying, either. I subscribed to my writing magazines again, started trolling for places to submit, even submitted a few things, but for the most part, I’ve felt out of my element. I lost my mojo, and I lost my place.

It’s a little bit demoralizing to be honest.

I’ve been working on the novel length version of Stateline for months now, unable to make a whole lot of progress quickly due to the current stress test that is my life. As I’ve progressed through the story, I realize that it’s not exactly what I envisioned, but then again, I’m not entirely surprised by that because I didn’t exactly do the greatest outlining/planning. I jotted down my main beats, but there were a lot of words that needed to fill in the blank spaces between those beats. This isn’t unfamiliar territory for me. I’ve done this before. And there have been moments where I’ve really enjoyed the story I’ve been writing. A line here, a turn of phrase there, a conversation, an interaction. I’m having a good time writing this story even if it is meandering and destined to be in need of much revising.

But too much of it strikes me as a regression of my craft. There are times when I’m writing it that I wonder why I’m writing it because I’ve clearly lost some of my skill. I used to think that writing poetry would help to keep my prose sharp, but it seems like this blade is forever dull.

I keep thinking that I’ll get my confidence back as I go along. After all, I’m going to keep writing. That’s not going to stop.

I guess I don’t know what this means right now.

Look at that. I don’t even have confidence in this blog post.

Poem–“Mating Ritual”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

It’s the last day of National Poetry Month! You made it! The torture is over!

With this last poem.

The final poem featured from the November Poem-a-Day Challenge comes from the theme Disguise. I admit to playing fast and loose with this theme, but you have to admit that my free verse isn’t wrong.

Mating Ritual

I pluck hairs
from my face
to hide that
I’m a mammal.
Men don’t date
within their species.

Poem–“Frayed”

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

We’re almost through National Poetry Month. You guys are such sports.

The theme of this poem from the November Poem-a-Day Challenge was Nerves. A fitting theme at the time because my nerves were, well, frayed.

This poetic form is called a nonce. It’s a poetic form created by a poet for one time use. The rules of this particular nonce is three words a line and nine lines for the poem. Easy peasy.

Frayed

going too fast
on black roads
shiny and wet
glaring like ice
hit the brakes
expect to slide
hope to stop
before I skid
thru the light

Poem–“Careless Syllables”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Good news! You’re half-way through National Poetry Month and my poetic torture. Our half-way point poem from the November Poem-a-Day Challenge features the theme…Poetic Form. Write a poem in a poetic form. Hey! I’ve been studying for this one for months!

Many of the poems I wrote during November were done using scraps of ideas that I’d jotted down. This is one of them. I just crammed that idea into a tricube.

Careless Syllables

I’ve said things
that dug scars
in soft skin

used too much
teeth on a
tender spot

but for me
it was just
a Tuesday