Smoky Mountain Inspiration

I went up to the Parkway this morning and stopped off at an overlook above The Orchard at Altapass. I love this view. The clouds were passing over the mountains in the distance, then this line of clouds/mist started gliding down the mountain. It was so neat looking, and even inspired the start of a poem.



Clouds like smoke
pouring over the mountain.
A thick white mist
enveloping in its chill.
I watch it come
creeping ever closer to me.
It surrounds me
closing me off from the world.

Not much I know, but like I said, it's the start of a poem. It'll be way different once I get it done. Especially since on the way home I heard the song Big Country (Remember that from the 80's?) and that inspired more lines to add in and work on. Oh how I miss the days when I could write a poem in one sitting and be satisfied that it was finished "as is." Now they seem to take so much work. If I again ever hear anyone say writing isn't hard work...

Poetry Challenge Poem

Hello in there. Anybody home?

Well, today I decided to post one of the poems I wrote for the Poem-A-Day Challenge back in April. The idea was to write one poem every day using the prompts given to you by Robert Brewer (http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/). It was great fun, and tough as heck, and I actually managed to do it. Can't wait until next year. :-)

So, the prompt for this one was to write a poem that is only one-half of a two-person conversation. This prompt brought to mind Ryan Smith, my best friend when I was in high school. Ryan was a Marine and women loved him. He accidently dialed a wrong number one day and ended up going out with the woman who answered the phone. This is based on that conversation. Not my best piece of work, but I like it for the memory it represents.

Wrong Number, Ryan Style

Hi, is Steve there.
Wrong number?
Oh, I’m sorry.
Well, you have a nice voice. Can I talk to you?
No, I’m serious. You sound really nice.
Do I sound like an ax murderer?
I don’t know what one sounds like either.
No.
I’m a Marine.
Nearly four years now.
Yeah, I’m a short-timer. What do you do?
Really? Cool.
No, I’m serious. That sounds interesting.
Yeah, it’s getting kind of late.
Can I call you again?
Great.
Sure. Maybe we could get together for coffee one day.
That’d be great.
Well, I hope you have sweet dreams.
Goodnight.

©2008 Susan M. Bell

Ryan and I lost touch many years ago, and I do still miss him. He was a great friend. Not bad looking either, so hanging out with him was also kind of a way to thumb my nose at the popular, "beautiful" people at school who didn't think much of me. That sure didn't hurt. ;-)

A Great War?

I started working on a poem about my family heritage today: my mother was from the deep south and my father is from the north. I decided to do some research about both regions for the poem, which is unusual for me. I usually just write the darn thing and it's over and done with. But, for some reason, I decided to approach this poem a little differently.


I came across a Civil War website (http://www.civilwar.com/) with a sentence I found a bit disturbing. "The American Civil War was the greatest war in American history." HUH?!? The reason this disturbs me is because someone out there wrote this thinking war is great.


Today we have soldiers fighting a "war" in Afghanistan and Iraq. They have been there over 5 years, with no end in sight. Is this a "great" war?

Two Sides of War (All Wars)

"All wars are planned by older men
In council rooms apart,
Who call for greater armament
And map the battle chart.

But out along the shattered field
Where golden dreams turn gray,
How very young the faces were
Where all the dead men lay.

Portly and solemn in their pride,
The elders cast their vote
For this or that, or something else,
That sounds the martial note.

But where their sightless eyes stare out
Beyond life's vanished toys,
I've noticed nearly all the dead
Were hardly more than boys."

~Grantland Rice

My Poetry Part I

I'm still fighting off this stupid cold, so really didn't feel like coming up with anything for the blog today. I've decided now is a good time to share some of my own poetry. Here is one I wrote the weekend of the writers retreat at Lake Logan. It was a great weekend.


Gathering Home

I sit in awe of the women around me.
Poets, authors,
beautiful people all.

I come here to write, communicate,
commune
with others like me,
yet different.

I come here to listen, to read, to learn,
to feel.

I am a part of something much larger
than my everyday life.

I am a part of something strong, loving,
freeing.

In my life I have looked for, longed for
strong women to lead me, guide me
push me.

I find these women here, surrounding me,
accepting me.

Without question, my writing, my dream
has found

a home.