Signs My Body is No Longer My Own: A Draft

Let me begin by apologising for how barren my blog has been of creative thought recently.

In my post about blogging and creative writing, I talked about the connection between my writing and mental health. Thus, my poetry has always been inspired from strong emotions, the numbness of depression meaning that before starting this blog I hadn’t written a thing for two years.

For those of you who have been following my journey into writing, you will be aware that other than my first efforts (which were essentially homework) my poetry has come from a place of uncertainty, illness, pain and grief.

There are still some earlier pieces that I hope to share with you, but it has been far too long since I produced anything new, that I liked. I wanted to change my creative drive from a place of darkness to one of positivity.

That is at the heart of everything I feel throughout this pregnancy, even with all the recent unpleasantness, I feel incredibly positive and uplifted by being pregnant.

With the awareness and deep appreciation that not everyone finds joy and security in their pregnancies, I wanted to capture how I feel about my situation.

I have received criticism in the past for being too personal in my poetry, but I was so thrilled to have written something this morning that I was too excited not to share.

It is essentially a piece of free writing, my favourite, and I do hope that in some way it will resonate and perhaps bind the two different aspects of this blog; the public and the personal, together (#Idonthaveaniche).

As always, your thoughts and feedback are greatly appreciated, I look forward to reading them in the comments!

Signs

I feel nauseous
As my organs
Shift, squeeze
Into the narrowing space
Around my womb.

I am weary
With a tiredness I have never known
Physical, mental, emotional
It feels eternal;
Pregnancy’s constant companions.

I vomit
Retch
Rinse and repeat,
But whoever said that
Miracles came easily?

The midwife called him a parasite
But this is not a hostile take over
My body is a vessel
A cradle
Carrying a new life forward.

The marks on my body
Are not weakness.
They are not cracks or fractures
But glaze on my porcelain sides,
They bare the truth of my task.

 

 

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Why Does the Ice Cream Van Drive at Night?

Well I said I would give free writing a go. It’s been long time since I have tried this prewriting technique. It was fun although I’m not sure how I feel about the outcome. What I have actually done here is termed focused free writing. It is as liberated as free writing but is based on a specific topic rather than seeing where your thoughts take you.

Last night I really did let the dog out into the garden, hear an ice cream van and decide for to focus on a question that has puzzled me for a very long time.  I must confess though to still not having an answer.

Why does the ice cream van drive around at night?
The air is cold and draughty,
The wind pinches with frost
It blows the promise of snow from the sea.
I open the door and let
The dog out into the garden.

It is cold and icy outside
The spring flowers are quivering
Snow is expected any day now
But the sound of Greensleeves
Comes gliding over the fence.
Why does the ice cream van drive around at night?

It’s dark outside
The lights are on
The children are in bed
There’s no one around to buy ice cream
They’re indoors with hot chocolate instead.

Greensleeves slides around the neighbourhood
Past the garden, round the back
Leaves rustle, a fox barks
Far away an owl hoots.
Why does the ice cream van drive around at night? 

Writer’s Block

I was part of a creative writing club at school and every Tuesday lunchtime we would gather around the tables in the library, write for twenty minutes or so and then share what we had written before heading back to lessons. The English teacher who ran the club, along with the lovely librarian, would spend the week devising writing exercises to help us develop our understanding of English Literature. Sometimes these exercises focused in on specific literary devices (such as the Alliteration Writing Exercise I shared recently) or aimed to develop our skills at writing speech, developing characters and using plot devices. Many of these exercises double as resources to combat writer’s block.

One week we were all given a quote and told to use that as our first sentence. It was the first line of John Keats’s poem When I Have Fears That I Shall Cease To Be. As a result of this exercise I wrote my first ever sonnet. I have been reluctant to post it as the rhyme scheme is a little forced and a bit dramatic as a result. As ever, any comments and constructive criticism you can provide would be greatly appreciated. I propose that next time that you have writer’s block, you open a book at a random page and take the first sentence as the start of your new piece. Just make sure that you acknowledge what you have used as your inspiration as I have done here, or that you change the sentence should you ever pursue publication. Plagiarism must be avoided at all costs!

Promise

When I have fears that I shall cease to be
Before I reach the age of twenty-one –
Shame is that time was not increased by three
Years of life together, we achieved – none.
Death has hacked dreams of freedom into dust,
Reduced rivers of Hope to streams of mud,
Yet, Sweetheart, press upon you this I must:
For one more kiss I’d sacrifice all blood –
I would endure the agony again,
Treasure each second of waiting. I’d savour
Broken hearts for this eventual gain.
I only regret that we had not told her;
Having made my choice – I make it anew:
That I shall be, eternally, with you.

Journey into Writing

Yesterday I posted the first poem I ever wrote. The rhyme scheme is really simple, as you would expect from a 9 year old, but the language as well is painfully basic and the way the subject is discussed is very bland and insensitive. Despite how much it makes me cringe as an adult, I am also very sentimental about it as it marked the start of my journey into writing poetry.

Today I thought I’d keep with the trend and post up another of my early poems. As my first poem formed part of my homework for a history lesson on the Blitz, the second poem I wrote was about the end of the Second World War. I am not going to post that up as there is no significant improvement from the first, although I think it is more sensitive to the events it describes.

The poem I am posting up is one from a few years on, when I was about 11 and I my last year of Primary School. There’s still a cheap rhyme in the middle that I’m not particularly pleased with, but this is the poem that I am most proud of on behalf of my younger self. It is the one poem, before I became a teenager, that actually tells a story and contains some historical detail. It accompanied a homework task about the Trojan War and I hope you enjoy it.

THE TROJAN HORSE
There once was a wooden horse,
Which was built for a certain cause.
30 men hid inside,
The rest rode off on the tide. 

Sinon was left behind,
Telling the Trojans they’d won,
They celebrated with fun.

That night the Greeks crept out,
They opened the gates and gave a shout!
They killed the Trojans with a spear,
And rescued Queen Helen,
The Greeks gave a cheer!

Back to Greece they sailed,
The brave King Menelaus was hailed.