Why do beads excite me so?

For tonight’s blog, I decided to post the very first assignment I received during last term’s Intro to Creative Writing class. The prompt was to write a poem that addressed a burning why question and after quite a bit of thought, this is what I came up with. Poetry is not my strong point, but I did my best and received a decent grade for my efforts. Enjoy!

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3 cut beads

Why do beads excite me so?

The sight of beads excites me
Because their myriad of colors
Ignite the fire of creativity in my spirit
The way writing used to do
Long ago before my muse departed.

Within those small, round
And perfectly polished pieces
Of colored glass
I see the potential to create
Artwork, jewelry, embellishments
That glimmer with life in sunlight.

Opening the latest delivery
Filled with shiny bead bags, hanks, and tubes
Of new unique hues, tiny sizes, and sparkling finishes
Sends feelings of warmth and eagerness
Through my entire body
As my mind begins to turn.

Shall I create a new pattern?
A beaded picture captured
In a bracelet, barrette, pendant, or earrings
Where each colored bead
Works like paint on a palette.

Or shall I just choose colors?
Cool blues, fiery reds, refreshing yellows
Calming greens, regal purples, earthy browns
Start weaving with needle and thread
Through suede or felt
Until what I see in my mind
Appears in my hands.

The smooth feel of beads relax me
The tiny percussive sound of beads energize me
The spills that send them
Scattering across table and floor
Excite me in undesirable ways
As I’m certain I’ll never find them all.

Beading is my meditation
My Zen garden in a world of chaos
A way to regain focus and calm
Shut out the frantic fears
Of a writer who lives in doubt
That my patterns of words
Will never again be as beautiful
As my beaded creations.

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Opening a very dusty door

door in stone wall

Image courtesy of Panoramio.com

Though my next term at SNHU online doesn’t officially start until Monday, the blackboard for the class has been open for a while. I chose not to look at it before today because I wanted to enjoy my break from schoolwork. My next course is Intro to Creative Writing and after taking two Composition classes back to back, I figured I’d really enjoy doing some creative writing. While I’m sure I will actually enjoy creative writing, I admit that it’s a door to an area of my writing that I haven’t opened in a very long time.

I do peak in that creative writing “room” every now and then when I try to write in Unbroken Flames, but the last time I cracked open that rusty, dusty door, the hinges squeaked horribly and I quickly closed it again when I realized I don’t even remember what tense I used to write in! I got a few sentences of writing done and tried to read back through it only to discover that I kept switching tenses. Maybe I’ve always done that and only now realize it after taking composition classes. Whatever the case, I was dismayed to see just how much of my creative writing abilities I’ve lost.

The first module in Intro to Creative Writing deals with writing poetry that focuses on imagery. Admittedly, I’ve never considered poetry my strong point and when it comes to imagery, I do too much or too little. Regardless, I’m certain that this course is exactly what I need right now, as I hope to get back into writing Unbroken Flames and maybe even finish it this year! I have so many stories that I’ve only shared with a handful of people and I’d love if more people read my fiction works and enjoyed them. I may be 37, but most days I still feel like that 12-year-old girl who started scribbling about magic and adventure in college-ruled spiral notebooks just to get the overflowing ideas out of my head! If all goes well, that overflow of ideas will return and help me break down the dusty door to the creative writing room within me.

The Calming Storm

thunderstorm1

Today’s weather was far from sunshine and blue sky and by the end of it I felt like a drowned rat, but there was still beauty to be found. There’s something cleansing about rain, even when it makes you cold and wet. The power of the wind is an impressive force too and when combined with the rain, they remind us mere mortals that we are not as mighty as we think.

I am too exhausted from work and adventures to write the words to describe my day so I turn instead to a poem from the past. I originally posted it on my Corbin Creations blog in 2012. Although it’s about a summer storm, I believe it speaks of the spiritual power of any storm.

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The Calming Storm (6/14/2012)

The air was very still tonight
The glow of fireflies the only light
I heard a rumbling in the distance
Mother Nature in her usual dance.

A cloudy darkness, thick and warm
Will be no drier after the storm
And yet to breathe it in brings comfort
For someone of the simple earthy sort.

Bare feet upon a cool wooden deck
I step to the railing just to check
What stretches beyond the open field
And wonder what life will someday yield.

The first big drops of rain start to fall
I close my eyes, smile, enjoy it all
My skin, my clothes, my hair all wet
But I am not ready to go inside yet.

There is something so cleansing about warm rain
How it opens my heart and washes away the pain
So many dreams I haven’t claimed
My spirit wild and forever untamed.

I am a lover, fighter, champion and friend
Who like the willow has learned to bend
For in this life there are no rewards
To those who never lay down their swords.

There must be balance to keep things going
To accept and understand that even hurt is worth knowing
The lessons are not always fun
And some battles can not be won.

Every storm comes fierce and strong
But such power and fury can’t last long
And when peace returns and turmoil is gone
There will always be a brighter and more beautiful dawn.

For a moment

For a moment,
Before I’m fully awake
With eyes still closed
Mind still lingering in dreams…
You’re still here.

I can almost hear your voice nearby
Your laughter echoing down the hall
Footsteps making the floor creak
And the promise of a hug in the air.
But when I open my eyes
And come fully awake…
You’re not here.

How tempting it is
To squeeze my eyes shut
Bury my head beneath the covers
And refuse to accept the reality without you…
I can’t do that.

The world needs me
Little ones depend on me
They need to hear my voice
Feel my hugs
Share my smiles and echo my laughter.
So I rise…
And face another day without you.

I am blessed to have this day
This day and all the days that follow.
Must fill my life with love
Live it to the fullest.
That’s what you want me to do
It is what you expect of me…
To honor your life and spirit.

Though I can no longer touch you
I still feel you.
You’re the breeze cooling my skin
The moon shining in the night sky
Hawks circling above the treetops
Butterflies skimming among the flowers
The brightest rainbow after the darkest storm.
In all of that, I see you…
And know that I’m not alone.

For a moment
I think I hear your voice
The words you speak
Bring tears to my eyes.
A promise of “I love you.”
The reassurance that
“You are strong.”

You know I’m strong
When I can’t see it myself
And that’s enough
It has to be enough
For me to keep going
Welcoming every dawn
Cherishing those I love
Helping you to live on
For this moment…
And forever.

This night is a rap

This is what happens when I write poems at 4 in the morning…

This Night is a Rap 6/3/12 4:17 a.m.

Texting, drop the phone on my face
Tossing, got my hair out of place
Rolling, calf cramped up like a glitch
Fumbling, can’t find the dang light switch
Walking, or hobbling down the hall
Meowing, cat about makes me fall
Drinking, water spills down my chest
Gazing, mirror shows no good rest
Grumbling, step around yellow dog
Laying, mind is lost in a fog
Thinking, ceiling fan on or no
Sweating, air movement is a go
Sighing, sheets are nice on bare skin
Smiling, my bed is so much win
Breathing, this is what life’s about
Loving, though I’m all inside out
Dreaming, never can know what comes
Hearing, thunder as the rain drums
Laughing, though such nights are a test
Knowing, all I give is my best
Closing, eyes are so tired and spent
Puzzling, what fate for me is meant
Longing, for one whose heart still glows
Missing, the girl that no one knows.

A Favorite Poem

Below is poem I wrote years ago that is still one of my favorite pieces. I’ve posted it on my old blog and on my Helium.com page in the past. I was thinking this morning that it might need a more recent revamp. While it still holds true, there is so much more to being “That Woman” in the life I have now.

“That Woman”

I wonder what it is like to be “that woman.”
The woman who walks in the room
and demands everyone’s attention.
The woman with the dark eyes,
full of mystery and magic
that draw in both men and women,
and makes them yearn to know the secrets hidden within.
The woman with the cascading raven hair
that evokes ballads from minstrels and sonnets from poets.
The woman who leaves a nearly physical spirit behind
with anyone who has ever been fortunate enough to touch her.
The woman whose vision lingers in dreams
and whose voice echoes softly amidst whispers.
The woman with fingers tender enough
to caress the most delicate of mists
and nails hard enough to pierce the harshest of stones.
The woman whose influence is remembered
when her existence has long faded.
The woman men rally to defend
though she possesses her own strength for battle.
The woman who runs drenched amidst a thunderstorm
to challenge the lightning with her fists.
The woman whose passion is not seen with eyes
but perceived by souls.
The woman whose laughter can illuminate the darkest of days
if only in a memory.
The woman who can carry the heaviest and saddest of hearts upon her shoulders
without a single faltering step.
The woman who lingers on the edge of darkness
while clinging to the shadows of moonlight.
The woman who cherishes the girl of her past
while knowing that she is intertwined with the goddess of her future.
That woman within and without me.