I am not really one for making New Year's Resolutions, but one thing I do resolve to accomplish this year on my blog: more original verse.

Here's a poem I had originally published on my Tumblr, which for me rather evokes the often pained creative process of writing poetry.   As well as how tricky the interpretive process can be for the reader.

A little background on what I mean by "pained" creative process (as per the image below).

 “There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain… Or so says the legend.”
Colleen McCullough, The Thorn Birds

And that is how it feels sometimes -- loosing your words out into the world.   Words created shrouded in privacy and half darkened cafes; now fully revealed and left exposed to critique.   It's why I don't often sing the song of my poetic self here; for poetry can be intensely personal.   Yet, also cathartic.   If one is brave enough to sit the thorn.

Forrás: deviantart.com

 In how many places have I left my words?
My likeness lost in broad daylight,
on greasy napkins dropped upon the diner floor.
There they rested - alone and hopeful
that someone might find these abandoned road-signs
a weary traveler might take comfort
that another has also journeyed
this blackness upon the ground.


Be wary when crossing my wordy frontier:
so many roads to choose from
of half thoughts and abandoned verses
you might miss the turning.
because something went missing
as you stopped for awhile - not understanding
under what murky skies I loosed my tangled thoughts.
And while they seem dazzling in the shadows
they are but bright disasters that slipped away:
invisible until they reached the light.


For how long now have I stood silent
while inspiration was coming
wondering what would be born;
open-eyed and hesitant I linger
shifting, seeking, blurred at the edges
until the feeling did flee
and I released my colourful spell upon the road
just as you were wandering;
swept upon the wind, you plucked them
held so tight, not knowing how
like a thorn bird I perched - and pierced
my soul blood red and tasting my tears
before they blot the page
and blur this bullshit spewed like landmarks -
glittering beside my muddy tracks:
of the words I loosed and lost.



 For the reader, it can be hard to find the true meaning of a poem.

What is she trying to say exactly?

Well, maybe sometimes you are not meant to fully know:   hence the dodgy landmarks of words.
Perhaps it is more an intended feeling that is to be evoked.    While you may not fully grasp the word meaning; some kind of emotion is certainly stirred. 

You may feel you get what is being said - without the full intent known.
At least, that is what I often strive towards:  to illicit some emotive response.

So expect more in 2015. 
Some you may understand and fully relate.
Some might make you blush.
Others, a tearful response.

As long as I can strike some kind of chord within; I will feel like I have not pierced myself in vain.

About The Author
Leslie Botchar, aka "RoryBore", is a SAHM enjoying life one day - and one cup of coffee - at at time.
She has had several articles published in The Huffington Post, and hopes to one day marry her skills as Word Wrangler and Photo Ninja. Leslie spills it all on her blog Time Out For Mom, and invites you to join her for some Mom "Me" Time.
Connect with her: Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram.