#TBT (A Poem & A Picture)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

Getting Me Back (the original poem)

Tissue thin transparent bits and pieces

by the millions I gave to you…

To be received, to be tended or

to be rendered useless as you deemed fit

old inhabitants of terra firma.

Slivers of my soul….

What did you do with these pieces of me?

Where are the misplaced microscopic stars of

my spirit, where are they laid?

Did they dissolve beneath a soft autumn rain?

Or burn in the heat of a cruel summer day?

Were they consumed by the dust mites of fate?

Giving me away was easy….

Getting me back seems nearly impossible.

I saw a fleck of glitter this morning,

caught in an abandoned web of time.

I retrieved it ever so carefully, pulling away

the tiny choking strands; polishing it in the palm of my

hand till it shone bright like a

minuscule star… exploding… and

I recognized it as the twinkle I once saw

in a smiling photo of me.

If you recognize the above poem and picture it may be because you saw it two years ago. Or… maybe you read the book.

In the Storm (April is National Poetry Month)

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In the Storm (#NPM )

Firstly, my condolences to all those affected by Saturday’s hellish tornadoes. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Many of my fondest early memories [as well as imaginative ideas] were born in Houston county among the pine trees and red dirt, particularly a tiny community called Weches.

Some of you may know a few of my characters have roots in Louisiana, Alabama and Mississippi – that is not happenstance. Those just happen to be a few of my favorite states.

Again, my heart goes out to those suffering loss and I hope you’ll forgive me for choosing this poem for today.

Confession: My afflictions are bitter-sweet.

In the Storm

I reach for you…

With every crack of thunder

I hear you laugh…

Your smile is every bolt of lightning.

The drops of rain, you touching me,

with unsalted tears…

No more pain; no more regret.

I raise my arms,

as a child beckoning to be held

and it pours.

My grief is washed away by

stinging pellets of a spring rain

Leaving behind a clean slate

with only memories of the most mundane,

most cherished moments of my life.

Credits: I created the heading image (Inside the Storm) from a compilation of images I found at Pixabay. (Thank you Pixabay contributors).

The poem, In the Storm was taken from this twisted book of poems. And… guess what?

For a limited time my partnering experiment with Smashwords lets the reader decide what they will pay. Yep! You decide.

Check it out.

Don’t Blink (Lyrics are Poetry Too)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment
Bear with me, I am feeling a little [selfish] nostalgia today. I’m not sorry either. Ahhh, I am wallowing in this stuff. No worries mate, I am still promoting poetry for National Poetry Month.
That boy is a teenager now and those sweet dogs are no longer with us.
Remember, lyricists are poets and lyrics are poems too.

…

Don’t blink
Just like that you’re six years old and you take a nap and you
Wake up and you’re twenty-five and your high school sweetheart becomes your wife
Don’t blink
You just might miss your babies growing like mine did
Turning into moms and dads next thing you know your “better half”
Of fifty years is there in bed
And you’re praying God takes you instead
Trust me friend a hundred years goes faster than you think
So don’t blink

…

Full lyrics can be seen at: YouTube

Songwriters: Chris Allen Wallin / Casey Michael Beathard

Singer: Kenney Chesney

Once (#NPM)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

I will file this under Tusdays Tell All as well as the Poetry category because “Notso Fearless” has taken a big step in finding her voice and telling her truth.

Once

You told me once you sold your soul – in hopes that you would fly, you said angels wings were fairy tales and scripture? Lullabies.

The only trip we ever took was with a needle in our arm. I remember once – you shit yourself – after we had left the farm.

The farm that you grew up on where once you dreamed of fame – where mine was the only cherry picked – where once you knew my name.

In hindsight getting high was low – and I was as low as I could go. But not you, oh no.

When I finally kicked the habit you had no use for me. Turned out we had nothing in common, except the lunacy.

A million times I’d heard you sing and once I heard you cry. And once, just once, before they laid you to rest I thought I saw you fly.

Once by “Not so Fearless”

Illustrations from Pixabay

#NPM – Sorry but this is Mad Monday

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

… Mad as in I am mad about these adorable kittens. They were born yesterday and I spent most of the day cooing over them. I know, I’ve got a problem.

See why I didn’t have time to read the poems submitted? I know you will forgive me when you see all of this furry cuteness, all five of them.

Hey, maybe one of them will inspire a bit of poetry? It could happen.

I mean really. Just look at these kitty cats. And Maddie is being a great mama – once she got over the surprise.

A Poem & A Picture (#NPM)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

I love it when someone suggests a poem and I can supply the picture(s). Luuurv it! And who does not love Emily Dickinson?

” Whether it’s Buttercups—that “skim”—
Or Butterflies—that “bloom”? ”

Those lines hooked me on the poem. Muchas gracias!


Make Me A Picture Of The Sun – Poem by Emily Dickinson

Make me a picture of the sun—
So I can hang it in my room—
And make believe I’m getting warm
When others call it “Day”!

Draw me a Robin—on a stem—
So I am hearing him, I’ll dream,
And when the Orchards stop their tune—
Put my pretense—away—

Say if it’s really—warm at noon—
Whether it’s Buttercups—that “skim”—
Or Butterflies—that “bloom”?
Then—skip—the frost—upon the lea—
And skip the Russet—on the tree—
Let’s play those—never come!
Emily Dickinson