Dancing In the Ashes

As the long summer nights pass

I’m drawn into the open shadow of the evening as it falls.

My mind is left churning and awake, yet still.

The stiff solidness of the air against my skin grants me the ability to once again close my eyes and dream.

Dream as though I wanted to fly, dream as though I wanted to laugh, dream as though I wanted to shout.  And as I continue to dream, my mind wanders off into the clouds of the cold night sky. 

It seems as though time could stand still forever, or maybe just a day.  I’m lifted up into the draping of the night across the land as it envelops the souls below.  I’m drawn into the whisper of secrets as they are expelled and go bounding through.  I now know what exists in this place above the earth.

The lewd acts of the dancing principalities.  They wash ashore as though the heavens were purging their very makeup.  It simmers up against the flesh of those who want to dream and be free and soar in the midst of evil.  That is what the human spirit was made to do.  Whether this can be fulfilled, time will tell.  Time evokes change as humans allow it. 

And sometimes even the most daring of dreams has to stand its ground

Copyrighted © by Lisa Wick, 2013

My previous post was in regard to a poem I have been working on that I have since decided to title "Dancing in the Ashes".  I will post it momentarily, I just wanted to clarify the title, which piece it is, and which post was in reference to it.

I'm finding myself in the place of trying to finish a poem that came to me randomly.  I ended up reflecting on an aspect of it and inserted something into the words that I'm not sure is poetry.  I wasn't even sure what the poem was going to be about until I got back into it to try to finish it, or at least work on it.  I got some more ideas, and more of a vision for it, but then started getting out of the "poetry" sense of writing towards the end.  

I was still writing the idea of it, but I could feel myself pulling out, at least somewhat, of the abstract place that I usually write out of.  All of a sudden, it didn't sound like poetry anymore.  

I'll see if, when it's finished, it still sounds like a poem.  Normally, I just kind of go and let the words come.  They came this time, but I didn't know what they were going to turn into.  This particular piece is not working the way it normally does for me.  I had just started writing down whatever was entering my head.  I later got an idea what to turn it into, but I am finding it hard to mesh the ideas within the poem.

At one point, it started to look a little more like a story.  It still has the elements of poetry and sounds like a poem, but I saw chronology in it that I didn't see before.  It makes sense and it's still something I would want to write about, it's just shaping differently than I thought it would when I started to write down the thoughts I had in my head.

Sometimes, I just start writing and the poem becomes its own thing.  That's what I thought this one would do.  There was one line that took it another direction, and then the process changed, and it kind of confused me as far as where it would go.

This poem will be posted soon.  It is not large or grandiose, it is just one that has taken some turns and thrown me for loops in terms of its meaning.

My Writing Journey


For the sake of anyone who has recently or will be visiting this blog any time soon, I have recently found myself in a dilemma as to whether to just post poetry or also periodic entries of my own thoughts. In thinking about the purpose of this blog and my love for writing, I realized that my writing abilities are also a journey.

I have found many times that I will sit down with a journal and what I originally intended to get out of myself comes out with a number of other random or somewhat meaningless thoughts.  I am not trying to suggest that what comes out of me is extremely confusing, but it's more that in the process of myself releasing and reflecting on what I need to, the result isn't always just a good piece of work.

I have also noticed that writing can go in a number of different directions for me, and it does not always start or finish as a solid, single piece.  I'll start writing in a journal and then part way through, start getting into poetry, and then go back into my own reflections.  I'm not sure if other writers find that this particular process happens the same way with them, but I thought I would share my own experiences in case it helps.  

So, I guess that from time to time, I may be putting entries in here that are more like journal entries of my journey in writing.  My intent in this blog is to put emphasis on writing as a release, not necessarily that it has to be poetry, but that any form of self-expression  is what is important.

For me, I do know that writing is a main outlet for anything that I need to release.  Poetry is a big part of it, but it is not the only avenue I use.  Sometimes I just need to write about how I feel or reflect on things that are happening, or examine the season of life that I am in.  I know that changes and choices in life are universal to everyone.  Hopefully I will be able to help others express how they feel about similar situations through my writings, whether they turn into poetry or are just my thoughts expressed in words.

Coming Out From the Dark Cloud

Descending from the grave above me

The place that haunted my existence

The cloud that loomed and lowered my ability to think and perceive.

The gray areas would not dissipate

They carried themselves in a conduit wrapped around me.

I would not let the shutters open for fear of condemnation and ridicule.  They stayed shut and kept me in.

Now I sit in a vulnerable downward draft easing off of the pain that sustains the cloud.

Hovering up and down on the waves of the darkness.  Whether I move or stand still, it is always there.  It rocks and consoles me through the day into a place where I can make out my existence.

My pain is spelled out for me in the waves I am carried on, and the shores of hope seem so distant.

I find myself meandering around, bobbing up and down as if an ocean tide were carrying me.

This becomes my state as life goes on and I find myself unable to stand my feet on the ground.

I am carried by pain.

The darkness chokes and overwhelms periodically to the point where I feel it is all I am breathing.  The dark smoke and rays shoot through me and hamper my chances at a normal life.

Someday I will be given the opportunity for new strength.

Until then, I know that my abilities to grasp life in the manner everyone else does will be long in coming.  I expect to spend my time with my feet carrying my life across humble ground, realizing I took an untainted life for granted.

Or maybe, it was the way of the universe to show me the strength that would be required for those who have gone my road.

My presence will appear to others slowed and disdained and part of the wreckage of society.

I will hobble and groan because that is the only way I can move until my feet find hope and love again, and the cloud is consumed by a healthy life.

Copyrighted © By Lisa Wick, 2013

A Voiceless Woman

She can’t complain

She’s been here before and will again

The tauntings of the man daring her to try to assert herself.

Knowing she doesn’t stand a chance and knowing she knows that.

His hands go where they have before.  They always do.

She silences the cries that once again voice themselves inside her.

She knows it is not worth the fight.  She is angry the fight is still there.

Why can’t she just shut it down?  Make all the cries dissipate.

Every time.  It keeps resurging.

He is done before she knows it.

She didn’t feel a thing, but felt everything inside.

She wishes she could just shut it down, once and for all.  Why does she have to go through this every time and relive the pain?

God knows how many more he has left in him.

But it is the pain that keeps her alive.  If she loses that, she loses any reason to stay alive.  And that he wants.  She is just another one to him.  Without her, it will make no difference.

But he wants her there.  He wants the control.  That is what feeds him more than the sex.  The ability to hold her into reliving pain against her own wishes.   

Copyrighted © By Lisa Wick, 2012

Feeling Again

Unleashing the pain

Letting the cold recourse slowly drain out

I have contained this for so long inside my body

This part gets scary, now, because the opposite is so foreign

and the time has been so long

I know it is going to cost, and the cost isn’t unbearable, just long in coming

That is the ultimate test. 

To live with replacements.

To take something I have never taken before

and live with the possibility I could lose it again

Copyrighted © By Lisa Wick, 2012