 Poetry: May 18, 2016 Issue [#7647] |
  Poetry
This week: Silver Linings Edited by: Fyn  
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We all have those things that even in the midst of stress and disarray, they energize us and give us renewed strength and purpose. These are our passions.~~ Adam Braun
In times of great stress or adversity, it’s always best to keep busy, to plow your anger and your energy into something positive.~~Lee Iacocca
The greatest weapon against stress is our ability to choose one thought over another.~~William James
There are thousands of causes for stress, and one antidote to stress is self-expression. That’s what happens to me every day. My thoughts get off my chest, down my sleeves and onto my pad.~~Garson Kanin
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Recently, life at my end has been, hmm, stressful to say the least ... been betrayed, lied to, disappointed, let down and hurt. One of those times when I feel, deep down inside, that I've been flayed open, that I've been eviscerated and that there is no good way to channel the feeling churning round inside me. Right now, I'd really, really, REALLY like to break, smash, obliterate something. Can't. I've said my piece, let my thoughts and disillusionment be known and can only hope that something I've said hits fallow ground. I'm hurting and angry and frazzled! So, for me, all I can do is write it out. And I am. Funny thing is, in the past three days, I've written two poems that I think are really good. They aren't person specific (well on one level they are, but no names or specifics) but could apply on multiple levels. It has helped. Somewhat. For a while. Then it builds up again... and all I can do is write more, to get it out of my system, to let myself write the anger and frustration away... thus far it is better than talking to brick walls, doing laundry, finishing edits, getting layouts together, cleaning the bathroom or weeding. Unfortunately, I need all our dishes. Great grandmother's china is not an option.
I remember, as a child, when I lived in the middle of nowhere, up in the Ramapo mountains and far, far from any neighbors, we used to dump the non-burnable trash in a deep gully. Each family member had a box for glass bottles, jars, the breakable stuff. After the other trash was heaved into the deep gully, we each had our box with three or four glass things. One by one, we've heave a glass object down onto the rocks. Before it was thrown, we have to state what it was for. Like perhaps, 'because it isn't fair that my brother gets to stay up later than me' or some such. What ever we said was just that, no discussion allowed. Then SLAM! It would satisfyingly shatter. Feeling were released, expunged, gone. I remember a time when stress levels at home were pretty bad. Everyone was mad at someone and it was all tangled up. My dad and I found several boxes of yard sale plates and glasses. I spent all my allowance and dad took care of the rest. Plates frisbee-d off trees and rocks. Glasses were smashed and shattered. By the time we headed back home, everyone was in a really good mood! Cathartic exercise. Worked wonders. Want some plates and a lonely hillside with lots of rocks! Ah...well...sigh.
So, now-a-days, I write poetic dishes, and fling them into the void. Fears, angers, feelings that threaten to overwhelm are eased. I write some of my best 'stuff' when my emotions are roiling about. Of course, some of it is pure garbage, utter trash. Thing is, it doesn't really matter because it is the framing of the emotion into words, using the style of the poem to convey the feelings, letting the word choices hammer out the angst of the moment. It is the action of pulling the words, bloody and dripping out of my veins, and transferring them to the page that grants respite, a layer of separation, a bit of distance and allows a bit of letting go. It lets me interpret the chaos around me and perhaps, redefine it, or repurpose it. It allows for me to go back and reread it later. Sometimes, I find myself thinking that I nailed what I was feeling, right, wrong or indifferent. Other times, I have no choice but to laugh at myself for being so angry, upset or befuddled.
Bottom line, is that in those moments of stress, the emotions become infused into the poetry and I often find that in trying to express those emotions, I often stumble across a real truth, can impart a realization and the filtered words will bring a new way of looking at the subject, problem or, often, solution. Especially, when the poem rears its head, takes control and I am merely the means of getting words literally on the page. Then I go back and sometimes, have the experience of reading what was underneath the emotions and feelings and surprise myself. Other times, in the expelled verbiage, I find a line or phrase, a diamond in the rough, still cluttered with debris, that has the possibility of being refined and polished, becoming a real gem. Then again, sometimes, I go back and find myself thinking, 'Seriously? Really? Hogwash!!'
Regardless, slamming words against the page can often have stress releasing results. And yes, even words can shatter! Maybe not quite like a plate on the rocks, but sometimes, almost as good! And in a good way. Far better, at times, to splatter against a sheet of paper, rather than be spoken when the speaking might do another more harm than good, or simply, serve no purpose other than quick release. I have written two poems in the last three days. One, after reflection, was shared with the cause of all the distress. One may be, or not. It did help me to put things in perspective. It does make a most valid point. I'll take both these silver linings.
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Pretty much last call...you have until the end of the month for submissions to the 2018 WDC Anthology!
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