Reimagining Dragons

I’ve been writing poetry since I was ten or twelve. That’s nearly twenty years of writing poetry. I like to think time has sharpened my words, chiseled rough stone into smooth sculptures. I’ve progressed so far in my craft that I actually felt I had some good ones to submit to journals recently. They were all rejected, but the fact that I haven’t really submitted poems to any place since I was like 16 or 17 sending in awful poetry to prestigious literary journals and contests has got to mean something, right?

It’s also been a very long time since I’ve posted on Silent Soliloquy. I could name a dozen excuses, but one reason I’d like to highlight is the strange juxtaposition of writing as hobby and hoping to be published someday. This creates tension: If I post my best work here, then it’s automatically excluded from nearly everything that could result in getting published. So if I save my best work for submissions and post the rest here, then I’m sharing only dribble. That’s not what I want for my readers or for myself.

In the past, this site has almost been run like my own e-zine, periodically delivering short stories, series, and poems for readers to peruse without subscription fees.

Now, though, I feel I need to take this site in a different direction.

Consider the name: Silent Soliloquy. A soliloquy is an “act of speaking one’s thoughts aloud when by oneself or regardless of any hearers,” and the description of it being silent adds in just a hint of contradiction (you can’t silently say anything) and a touch of wordplay (since I’m writing, not speaking aloud, it is actually silent).

Just having a blog to be a depositing place of old writing may not be objectively bad, but that’s no longer what I need. I want to grow my craft. I want a place where people (maybe future fans of books I’ll get published) can come to see that I wasn’t always as great a writer and possibly learn about the craft through my journey as an author.

So here’s the new direction I’m considering: I’m going to begin taking snippets of poetry or short stories I’ve written and either analyze it in order to do a rewrite, or I’ll ask some targeted questions with the hope that readers can provide feedback.

I think a realistic schedule for this is maybe twice a month. That’s a slow drip of content, but if it’s more meaningful content, then it’ll still quench our combined thirst.

To start us off, I’ve dredged up literally the earliest dated poem I ever wrote: Dragons.

ugly words

ugly words are little and small
it’s no wonder I can’t say them at all

because I thought I had everything
but it all fell apart
and what’s the worth of misery
past a small bit of art

because failure is always an option
and every story has an end
but shouldn’t some last forever
and if not, what then?

because life would be easier
if life were easy
if love were easy
and it’s not

because hearts don’t fit like puzzle pieces
four chambers, a sanctuary, a cemetery
a court room, and a cell
a drumbeat borne from hell

because words written in private
cannot always be spoken in public
and ugly feelings
inspire ugly words
but sometimes the words hold beauty
in the hearts of ugly things
the hearts of ugly people
that taste bitter on the tongue
and squander
what was better held onto

because open hands
are a sign of welcome
and release

Vignettes in Leather and Metaphor

Confluence

There is beauty in baselessness. It’s undefined, an exponential without foundation, and in the absence of definition, there is only creation. What does it mean to explore the meaningless, to make meaning from the mundane? Constructs of community and curiosity buttress the armrests of emperors. What becomes of their destruction?

Some say they wish to see the world burn; some wish to light a blaze beneath them.

Others taste the flames in search of ashes, dig through the depths to hedge the phoenix and its feathers, leave the embers in disarray as they build up the burned behemoths of history. Like Prometheus, they feel the sting of silent suffering and the teeth of consequence. They bleed not for bloodshed, but for birth.

make/100

It’s been a good while (like, I don’t know, five whole months) since I’ve shared anything here, and when I created this second branch of the Writingwolf a few years back, I never imagined I’d ever let so much time go by without sharing a single poem or short story.

Of course, I also hadn’t anticipated how time consuming being a full-time teacher and a full-time grad student would be, so the absence is, at least, somewhat understandable.

This year I want to break that silence and share more poetry, more prose, and perhaps even more art than ever before. To help me reach this goal, I’ve started a Kickstarter to create 100 handwritten postcards of poetry, prose, and art inspired by every backer.

And then, after I’ve mailed them all, I’ll begin sharing them here, to spread the joy of reading even further than that first group of 100.

More importantly, it’s an exciting way for me to connect with my readers and make something unique and special while doing it.

Please consider backing today and sharing the project with others.

make/100 Handwritten Poetry and Prose

Fire, Ice, and Lightning

Some say they reign in fire
Some say in ice
From what I’ve seen of warm desire
I hold with those who fly with fire
But if I had to choose twice
I know enough of evolution
To say I’d follow ice
Though deepest yet is the intuition
That lightning must suffice
For from the moment we are born
There is no shelter from the storm

Inspired by Robert Frost and Pokemon Go.

The Legendary Bird Trio by Ruth-Tay on DeviantArt