Writer’s Quote: Carmen Giménez Smith

Writer’s Quote: Carmen Giménez Smith

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s featured poem is one I came across only recently, and I haven’t been able to stop reading it. My heart bleeds at it’s verses. The poem is titled bleeding heart by Carmen Giménez Smith, and as I couldn’t stop at just one poem, I can safely say she is one amazing poet.

The poem, bleeding heart, talks about an overly sympathetic individual who feels so much, in fact too much. The poem begins as a metaphor- “my heart is bleeding”, then goes on to describe all the things which make the character feel so much; bleed so much. The suffocating effect of feeling too much can be felt in the line where the writer says, “it becomes the cork of me and I choke on it.”

She goes on to further explain her predicament by referencing, she bleeds so much, sometimes, she is a raisin (a dried fruit). And then immediately afterwards, she lists some more things which make her bleed, Indicating, as long as there is a sympathetic situation, she would always feel, bleed.

I love this poem in particular because it reminds me of the current situation we are living in, so much atrocities going on in different parts of the world, and my heart bleeds for them. It bleeds for the animals being treated cruelly for no fault of theirs, the children getting displaced, the women and men oppressed and abused- my heart bleeds.

Bleeding Heart BY Carmen Giménez Smith 

My heart is bleeding. It bleeds upward and fills
my mouth up with salt. It bleeds because of a city in ruins,
the chair still warm from sister’s body,
because it will all be irreproducible. My heart
bleeds because of baby bear not finding mama bear and it bleeds
to the tips of my fingers like I painted my nails Crimson.
Sometimes my heart bleeds so much I am a raisin.
It bleeds until I am a quivering ragged clot, bleeds at the ending
with the heroine and her sunken cancer eyes, at the ending
with the plaintive flute over smoke-choked killing fields. I’m bleeding
a river of blood right now and it’s wearing a culvert in me for the blood. My heart
rises up in me, becomes the cork of me and I choke on it. I am bleeding
for you and for me and for the tiny babies and the IED-blown
leg. It bleeds because I’m made that way, all filled up with blood,
my sloppy heart a sponge filled with blood to squeeze onto
any circumstance. Because it is mine, it will always bleed.
My heart bled today. It bled onto the streets
and the steps of city hall. It bled in the pizza parlor with the useless jukebox.
I’ve got so much blood to give inside and outside of any milieu.
Even for a bad zoning decision, I’ll bleed so much you’ll be bleeding,
all of us bleeding in and out like it’s breathing,
or kissing, and because it is righteous and terrible and red.

P.s What makes your heart bleed? 

Choices-

Choices-

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Speak now or forever hold your peace.

We’ve all heard that statement in movies and reality, spoken so many times and mostly in good humor. But what happens, when those few words decide to make an appearance in the movie of our life, but not in a comic role.

How do we decide, if speaking up when our ring is about to become another’s is better than holding our peace and silence- forever. How do we weigh it? Is there even a scale for that.

How do we decide if destroying another’s fairytale is worth saving our own. Does the end justify the means in this secenerio?

What If? God forbid, what if, we weigh the odds and conclude that forever is too long a time for us to hold our peace, we muster the courage, speak the words of our heart, and they fall only on the ears of its recipient but not his heart. Would it be worth it then?

Or should we stick to mama’s saying- if he really wants you, he’d come running back even if he’s about to say I do. And if he doesn’t, no one wants a coward anyway.
But what if we wait, and- he doesn’t?

On motherhood-

On motherhood-

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I remember when your tiny hands,
Found their home in mine,
With your body resting lightly,
In between my arms,
The rush each night for more milk,
And the tricks to quieten your cries,
I remember it like yesterday,
The day- you became mine.

And the first time you said mama,
When your feet first hit the floor,
Your first tooth and first tooth gap,
My Jaan I remember it all,
When you said you hated purple,
And we fought at the toy store,
How you’d make up, saying I love you,
My Jaan I remember it all.

But they say it is impossible,
Those nine months’ all that count,
They cannot call me a mother,
Since my womb was not your house.
But I’d give up the “mum” title,
To still have you in my life.
And as great of a job, is birthing,
so is raising a child.

Love & Poetry

Love & Poetry

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You tell me it’s all fiction,
the poetry you write,
That reality is far fetched,
From the land your muse resides,

The so called “love” you’d written,
Are words without much heart,
And I wonder if you think back,
To the ring on your finger.

You’d ask of my opinion,
And of course I’d say it’s great,
But I wonder, don’t you think our love,
Is worth words on a page.

So I read through every single page,
With pulse at a heightened pace,
And wonder will this be the day,
Our love inspires poetry.

Writer’s quote: Dorothy Parker

Writer’s quote: Dorothy Parker

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Hello and welcome to another writer’s Quote Wednesday where I share poems and quotes from some of my favourite poets. Today’s choice poet is Dorothy Parker and I am sharing the first poem of hers, I ever came across. It is titled “a very short song” and I can tell you, it lives up to its title. This poem also goes to show that poetry comes in different length and form.

Most of the poems I share on here are long, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a good short poem. I actually have a few favourites. But coming to today’s poem, it talks about heartbreak in its few lines- both ends of the rope. The character describes how it feels to break a heart and how it feels to be heartbroken and which, she believes is worse.

She writes the poems without much bitterness but rather with a realism and wit which reminds me of billy Collins’s poem- litany, I have no idea why. Here is the poem below and I hope you enjoy it. And thank you for taking part in last week’s question, it was interesting to read your take on what poetry means.

A very short song by Dorothy Parker

Once, when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad-
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that is very bad.

Love is for unlucky folk,
Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke;
And that, I think, is worse.

I’ve used the above poem one too many a time as my whatsapp profile picture (don’t ask me why), so i’ld love to hear, do you have any other heartbreak poem. It doesn’t have to be a romantic relationship. Looking forward to getting to know a few more poems from you guys.

Would you?

Would you?

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If I poured my soul in verses,
And stamped it in hearts,
Sent it to the places,
You lived since we parted,
Would you look back
For a moment,
At the memories we had,
The good and the bad,
With my words in your mind.

Would you take down the ring,
From the shelf it’s been standing,
Take a look at the pictures,
Of the babies we are having,
Would you look down your hand,
With my memories beside you,
Gaze at your fingers,
Knowing something is missing.

If I told you I’m sorry,
And we miss you in our family,
Would you give us a chance,
Or would you still leave me hanging.
If I poured my soul in verses,
And stamped them in hearts,
To bring back our family,
Would those words suffice…

Writer’s quote: W.H. Auden

Writer’s quote: W.H. Auden

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Hello there! Welcome to another writer’s quote/ poem Wednesday where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poem has to do with the overwhelming feeling of grief and mourning. I just realised that last week poem (O captain, my captain) was also regarding a similar theme. But despite the similarities in theme, the way the poems and the emotions are depicted in the two poems are completely different.

Today’s poem- stop all clocks, talks about a person who has lost someone dearly close to him. What I love about this poem is that it requires little analysis, written in simple clear words with vivid imagery. The first stanza describes what the character wants to occur now that he has suffered a terrible loss. In the second stanza, the grief is so overwhelming that the character wants the world to mourn with him. In the third stanza, he describes what the person who had passed away means to him and then finally in the last stanza, the character is so blinded with grief, he sees no light past it and wants the entire universe once again to mourn with him.

This I find so sad as the poem ends with the statement- For nothing now can ever come to any good, I pray no one dwells in such a state for a long and may we always believe in at least an atom of good to come.

Stop all clocks by W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Indulge me dear readers. According to W.H Auden, poetry is the clear expression of mixed feelings. So I’m putting this question out to you all, “what is poetry according to you?” 

Confession-

Confession-

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Because,
telling you would mean, awaking most days with the knowledge,
The knowledge- you know that I want(ed) it to be you, although you are not mine to have;

Because,
telling you would mean, having to mask my emotions with an exaggerated display of happiness, when I sight your arms interlocked with hers.

Because,
telling you, would mean living with the knowledge that I almost destroyed another woman’s life… almost.

Because,
Telling you wouldn’t make any difference. The ring is hers, the wedding is upon, and all I have got is the dignity to hold my head up and utter through gritted teeth, how happy I am for you and expect you to believe it.

Because,
Telling you- would mean accepting the truth, you wouldn’t fight for me, us. You’ve always been an avoider of conflict and saying it won’t change that.

And because,
You might say, you wish it was me…. and I could handle me being unhappy but I couldn’t bear it If it was you. So I delude myself, as you delude yourself, and pretend we were never meant to be…

Writer’s Quote: Charles Bukowski

Writer’s Quote: Charles Bukowski

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Hello again, to another Writer’s Wednesday where I share some of my favourite poems with you guys written by other authors. If you’ve been following my blog for a while now, you’d know I read a lot of Charles Bukowski’s works. I love them and I admire the realism in them, the lack of conformity with classical poetic style and the harsh truths he throws in every now and then. He is one poet who says things as they are with little sugar coating.

Below is a poem from one of his poetry books, Love is a dog from hell. I feel it reflects the situation of this world in recent times, even though this was written decades ago.My favourite lines from the entire poem are these:
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

And that is just the truth.

Charles Bukowski- Love Is a Dog from Hell

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners.

it hasn’t told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.”

You are sufficient-

You are sufficient-

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He is the sun,
Reflecting light from afar,
Attracting,
Pulling one and all towards him.

He is the sun,
A ginormous creation,
Appealing,
Even from a distance.

He is the sun,
But you-
my dear,
are the sky.
A vast entity of infinite
Creations,
Atoms upon molecules;
A necessity,
In calm or adversity.

He is the sun,
Needed,
But only for a while.
He maybe the sun,
You are the sky.
Come rain,
Come sunshine,
Your need never falls short.

Don’t let his shine,
Diminish your vast,
You- are sufficient.