The Late Season

This poem, "The Late Season" is about aging, the journey we each make. It was published in the December 2014 issue of Galleon III, and a slightly different version of this poem was the winner in the 2014 Writers' Federation of New Brunswick's Individual Poem Competition.


The Late Season

At the edge of the field,
wild asters wither.
Goldenrod and
yellowed grasses
bend seed heads
to the soil.

Brazen colours burst
reveal brown silhouettes.
Darkness shrivels the days.

The chickadee flits
to the feeder,
sings,
takes one seed
at a time.


I've been told that words like "darkness" are to be avoided in poems, as they are overused and too vague to convey concrete images. It is better to "show" than to "tell"; something I constantly struggle with. A writer must trust the reader to make meaning from the poem. I tend to over explain, wanting to ensure the reader gets what I'm saying.  Less explaining, more trusting, better crafting. It's good to learn from my poems and to receive feedback.

The competition judge for this poem was Sean Wiebe of Prince Edward Island. He had this to say about "The Late Season":

'Carol Steel's poem has an Impressionistic quality to it. Her simple and direct language is judiciously chosen, without literary effect getting in the way. Here is a good example of straightforward language used to maximum effectiveness. The painting of rural scene offers a picture of the edge of a field "bending" toward the remaining years. The delicate juxtaposition of "goldenrod and / yellowed grasses" with "the chickadee flits" is Impressionist pigment in words.' 

The task of learning to write poetry is a hard work, and it is gratifying to receive pointers, questions, suggestions about what works and what could be written in more effective ways. I appreciate the balance of both.

How else will I learn?

I've Been Absent

Hello.

I've been absent from my blog for some weeks. Life has squeezed my writing out of the way for a short period. I'll be back very soon.

Thanks for your patience.

Carol

Writing Brings Me Joy

Writing Brings Me Joy

This is my 200^th blog entry.  Today I want to celebrate what writing means to me.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve explained my life in stories: stories told, stories written, stories shared.  In childhood, when I didn’t understand what was happening, I automatically turned to stories as a way of making meaning, a sort of self-created mythology.

As I grew to adulthood, I began to journal.  I kept track of joys and sorrows, looked at writing as a way of making sense of relationships with others and with myself.  My journals held the rich deposit of reflections and learning from my life: school, university, marriage, births of children, deaths, accidents, job and career changes, children growing up and leaving, divorce, travels, struggles, grandchildren arriving, relationship failures, illnesses, moves, re-marriage and myriad other events across my life span.  Events large and small, successes and failures, the dark times often taught me as much or more than the bright ones.

Lack of confidence and feelings of vulnerability prevented me from sharing what I’d discovered and written in my journals, the stories I’d created and the poems that spilled like shimmering ribbon.

Finally, as an older adult, I know that something accomplished despite fear is a thousand times better than doing nothing while fretting about being good enough.  Not writing is the worst choice!

Writing, learning, practicing, seeking help, asking for feedback, finding people who will encourage yet speak the truth, these are essential to a writing life, to my writing life.  On-line, in writing groups, among friends, I’ve found inspiration.  There are published and un-published writers everywhere, if I search.  I learn from anyone and everything, the world is my teacher, if I pay attention and write about what I see, hear, touch, taste, feel and know.

Deepak Chopra says, “What brings you joy, brings you closer to your own soul.”

Writing brings me joy.  Writing brings me closer to my own essence, my own true self, to my own soul.  I am grateful for the courage to share what I write, those stories that swirl in my head and those poems that dance in my heart.  Humble and thankful; so thankful.  This writing gift grows more profound the more proficient I become; the richer depths I plumb.

Thank you to all you who read my blog, who view my photographs, who join the site and who offer comments. This blog is 50% me the writer and 50% you the reader.  I write to touch you.  Thank you for encouragement and for support of this blog and of my other writing. 

Photo is mine.