Poetry

Hello Friends, Today I came across two poems on the same topic directed to a poet a thousand years in the future. These two poets are reaching into the unknown and asking what the future holds. What damage we have done and if poetry is still loved. For a moment it feels as if both of these poets are talking to us, and there hidden in their words we time travel. I am going to post the youtube video for you and the written poems below. The video is only 2:58 and includes both poems.

To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence
by James Elroy Flecker

I who am dead a thousand years,
And wrote this sweet archaic song,
Send you my words for messengers
The way I shall not pass along.

I care not if you bridge the seas,
Or ride secure the cruel sky,
Or build consummate palaces
Of metal or of masonry.

But have you wine and music still,
And statues and a bright-eyed love,
And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
And prayers to them who sit above?

How shall we conquer? Like a wind
That falls at eve our fancies blow,
And old Maeonides the blind
Said it three thousand years ago.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my words at night, alone:
I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
To greet you. You will understand.

John Heath Stubbs

I who am dead a thousand years
And wrote this crabbed post-classic screed
Transmit it to you—though with doubts
That you possess the skill to read,

Who, with your pink mutated eyes,
Crouched in the radioactive swamp,
Beneath a leaking shelter, scan
These lines beside a flickering lamp;

Or in some plastic paradise
Of pointless gadgets, if you dwell,
And finding all your wants supplied
Do not suspect it may be Hell.

But does our art of words survive—
Do bards within that swamp rehearse
Tales of the twentieth century,
Nostalgic, in rude epic verse?

Or do computers churn it out—
In lieu of songs of War and Love,
Neat slogans by the State endorsed
And prayers to them, who sit above?

How shall we conquer—all our pride
Fades like a summer sunset's glow:
Who will read me when I am gone—
For who reads Elroy Flecker now?

Unless, dear poet, you were born,
Like me, a deal behind your time,
There is no reason you should read,
And much less understand, this rhyme.

I hope your day is filled with love, laughter, and inspiration. Be well my friends.

Bad Poetry!

I love bad poetry especially when it is mine! Yay! I think it is funny to call it bad poetry even though secretly I really like but we all have different tastes. It is allowed to not like something, and to love something that may or may not be bad. Recently I learned that Emily Dickinson only published a dozen poems in her lifetime, it was only after her death that it was discovered that she wrote over 1800. Amazing. Also as an inspiring poet, fiction writer it is encouraging. I have written lots of poetry some of it bad, and some of it good. Poetry is something I write when I need to work through my emotions. This is the only thing that I write that might be considered non fiction (except you school paper. By the way I have 18.5 weeks left). I struggle with how much I belong in my writing and it is really my least favorite kind of writing because it is hard. In the past I did not value my work as much as I should have (crazy self esteem issues left over from my childhood) so I have lost an insane amount of work over the years due to being careless. I vow to stop being careless and more importantly value the talent God gave me. I hope you like my poem today. Hopefully I will bring you more work in the future. Also when I am finished with school I will be more active. I have a ton of projects in limbo which I decided to let sit until I am less distracted with what I am going to write for school.

I am
By Trisha Bartlett
Suffocating creativity
under the disguise
of teaching and learning.

Inspiration lost
in expectation.
My voice
transforming
unrecognizable
flat and boring.

This is me
on the page.
I cannot
will not
change
to simply please you.

I am
I can
I will

P.S. here is an Emily Dickinson poem

Fame is a bee.
By Emily Dickinson 
     

Fame is a bee.

It has a song—

It has a sting—

Ah, too, it has a wing.

 

 

I hope you have a wonderful day filled with love, inspiration, and laughter. Be well friends.

Music

I love music. When a song speaks to me I will play it on repeat for an hour. I play it so often the words lose all meaning, the sound, the feeling of the song becomes an indelible memory. In these moments I write. I think that song that I am listening to cleanses my palate and frees me from distracting thoughts. I can focus on the words and the work in front of me. That doesn't mean that every time I sit down to write that I only play one song. I love Pandora and she knows what I need even when I don't and sometimes she plays me a song that goes on repeat. A feeling trapped waiting to be discovered. Do you listen to a song on repeat or did you out grow that at sixteen?
Well, I am just a little bit quirky. Today I would like to share some music with you. Some of them have found the repeat button others I just like. To make it interesting I am not going to tell you which songs are which. You might like to guess, but really you should just experience the music the way you experience each song with out my voice telling you it is great.

All of these are videos I found on YouTube.

Behind the Bars by Madeleine Peyroux

 

If You Say So by Lea Michele

 

Battlefield by Lea Michele

 

Dark Horse By Katy Perry

Wrecking Ball By Miley Cyrus

(This video just focuses on the music. No crazy naked antics just music.)

 

Beyoncé - Partition (Explicit Video)

I don't know why I like this song but I do. Warning she does dance around mostly naked.

 

Who you Love John Mayer and Katy Perry

 

Guy on a buffalo Part 1

 

Guy on a buffalo part 2

(There are four parts. That are hilarious)

 

I am at nine videos. So I will stop with the funny ones.

 

I hope your day is filled with love, laughter, and inspiration. Be well friends.

 

A short play

I wrote this short play for my class. It is the first play I have ever written and it received a better grade than my short story. Between you and me it was fun to write. Thank you for reading along with me.

 

BATTLEFIELD

____________

One Act Play

by

Trisha Bartlett

 

 

Characters

Lucy:         A woman in her late 30's.

Jim:          A man in his late 30's.

 

Scene

A small kitchen. There is a coffee pot on the counter and a small kitchen table with two chairs center stage. Lucy is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee when Jim stumbles in Drunk.

Time

Three am.

ACT I

 

LUCY: You're late again Jimmy.

JIM: I know but I had a hot hand and I just had to play it through. Don't be mad baby. (JIM sits across from LUCY)

LUCY: I'm not mad Jimmy. (LUCY gets up and pours another cup of coffee and hands it to JIM) You were drinking again, Jimmy.

JIM: Well sure, how else 'm I supposed to play poker?

LUCY: Straight. You're supposed to play straight.

JIM: (JIM laughs) Let me tell you how much I won. After Tommy got a little liquor in him he was an easy make. You know he gets crazy, starts flashin' his cards to the table and then acts surprised that we all know what his cards are. Bob left early but not early enough to leave with any pride. He said his wife, His Wife wanted him home at nine. He is whipped! I told him I got the best girl. Lets me do anything I want.

LUCY: Is that so?

JIM: You never nag me about a ring and only get a little mad now and then.

LUCY: Am I mad now, Jimmy?

JIM: You ain't yelling and that coffee cup is still in one piece so I recon not.

LUCY: So for you to hear me I need to be yelling and throwing dishes?

JIM: No. So back to my story. Old Roy was carrying on at the table acting like a big man because he got a bonus.

LUCY: Good for him.

JIM: No, good for us. I took him for everything he had tonight.

LUCY: How much did you bring home?

JIM: Well . . .

LUCY: That's what I thought. I have been living in this small apartment for years hoping to buy a house so that I can garden.

JIM: Why do you want to do that? You got some plants on the window.

LUCY: A little house we could call ours, Jimmy.

JIM: Why you want more then this? (JIM spreads his arms wide motioning around him)

LUCY: Something to say that you're a man worth keeping.

JIM: I'm good to you.(JIM attempts to change the subject) Now listen Tommy and I decided that because my luck was up we should go hit a real game.

LUCY: You're not listening to me.

JIM: We found one in the back of a little Chinese takeout.

LUCY: Drink your coffee so you can focus on what I'm trying to say about us.

JIM: Nothing wrong with us. I want to tell you what happened tonight.

LUCY: I don't want to hear it. I don't care. I know how this story ends. You lose all the money you made. You work to lose. I work to pay for this (LUCY gestures to the room). When I was a girl I dreamed a beautiful dream and tonight I realized I'm not living it.

JIM: What do you mean you ain't living? You're breathing all right.

LUCY: This is not living. All I do is work, then I sit right here night after night waiting see what level of drunk you're going to be.

JIM: I did good tonight. Let me finish my story. You'll see.

LUCY: I am done listening to your stories. You know tonight I tried to remember why we are together.

JIM: Easy! We love each other!

LUCY: Do we?

JIM: Hell yes! I've been faithful. I come home to you every night. I've had plenty of offers that I turned down for you.

LUCY: Is that so?

JIM: (JIM starts to yell.)Yes, you calling me a liar?

LUCY: You choose to drink over me every night, cards every weekend, and all you bring home to me is dirty laundry and heartache.

JIM:(JIM lowers his voice) You're being over dramatic baby. You are more important than drinking. I can give up poker.

LUCY: How did we get here? I used to think I was the luckiest girl in the whole world. You were like looking into the sun and I was blinded by you.

JIM: What are you saying? I don't beat you, I come home to you. I love you.

LUCY: You come home. That's all you do. How did we get so bad?

JIM: We're not bad. You want a ring. I will buy you a ring.

LUCY: I don't want a ring. It would just be a piece of metal with a stone to weigh me down. I'm already drowning here.

JIM: How can you be drowning?

LUCY: I wanted you so bad that I overlooked everything and you have never even considered my feelings. I have been holding on to the threads of our life for awhile now. I can't hold on anymore.

JIM: (Stands and knocks over the table) What are you saying? I will hold on for the both of us. I will fight for us.

LUCY: That's the problem. I'm tired of fighting. We live on a battlefield. You're drunk and I'm angry. Or you're hung over and I'm still angry. I'm dying here.

JIM: (JIM grabs LUCY and kisses her hard) Let's go to bed. It'll look different in the morning.

LUCY: Let me go Jim.

JIM: Never! Can't you see I love you.

LUCY: You're drunk!

JIM: Not anymore, I'm ready to fight for you.

LUCY: I can't fight any more. I'm a broken shell of a woman.

JIM: Say you love me.

LUCY: (LUCY looks away from him) Once upon a time I thought this was a good idea.

JIM: Say you love me Lucy. Please.

(LUCY sits in silence)

JIM: Please. (JIM kneels in front of her.)

LUCY: (LUCY stands) I'm sorry, I never wanted to hurt you.

JIM: Then don't.

LUCY: We have to let go of each other. You have to let me live. You know I'm right. I am right. We are destroying each other.(LUCY whispers) Let go Jim. (JIM lets go of Lucy. Lucy walks to the door.) Good bye, Jim. (LUCY closes the door behind her).

CURTAIN

 

 

 

 

 

A short story.

Marie's Bus Ride

            It was a sweltering summer day when Marie climbed onto the crowded bus headed downtown. She was twenty and daydreaming of spending April in Europe with her best friend Jess. Marie hated taking the bus but she was saving every penny she could manage. The heat caused the bus to smell like a cross between stale urine, gym socks, and the perfume aisle at a drug store. The stench was so thick she worried it would cling to her clothes for the rest of the day. 

            Sweat dripped down her back as she stood holding her breath so she would not have to taste the heavy air. The lack of available seats forced Marie to stand while holding on to the leather handle, swaying with the movement of the bus. She reached into her bag and pulled out two little pink ear buds and tucked them into her ears. To her delight, Connie Evingson was the first artist to come on. She closed her eyes and escaped into the sound of French music.

            Despite being uncomfortable on the bus, Marie was smiling. Today she received her passport from a UPS delivery man. She felt as if the whole world was opening up and tempting her to explore. She was prepared to beg Jess to start their trip in France. She had at least half a dozen brochures for hotels, hostels, and one castle that they could just afford to share a room at for one night.

            When the bus made a stop she lurched forward and then stumbled back. To her dismay only one person got off and four more got on. Fifteen more minutes and then she could get off the bus. The song changed to an upbeat Katie Perry. She bobbed her head to the beat and swayed her hips in an impromptu dance. Marie stopped when she bumped into the tall man standing next to her.

            She was quick to apologize but he just rolled his eyes. This heat was getting to everybody. She felt a prickling sensation on her face as if someone was staring at her. She tried to ignore it for a few moments, reassuring herself that there was nothing to worry about.

            She opened her eyes to see a little old woman in moth eaten clothes carrying a plastic bag filled with an assortment of dirty laundry. Then Marie noticed an animal in the bag among the clothes. She could not tell if it was a teddy bear or a cat. The old woman smelled like a mix of mildew and rotting roses. Disconcertingly, Marie noticed a white film where the pupils should be in the old woman's wide blue eyes.

            Feeling unnerved, she looked out the window. She thought 'let her stare. It doesn't hurt me.'  Marie could not shake the building feeling of dread, and suddenly felt chilled. Goosebumps formed on her arms and the fine hairs at the back of her neck stood up despite the sweat. She told herself to calm down.

            The old woman's leathery hand rose in slow motion and pulled the pink cord until Marie's ear buds fell out. Marie tried to back away from the woman but she was trapped by people all around her. She let out a small squeak, "Hey!"

            The woman leaned in close enough that Marie could feel her breath on the bare skin of her arm. The woman spoke in a low hoarse whisper and before Marie could help herself she leaned down so that she could make out the woman's words.

            "I see you child. Rising to the top just like the cream in my milk. Your time is short! Death follows close on your heels. Oh yes, he is coming for us all... Lurking in the shadows; waiting to take us into that Dark night."

            The old woman's words sent chills down Marie's spine as if the woman could see into her soul. She stood transfixed as a cold sweat began to drip down her bare arms. Marie mumbled in a vain attempt to stop the old woman from talking, "Sorry. I'm . . .  I'm not following."

            "Child, I can see your youth spread out behind you. This life we live is strange and death is cruel, so cruel. Here look," The woman lifted Marie's hand to her face.  "he took my sight so that I could see. I miss the light when I feel it on my face, but the shadows are calling. They're calling your name. It's too late for you girl and there ain't one thing you can do to change it!"

            The bus came to an abrupt stop. Heart thumping, Marie pulled her hand away from the woman and pushed her way to the open door. All of the people in her way made her feel trapped there with that crazy woman's bizarre sermon ringing in her ears. Before she could escape, Marie heard the old woman's voice one last time.

            "Make peace with this world girl, while you still can. Death is here..."

            Finally Marie stepped down on to the hot pavement and blinked up at the bright day. The sky was still clear and for a change Marie welcomed the heat. She felt nauseous and her first steps away from the curb were shaky. The worst part was that Marie thought she could hear that old lady cackling as the bus pulled away.

            She leaned on the nearby stone building to help get her bearings but she could not shake the feeling of something looming over her. She noticed her ear buds hanging by her knees. The simple act of winding the cord up, turning off the music and storing the iPod in the front pocket of her bag calmed her some.  

            She walked the last four blocks to the where she was meeting Jess to discuss their travel plans, and caught a brief glimpse of her friend walking into the small coffee shop across the street. All at once Marie felt better and began to shake off the effects of her encounter. She couldn't wait to tell Jess about that creepy old woman. She was sure that they would laugh it off and it would be a great story for years to come.

            Rushing to catch up to Jess, she stepped off the curb onto the crosswalk with a flashing red hand urging her to move faster.  At that moment, the driver of a blue Honda was texting his wife and had looked down just long enough to not see the red light, or to see Marie step out into the street.  Steel met flesh, and Marie's world exploded in sharp pain. Her body hit the pavement, and then she felt nothing.

            In Marie's last moment she could swear she heard that old woman cackling, "Death is cruel, girl!"

Hello Out There.

I have been absent and kind of in a little slump. I am taking a creative writing class and it is the first class that I have loved and hated at the same time. Don't get me wrong I have taken classes that I have loved (British Poetry) and classes that I have hated (Shakespeare) but this one is different. I have inhaled the two text books assigned and they have breathed new life and confidence in to my writing but that is the only thing good about the class. It is all peer review and the teacher is absent only grading papers a week later. I am frustrated by the lack of teaching, and the lack of criticism. That is not saying my peers are not doing the best that they can but it is hard to say, 'You need to fix the ending because it is unrealistic" or "Your characters are unrealistic" or "Why did you post this? There is only two paragraphs of gibberish here." when you are just trying to be nice. I want to let you in on a secret I would prefer all of that hard criticism then the soft you did a good job. One I can grow from the other is useless.

So I am frustrated because this class costs $800 and the books cost $85+. I feel like I should not get marked down because the teacher did not like my ending. The truth is I can not fix something that I do not know is broken and I do not think it was broken. I asked my husband who will lay it out for me. He is not shy and will tell when something is not working. He calls it tough love, even when I am upset by what he has to say I know he is probably right.  Am I upset for being marked down? No, I am upset that the teacher does not teach. I post my first final draft for peer review so that I can make changes if I need to. I post it four days before it is due in the forum and that is a full seven days before the final draft is due. Is there any reason why the teacher can not post a few words on these rough drafts? There are only eight of us in the class. . . I get it the teacher is busy and probably has more than one class but shouldn't the teacher teach?

I know I am ranting. I am sorry. I have a week and a half left of this class and then I will be in an Advanced Creative writing class. I hope it is better than this one. I am close to the credits I need to get an AA and I am thinking about stopping there because I am starting to lose interest in this school.

Thank you for allowing my to complain.

I hope your day is filled with inspiration, love, and laughter. Be well my friends.

Resolutions

As you know I have a very lofty goal for myself this year. I wanted to share how I was doing. I did my first Yoga work out of the year. It was only ten minutes long but the slow movements had me out of breath. Man, I am way out of shape. That is weird saying, "out of shape" because really I have a nice curvy soft shape. Maybe I should say I am out of fitness instead... No, you are right it doesn't quite work either. The first one is done. I have walked a total of four miles so far. Not good, but baby it's cold out there. Haha. No really my husband had last week off and I find it super hard to get motivated when he is home. I will walk tonight. I like to get into the habit of moving my body and work up to a run. It makes it feel less daunting. 

What else? I have been writing. It is slow because I have to write in between times. So it is a few minutes there and a few minutes here. All I need is one word at a time. My class started yesterday and it looks like it will be at the very least interesting. 

I have been actively working on letting go of grudges. It is hard to set it a side. My whole self wants to explain to the person why their actions were hurtful. I know that it doesn't matter to said person and that person is super self centered so the person may never understand. Once I made this realization it became easier. I am only hurting myself. I have been praying for that person and have sent a couple prayers and inspirational quotes to the person. I will be positive and I will move forward. Not all people need to like me, and not everyone will appreciate me. That is okay. I still want to do good for others and will always to my best to be helpful. That makes me happy.

How are you doing on your resolutions? 

I hope your day is filled with love, laughter, and inspiration. Be well friends.