“Lessons from a Rural Poet”

Image is my own, taken at the Riverwalk in Rock Hill, November 4 2012

How sad to be the path less traveled
To wait and watch as wanderers pause
Standing at the divergence
Only to continue on as others have.

How terrible to be a voiceless tree
Standing rooted in a wood
Or swaying, tossed by a faceless breeze
unable to pass on my tale.

How lonely to seek out only the night
To walk in darkness only
Forsaking the warmth of morning’s glory
And living a half-shadowed life.

I will not take the path often traveled
But seek the one that is mossy and rough;
I will seek the voice of the trees
though I must learn to be silent to hear it;
I will not walk only in the darkness
But will make time to bask in the sun.

This week at d’Verse’s Meeting the Bar, we are tasked to use literary allusion in our poem. Robert Frost has long been a favorite of mine, in part because I grew up on land that was once owned by him. I love how his poetry is tied to Nature, and this piece is an homage to the lessons he gives us in some of his works, namely “The Road Less Traveled”, “The Sound of Trees”, and “Acquainted With the Night”.


It’s possible
that the words you read
are the truth, the whole truth
nothing but the truth
(so help me Goddess)

It’s possible
that I am that good
that my ability to spin
goes beyond alpaca and wool
into imagined emotion and fabricated fantasy yarns

It’s possible
that I slice open my veins
allow them to ooze, to drip
that I willingly bare my soul
completely exposed to you in these pages

It’s possible
that this is all half-truths
creations of a chaotic mind
little more than indulgences into a world
I wish existed

Any of this is possible
because writers weave worlds with words
we provide possibilities, propose new perceptions
illuminate the (fifty?) shades of grey between
what is and what cannot be.
You can read what you like in these words
make any assumptions
come to conclusions fallacious or not.
I will simply continue
to provide the impossible
and make it seem possible.

A combination of several prompts today. First, the Fourth Wall challenge from Kerry at With Real Toads. Also, Theme Thursday gave us ‘possibilities’ this week. Lastly, Poets United’s Wonder Wednesday was ‘shades of grey’.


I’m sitting here on a rainy morning, having not really slept terribly well, writing again. I have little dry spells sometimes, but I find I feel so much better when I’m writing. Yesterday my mind wouldn’t really quiet enough for me to press anything to metaphorical paper, and I’m trying to work out the reasons why. To that end, I spent some time looking through old poems. I haven’t submitted nearly as much as I’d intended to by this part of the month, partly because I have a large “portfolio” of pieces, but really don’t think any of it’s good enough to risk rejection.

In doing this though, I’m getting a sense for my own poetic voice. I’m noticing I have a style, even when I’m reining in my writing to fit a particular style or theme. If I look back at much older pieces, five years ago or so, I find that voice is largely absent. I suppose this means I’ve either grown as a poet, or that I’ve grown lazy. I’m really rather hoping that it’s the former and not the latter.