A Room For Poetry

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am." "Kiss me and you will see how important I am." "If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days." Sylvia Plath (1932-10-27 – 1963-02-11) So much like Sylvia, Iam. Iam. Iam.

If everyone could be so confident and cool as Pinky Tuscadero, and snap their fingers, and be loved by Fonzi - well, true poetry is subjective...

This may not be a poem, but it is certainly poetic. I was quite moved when I saw this in When Nietzsche Wept and thus was compelled to share it with you here. "We were friends and have become strangers to each other. This is as it ought to be. We do not want either to conceal or obscure the fact as if we had to be ashamed of it. We are two ships, each of which has its goal and its course. And finally, Dr. Breuer, we have to become strangers to one another, because it's the law to which we are subject."

" Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it . " Maya Angelou US author & poet (1928 - )

Leathered berry tongue Deep heaving breaths A wet face Upon this plank pine Nay to thee terracotta Have it Have there Have thee Adam and Eve The want, the knowing The peace amidst the chaos The wet breeze after the rain That leaves the body damp The smell of dust The sounds of night pending The rush – haste – awe of it all Thank thee now Fugerit invida The knowing, to know is to Beat the serpent Good and Evil – who decides But together – good or bad – We are one Bring life, breathe life from the dust One will always Die from the knowing Attempt to covereth with man God always knows Submit – submit – supplicate Forgive me Father, for I have sinned by Janet Jarrell

Ascend, ascend, ascend There are times when you will never know what side of the wall you are on. Why does the caged bird sing? Maya Angelou asks For the same reason the pianist plays! replies Roman Polanski and he should know "Why the fucking coat?" "I'm cold." Inspired by the movie The Pianist Janet Jarrell

deviantArt The new bookkeeper looks disheveled – she is about my age but her eyes are tired. She smiles at times but it appears forced. For the most part, her expression is less – expressionless; and as she sits like that the corners of her mouth turn down just slightly – enough to suggest some complacency and slight unhappiness. There is no real effort. Janet Jarrell

With special permission, I am posting a beautiful poem from Kenia, a fellow avid blogger, writer and poet (not necessarily in that order). The following poem, much to my absolute delight, was dedicated to me. I shared the poem with my children on Thanksgiving as a little toast during our dinner. Kenia has a gift. She has the ability to express truth beautifully through words; what more could be asked from a writer. I love visiting her blog, reading her words, and seeing my own thoughts expressed skillfully in her poems, both in Portuguese and English. For a little taste of her inspiration… http://poesiatorta.blogspot.com/ Vou usar seus olhos alegres Como armadura Quando minha imagem no espelho For difícil demais de olhar E buscarei neles a bravura necessária Para travar minhas intermináveis batalhas Diárias E chegar em casa em tempo de prepara-te o jantar - Porque é exatamente isso que as mães fazem e você não ouse esquecer que por trás de todo o metal há um coração que pulsa por voc

see myself staggering through deep snow lugging blocks of wood yesterday an old man almost falling from bodily weakness - look down on myself from above then front and both sides white hair - wrinkled face and hands it's really not very surprising that love spoken by my voice should be when I am listening ridiculous yet there it is a foolish old man with brain on fire stumbling through the snow - the loss of love that comes to mean more than the love itself and how explain that? - a still pool in the forest that has ceased to reflect anything except the past - remains a sort of half-love that is akin to kindness and I am angry remembering remembering the song of flesh to flesh and bone to bone the loss is better Beyond Remembering - The collected poems of Al Purdy.

THE golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest, In every meadow nook; And asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies. By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather, And autumn's best of cheer. But none of all this beauty Which floods the earth and air Is unto me the secret Which makes September fair. 'T is a thing which I remember; To name it thrills me yet: One day of one September I never can forget.

More than a storey high and twice that long, it looks igneous, the Buhler Versatile 2360, possessed of the ecology of some hellacious minor island on which options are now standard. Cresting the sections in a corona part dirt, part heat, it appears risen full blown from our deeper needs, aspirating its turbo-cooled air, articulated and fully compatible. What used to take a week it does in a day on approximately a half mile to the gallon. It cost one hundred fifty grand. We hope to own it outright by 2017. Few things wrought by human hands are more sublime than the Buhler Versatile 2360. Across the road, a crew erects the floodlit derricks of a Texan outfit whose presumptions are consistently vindicated. The ancient seabed will be fractured to 1,000 feet by pressuring through a pipe literal tons of a fluid — the constituents of which are best left out of this — to tap the sweet gas where it lies like the side our bread is buttered on. The earth shakes terribly then, dear Houston, dear p

Something moves just beyond the mind's clumsy fingers. It has to do with seeds. The earth's insomnia. The garden going on without us needing no one to watch it not even the moon. by Lorna Crozier

Last night during dinner, my family and I enjoyed listening to Canada Live on CBC 2. This was a most special broadcast for me as it featured Rufus Wainwright live in Niagara on the Lake. Overall, I enjoyed listening to him tell little stories, including an elegy to Jeff Buckley, in between his performances. His opening song was I’m Going To A Town . On the cusp of the Health Care Reform platform that Obama is pushing for, Rufus dedicated this song, which he called a poem, to the United States. This is just a partial of the lyrics, my favourite bits… I’m Going To A Town Tell me do you really think you go to hell for having loved? Tell me and not for thinking everything that you've done is good (I really need to know) After soaking the body of Jesus Christ in blood I'm so tired of America (I really need to know) Making my own way home Ain't gonna be alone I got a life to lead America I got a life to lead I got a soul to feed I got a dream to heed And that's all I need Ma

Rambunctious, rebellious, raw Rufus radiates red, Ra He rouses a robust resonance from deep within You do not disappoint me Rufus you rouse the robust resonance from within You radiate the deep red of Ra Rambunctious, rebellious, raw By Janet Jarrell Side note of inspiration; Greg Hernandez on Meeting Rufus Wainwright...May 1, 2008 "...during his acceptance speech, he said: "An artist's decision to live an authentic life should go hand-in-hand with success. The more honest you are and more willing to share, the more gratifying it will be for your audience." He also touched on something that I have heard friends of mine express and I to some degree also feel (but much less so after my years of therapy!): "We have to work so hard to be so brilliant and be so fabulous all the time, we often forget that we are damaged and we are hurt. To allow gay people to think everything is fine - it's not." I love how this man has been true to himself from the very beg

Words live in the mind One must draw on their inner voice Requiring absolute freedom to inscribe Words, Women, Immaculate Marriage Words live in your mind Liberate them with reverence Raise your beautiful voice, dominion By Janet Jarrell Loquacious with the The NaiSaiKu Challenge If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people. Virginia Woolf

(via DeviantArt) You are so close when I wake So vivid I can feel your heat I lay still and listen close to my heart And there I find you waiting Stop; listen close to your heart I’m forever warm and near Before you wake I’m with you By Janet Jarrell Still with The NaiSaiKu Challenge Excited to share my poem Confusion with Folding Mirror Poetry . Peace in your heart. Janet

by lorelix04 deviantArt The seasons change daily now The voice says quite loud I rest my head in my hands I think about now I don’t know what I’m doing Conscious convoluted confusion What are you going to do? I’ll think about this When I am finished my rest The voice repeats that The seasons have promised change By Janet Jarrell Confused? Who isn't? I don't know? The NaiSaiKu Challenge Lots of love out there! Janet

Change your thinking Let new experience Be your torch Chloe liked Olivia Your torch now lit Let this experience Change your world Take the torch With courage tell it Forge ahead of all Chloe liked Olivia She will forge further With courage tell her How to take her torch Take truth and freedom Your mind to the edge “Fullness of expression” Chloe liked Olivia Full of expression Step out to the edge Freedom equals truth By Janet Jarrell Quote from A Room of One's Own, Virginia Woolf Freedom to express, try The NaiSaiKu Challenge

The golden rod has returned To the lambent field It stretches high, higher everyday, waiting In the lambent field As the golden rod has returned By Janet Jarrell The NaiSaiKu Challenge

As I sat at the piano Counting my fingers through The basic notes I felt someone with me It was Hannah Schmitz And she was counting her words To The Lady With the Little Dog It was the same. Her young lover was teaching her. Again, same. Now, I am on my own As she was on her own And I am finding 'the' on the piano. By Janet Jarrell

I feel You gazing at me What message do You scribe From what divine source do You abide Uriel, sitting with St. Peter, amidst the heavens From Your divine source I shall abide The message You do scribe Feel me staring back at You By Janet Jarrell Still gazing at The NaiSaiKu Challenge

(dreamer by neslihans) Summertime, a favourite past time The favourable past we attempt to live by Which haunts us so We icon against Marilyn herself What was done, has been undone It's undoing now done And so I, too, am done. The favourable past, which must be left in the past As now IS our favourable time to live by ...summertime. By Janet Jarrell The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/

(Syrup and honey by 6eternity9 via devantArt) We soften each others fears Allusions, illusions Aimlessness, lives together Twin brain, twin soul, soul mate Aimlessness lives, together Alluded, illuded We soften each others fears Still 'illuded' by The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/ By Janet Jarrell

(CityGirl by monislawa via deviantArt) The weakness comes in waves When it washes I am faced with two choices, swim or succumb. Do I endure or cave to my own desire? The latter is pure instant pleasure So I succumb The need subsides – temporarily The weakness creeps in again I can see it watching me I feel it poking me, tempting me I taste it as I swallow I know it is there, stalking me It can be overwhelming All encompassing Insurmountable The weakness comes in waves Sometimes we bend the rules...The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/ By Janet Jarrell

(via deviantArt) Say you are a bird Bare your mind and body free There are no limits Be open to your imagination and your visions There are no limits Bare your mind and body free Say you are a bird By the way, and certainly related, I recommend to anyone watch The Notebook again. Still 'open' to The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/ Cheers By Janet Jarrell

Temptation, failing Succumb to thee, desire Do not placate me " The safest path to hell is the gradual one ." Do not placate me Succumb to thee, desire Temptation, failing By Janet Jarrell Still 'tempted' by The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/ "The safest path to hell is the gradual one." Quote from The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis.

(via deviantArt) Ravenous Unfulfilled hunger Desiring Visceral semblance Lascivious look Desiring Unfulfilled hunger Ravenous By Janet Jarrell

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... Enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... Something perfect to wear if the employer, or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... A youth she's content to leave behind.... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... A past juicy enough that she's looking forward to retelling it in her old age.... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..... A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... One friend who always makes her laugh... and one who lets her cry... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .... A good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... Eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a meal, that will make her guests feel honored... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... A feeling of control over her destiny... EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... How to fall in love without losing herself

'Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties.' In 1644 at the height of the English Civil War, John Milton penned Areopagitica , which is now known as one of history’s first impassioned defences to freedom of expression. Ironically, Milton never delivered this argument verbally, however there was no need, the message was clear; to allow freedom of speech in written form. John Milton may have been more concerned about religion and less with the politics of war; unfortunately, history has seen these two go hand in hand. Thanks to John Milton, and all who followed and fought for the right to freedom of expression. Thank you to all who exercise this right and provide the poetry, novels and the daily news which combined help to map out our history. On Time By John Milton Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyself wi

Poetry is important to me. When I read poetry, my mind is at peace. I liken it to a form of personal meditation as I find myself quite focused. I am able to be quiet. There are few things in life I do where I can say that. Once during a skiing lesson, my instructor stopped me, held my gaze and simply said ‘Try to keep your body quiet.’ This may sound strange to some, but I knew exactly what he meant and then I proceeded down that mountain unintentionally making a lot of noise. More practice required there. Thankfully, staying quiet comes quite naturally for me while reading poetry. I have read a few poems of late by Octavio Paz. In his lecture Poetry and Modernity he speaks of his passion for poetry and expresses “Poetry has been for me not only an everyday task and an invincible affection but also a vice, a fate, and ultimately, a cult, a personal religion.” I feel his passion in his words. A wonderfully beautiful poem of his worth reading is titled Sunstone – it is quite lengthy an

Laughter lading in the labyrinth of lust The lucent ladybird lands for luck Lamenting low labial love Love abundant Lovelorn Lovesome Leaving Loved Loquacious languid lyricisms by Janet Jarrell We two are to ourselves a crowd. Ovid

April is Poetry Month Acid In Jakarta, among the vendors of flowers and soft drinks, I saw a child with a hideous mouth, begging, and I knew the wound was made for a way to stay alive. What I gave him wouldn't keep a dog alive. What he gave me from the brown coin of his sweating face was a look of cunning. I carry it like a bead of acid to remember how, once in a while,you can creep out of your own life and become someone else- an explosion in that nest of wires we call the imagination. I will never see him again, I suppose. But what of this rag, this shadow flung like a boy's body into the walls of my mind, bleeding their sour taste- insult and anger, the great movers? Mary Oliver

Sometimes when I look in the mirror and my hair hangs curled under I look distinguished That is a nice way of saying older I like the look but I am not yet ready to see it It is at these moments when I wonder what my young lover sees Does his head cock to the side in question Doubts seeps in I mention the age gap to a friend She dismisses it with “who cares?” I am relieved but push on I suggest maybe I should give my young lover up let him mature for a few years, let him ‘sow some wild oats’ “Isn’t that what he is doing with you?” She apologizes A good truth told By Janet Jarrell Post poem; A mirror helps one reflect... Postscript; Thank you to all of my family, personal friends and blogger friends whom have read, supported and contributed to my blog. Thank you to Dave whom encouraged me to get started. I have enjoyed this experience and I look forward to exploring the myriad of blogs, bloggers and communities I have encountered with similar passions. With many emotions, my smile simpl

Our perfect August Our lambent time The hour, month, season Hast thou passed so Suddenly Nay, in time You have naught but slept Wake now thee love See how it has suffered Under your euphoric spell Comfort creates the nest Complacency settles in (…poem interrupted by life) With Love On Love By Janet Jarrell

Poetry is making a long overdue comeback, even if it is only in my life, my eyes, my important circle in this world. And, I choose to include the poetry of Lorna Crozier in that circle. Her recent book The Blue Hour of the Day rests on my bedside table and has been of great comfort and inspiration to me since Christmas when I received it as a gift. The gift of poetry. The power of poetry. If I could send Lorna Crozier a message it would be that I value her poetry. She once wrote in ‘ Who’s Listening ?’ published in the NeWest Review in February/March 1989 that even she needs “to be reminded that poetry somewhere has value” and she adds “I write in case someone, anyone, is listening.” Lorna, we are listening and reading and singing too. Last night during the Music on Main at the Cellar Jazz Club & Restaurant in Vancouver B.C., poems from The Sex Lives of Vegetables by Crozier were set to music and performed by Leslie Uyeda. This is just one of the unique ways Lorna has inspired us

I, Mother Earth Cradle thee tenderly Offer up my breast Feeding naturally I, Mother Earth Raise thee up high Open thy mouth Release thy cry I, Mother Earth Bounty give to thee Embrace my gift Engorge and set free I, Mother Earth Innate and free Hold in my womb Dominion of fertility With love By Janet Jarrell

Ramblings post Arthur Miller's 'The Crucible'... We possess the perverted desire to have others validate our worthiness – we are, unto ourselves, unable to justify our own self worth. We thus look to and rely on the evils of modern day; e-mail, phone, the number of friends in our Facebook, to measure our seed in life’s hierarchy. Love yourself. Trust yourself. Pay that forward. By Janet Jarrell