18 hours to vote

I have decided to enter a poetry competition. It's just a small step, but it's a step none-the-less. I am after literary and critical feedback from my followers as to which poem (or maybe poems - as in two) best reflect my writing style and literary abilities.

Here are my shortlisted:

Iscariot's Rope
Consanguinity
Recidivism
The dichotomy of dealing with the dead
Rapunzel
Russian Dolls
Fallacy
Pandora's Box

I look forward to your comments :)

Interview me: Five questions.

One of the myriad blogs I frequent is Victoria Dixon's Ron Empress. Her latest post answers five questions another blogger has asked about her and asks for volunteers to be interviewed. I thought that this would be a wonderful way to get to know others at blogger. After you've read the answers to my questions, you can comment (of course hehehehe) or request to be interviewed yourself. All you have to do is comment to this post with 'Interview me' – simple.

Here are the five questions Victoria asked me:

1. I love the line of poetry behind your blog's title, but why did you choose it?
   
2. You seem to love writing poetry. Who is your favorite poet and does it have to do with a poem, or with their life?
   
3. What is your favorite poem or quote?
   
4. What is your favorite book?
   
5. If you wrote an epic novel, what would it be?
   

I hope you enjoy the answers below, and let me know if you'd like to be interviewed too.

Aaaah, A Misinterpreted Wave. I chose it because it is what I am; what I have been for most of my life – A Misinterpreted Wave. Stevie Smith's poem, Not Waving, but Drowning, struck a chord with me when I first read it at University. The emotion that I felt when reading it was so intense, that the poem became an instant favourite. The saddest thing about this was the judgement people felt obliged to offer, in that people often felt that unless you could discuss Keats, Shakespeare, Donne and the like you were not discussing real poetry. I liked how the world misinterpreted the waving in the poem, so much like the world we live in. I hope that every time someone reads the poem by Stevie Smith that they realise that they really should look out for others, just in case someone is drowning.

I love writing poetry, and have written since I was about fourteen years old. At high school I had a wonderful friend with whom I would share my poetry, and he would reciprocate in kind. I wouldn't say that I have one all time favourite poet, but there are three that spring to mind when I say favourite. The first is Shakespeare. Despite all of the conspiracy theories that suggest it wasn't he who wrote all the plays, sonnets and the like, all I can say is whoever wrote them was brilliant. To be bound by such structure, yet to be able to write with such grace is a gift I can only dream of. Seeing as I write in free verse (or as I like free falling verse), I struggle to write when such boundaries are placed on me. The fact that I memorised his 18^th sonnet in year 10 speaks to the level I fell in love with his writing. I absolutely love teaching Shakespeare, love reading his work, and watching other people's interpretations. The second would be Sylvia Plath. I am drawn to her writing like a drunken moth is to light. A colleague once describe my poetry as being 'Sylvia Plathesque', something I found to be a great compliment. I adore how she uses a plethora of imagery (despite the controversial aspects) to write powerful and confronting messages through poetry. Lastly, I find Wilfred Owen's Futility and Dulce et Decorum Est a lesson in life that is so often ignored. It is easy for me to say that War is wrong, but I have never been. He has, in fact he died during the First World War, and his poems were published posthumously. I find the criticism of the Government empowering; and so right.

My favourite poem is Stevie Smith's Not Waving, but Drowning. I love so many others and find more each and every day, but her poem is the one that has almost become a mantra.

My all time favourite book is Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon. It is the Arthurian Legend from a Feminist or Female perspective (depending on who you are). I also thoroughly enjoyed the pagan mythological allusions and the change in the story when told from another perspective was enlightening. The Arthurian Legend is one I am quite interested in, and it was really nice to read a version where the women aren't all considered evil or stupid.

My epic novel would have serious feminist overtones, and would come with a powerful message; that women have the power to succeed if only they let themselves. I like the idea of sisters seeking out the truth behind family secrets, or a mother – daughter relationship. Most likely, it will have the protagonist trying to understand the motives behind other people's actions and lives, and will have its fair share of heartache. Even though I live in an outer suburb of Melbourne, Australia, I would most probably set it in Tasmania and model it around my mother's upbringing – that of a migrant family living in a small town where anybody and everybody just wants to get out of there, and most people find themselves stuck for generations. I would like to address the judgment that goes with the inability of people to move on from small towns, and liken that to the urban community. The epic tale will cover periods in history such as the 'White Australia Policy' and the toils and tribulations that migrants faced when coming to Australia in the 1950s.

 

Over and out folks, hope you enjoyed the answers. I look forward to 'interviewing' some of you soon J

Iscariot’s Rope

Today I found Iscariot's rope -

Bloodied and frayed from overuse;

False camaraderie is still a crime the world commits.

Thirty pieces of silver offer no recompense,

Do nothing to alleviate the guilt.

They sit, heavy in the pockets of the damned

Replacing the secrets a modern-day Judas was to keep.

The Potter's Field has been fertilised

With idle gossip, and the accomplishments of the unwary.

The silver churned through the dirt, relishing the tarnish it had bought.

And yet, the rope swings above,

Never without the weight of someone's reputation.

Patiently it hangs; it is a lesson never learnt.

Consanguinity

I had met you before.

There you sat - patiently waiting until I was ready.

But you wouldn't remember that.

I knew you were coming.

I listened for you.

Mama, I am here now, hello.

Do you remember that?

Mama, are you happy?

I touch you, smell you; miss you every day.

Hand to face, eye to eye.

Yes, I am happy.

Was it the same for me and my mother?

I can't remember.

I was always alone.

With you there is no loneliness.

What do you remember?

This.

Your hand reaches to me.

You.

I could be with you whenever I wanted.

An unremitting bond.

Am I Winston or Julia?

Never before has Friday the 13th had any negative connotations. That was until today. Today I entered a time machine and travelled back to 1984. I was subjected to Orwellian censorship.

I committed the much reviled act of thought-crime and for that I was betrayed. What disappoints me most is that people spew out rhetoric like it grows on trees.

They don't want Big Brother, yet they enable him with their petty, small-minded grievances that prompt them to report on any and all they see in the world.

They feel that people can't be upset, can't show emotion and can't vent, without it being seen as an attack on the institution. The irony being that they themselves are causing the breakdown of privacy, freedom of thought, freedom of emotion, and freedom of speech.

That is what disappoints me most about the world today. So many are happy to betray one, for the betterment of their own self, not able to foresee the detriment it will have to them, our society and each individual in it.

If my Judas is reading this, then I have absolutely no judge of character, and all I can say is - send in the rats.

Slacko checks in ...

Ok, my bad. I have been MIA, but I have a good excuse ... truly. My year 12s had their final exam last Thursday, so we ( my beautiful students and I) have been preparing like crazy. Essay and essay after never-ending essay. We find out final results on December the 15th, so it's fingers crossed until then.

Secondly, I am just wrapping up hell month. AKA 6 weeks of toddler birthday parties. At least one party every weekend for the past 6 weeks, sometimes two - aaaaahhhhhhh. It ends on the 21st with my darling little girl's party, but tomorrow is her actual birthday. She turns three. Like any dutiful, modern-day, Generation X parent I have created a photo montage for her, and will share it with you (please keep comments suitably sucky, of course she is gorgeous, wonderful, the smartest kid out etc, etc).

I am currently drafting a poem for her. The poem focuses on the close bond that we have, and I hope for it to be a poem that she can look to forever and ever and then a little bit more. Meanwhile, I would like to remind you all about the poem I wrote for her many months ago. This poem describes the impact she was had on my life. She is a true gift and I am so happy to have been allowed into her life.

Lastly, I would like to thank Steph Damore for nominating me for a Kreativ Blogger award. I am so very glad that you like my musings, and hope to be back in action very soon, so that disappointment no longer abounds.