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Archive for July, 2013


All the letters she wrote

She penned them all with longing
and sealed them with her kiss.
She reminded him of his homeland,
of the wind through the apple trees.
She asked him to be careful,
to make sure he’d be home again.
She shared her inner thoughts with him
the one she called her best friend.

She missed him every day he was gone,
thought of him into sleep every night.
Couldn’t wait to have him in her arms once more
and back from where he’d gone to fight.
She waited by the mailbox every day
always hoping for some of his news.
She savoured each simple word he said
though saddened by the sound of his blues.

She lived in her hope from summer to spring,
from snowy March to auburn September.
She held on to memories stubbornly
and knew she would always remember.
My love, she wrote, I miss you so,
though the days go past so very slow!
She told him of their children growing
building snowmen when it was snowing.

She penned them all with longing
and sealed them with her kiss.
She reminded him of his homeland,
of the wind through the apple trees.
She asked him to be careful,
though somewhere inside she knew…
… that when his letters stopped coming
he would leave her forever blue!

I found this in my drafts, written about a year ago, and I don’t know why I never published it. The image, as is the case with so many on A Glass of Bubbly, is not mine but was found on Pinterest. 

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Recent visit to New York City. Photo by CC Champagne

Recent visit to New York City. Photo by CC Champagne

So many people have told me I should start writing again, so here I am. Tentatively. Should I really be doing this? I’m afraid of getting back to the frenzied hypomanic state I was in when I wrote most of what’s on here, afraid that my muse will somehow take over again. At the same time I need an outlet, at least I think I do. Over the past year or so I’ve had a chance to look at quite a bit of what I’ve written on here, and so much of it is absolute crap but there are still, in my opinion, some rather good pieces too… What to do, what to do?

When I started this blog it was to have an outlet, a safe haven in a tumultuous sea of overheated emotions, and to an extent my writing here was just that. But it also served to fan the flames that were burning. I know the amount of work it takes to make a blog, in particular a poetry blog, reasonably successful and I’m not sure I am willing or able to put that much energy into it, but I’m reminding myself that I started this for me and me alone. I remember the fear I felt that someone would shoot me down, point out all the mistakes and pour salt in my wounded self-esteem and I remember how wonderful it felt when people told me that they liked what I’d written. But, again, I also remember how hard I had to work to get people to read. This shouldn’t be about getting people to read, it should be about me. The one place where I can be totally and completely selfish, but in a loving and healing way. Where I can talk to the child in me with a kind and nurturing voice, without judgement.

I don’t know if I’ll be writing regularly again, or if this is just a one-off, but I hope I can start sharing myself this way with whoever wants to listen and read. I don’t know if I’ll start taking part in the various poetry blog prompts out there again, but for now I’m here. And I’ll start by clearing out all the things I still have in my drafts folder. Let’s see if someone out there still wants to read?

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