Category Archives: Journaling

Resting in the Stillness After Personal Struggle

03 Tuesday Apr 2018

Posted by in Acceptance, Ash Wednesday, Blessings, Catholic Parenting, Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Family life, Forgiveness, Journaling, Lent, Love, Motherhood, Parenting, Parenting a Child with Special Needs, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Personal health, Perspective, Prayer, Prayers, Rest, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, Suffering, Thankfulness, Tough days, Truth of Heart

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Silence, I learned, is some times the most beautiful sound.” 
― Charlotte Eriksson

“Slowly, simply, silence, stillness” was my Lenten mantra, my focus, my goal for the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter morning. A lofty goal, yes. Yet, I was convinced this intentional journey would yield the peaceful rewards I was seeking in my personal life. Of all my Lenten fasts, in comparison to all my past sacrifices, in judging the level of self-denial I’ve deliberately imposed on myself, this year’s “halt of self” has been the most challenging in refinement of my mind, body, and spirit.

Do you trust the silence? Or, are you a skeptic of stillness, like I tend to be?

Have you found a way to rest in the stillness? Do you ever allow yourself the chance to rest your weary mind and bones?

Do you welcome in the peace? Or, are you prone to catastrophising out of innate fear?

Have you lived out loud, with joy and freedom from the chains of your mind? Or, do you lurk along in misery, always waiting for the other shoe to drop?

The last three years, for me, have felt like an ultra-marathon, filled with hills and valleys of tears, running at a snail’s pace, feeling completely lost and unprepared for the race set before me, as I carried a weighted pack on my shoulders, trudging through mud, falling down too many times that I’ve lost track. Over the last few weeks, I have seen the finish line in sight and I’m eager, yet still so apprehensive, to finish the race and rest in the notion that the biggest fight of my life thus far, is finally done. I am having a difficult time accepting that the grueling miles I’ve run have amounted to much more than having run a race I was thrown into, without adequate preparation. Now that my desperate pleas and prayers seem to be answered, it’s difficult to switch gears to a place where it’s time to rest, recuperate, recover from the incredible feat I have just accomplished, emotionally.

For so very long now, I have carried that burdensome cross of mothering a struggling child without a compass, my headlamp dimmed, my resolve shaken and trampled on. Yet, here I rise. The truth is the only way I’ve survived the mountainous terrain of my parenting journey is that I’m finally allowing myself to let go of control. Though fears still grapple me with super-human strength, I am diligent in practicing how to breathe through them, pray through them, write through them, and further unloading them in dialogue with my amazing therapist, trying to leave them in that space between us, not letting them drag me to the floor once I return home.

I’ve practiced a lot of self-forgiveness as I’ve fallen flat on my face and the need to forgive and seek forgiveness will remain a focus in my life. Despite my missteps and mistakes, I can recognize that I am loving as best I can today, and have let those circumstances, hardships, and some relationships to just be, freely flying away to where they need to go—even if that means far away from me where I can no longer enact any type of chance to insert my will, my advice, my vision, or my control.

The most humbling lesson I’ve learned in the last three years is that it’s okay, preferable, actually, to let go of perfection and preconceived notions, allowing God to do His job, and to just love—myself, others, my family, strangers, my friends, and enemies—right where I am and right where they are, without expectation nor conditions to that love. Truth be told, it’s a difficult, often heart-wrenching choice, challenge, and cross to bear going on in love when you feel so beaten down and defeated by the compounding hardships of life. But, going on in love and patience, staying mindful to live each day as best as I can, choosing better than before, these new choices and changes only feel strange and unnatural for a time before the transformative lightness is shining from deep within my heart, mind, and soul, changing me for the better.

Slowly, simply, silence, stillness. This has been my Lenten focus and will remain my prayerful path going into the Easter season and throughout the remainder of this year. Hoping for heartfelt and mindful changes for you, me, and the world abound. Be at peace, friends.

“Whenever there is stillness there is the still small voice, God’s speaking from the whirlwind, nature’s old song, and dance…” 
― Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters

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Thoughts on Journal Writing

30 Tuesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Journaling, Memories, Past, Peace, Writer's Block, Writing, Writing Goals, Writing routine

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“The pages afforded glimpses into my soul where I’d hidden it, behind masks of paper and ink.” ― Rachel L. Schade, Silent Kingdom

The greatest cure I have found to my own writer’s block is diligently keeping a personal journal. Some days, if my fingers won’t willingly dance across the keys of my laptop, I take up my pen and put the ink to paper, easily scrawling away the mess filling inside my head―all of the anxieties, doubts, fears about the unknowns, random thoughts, memories, coincidences, and dreams. Once my journal writing session is complete, which takes me anywhere from 10-20 minutes (depending upon the weightiness of my heart and the heaviness of my soul at the time), I am finally confident and steady enough to confront a blank screen. After I journal, my mind is straighter and freer, and I am able to write fluidly with a clearer perspective, lighter heart and peaceful demeanor―no matter the subject matter.

It takes only a quick Google search to discover why famous authors, past and present, have kept a journal. Personally, I find the process cathartic; a balm to my emotional, sentimental nature. I would much rather my journal be the vessel bearing the burdens of my inner-person, fielding the complaints, taking the hits, mending the brokenness, offering the therapy, relieving the stress, questioning the injustices, remembering the laughter, piecing together fragments of memory, working through shame, healing past hurts, expressing grief, and recording both the simple and profound moments of my life. Essentially, my journal is where I work out the sorrows and write my way to discovering the joys.  

A cup of tea, a near-perfect pen, a journal waiting to be filled―this is my prescriptive remedy for a happy calm. Journal writing is as essential as breath. 

If you’re intrigued by the journal writing process, but have no idea where to begin, I recommend reading this: https://journaltherapy.com/lets-journal/a-short-course-in-journal-writing/

May I also suggest reading this essay on writing?  Ellen O’Connell Whittet muses in beautiful detail about how everything we write matters. 

 

“I say to people that I am not writing, but I keep writing the diary, subterraneously, secretly, a writing which is not writing but breathing.”  ― Anaïs Nin, from her Diary

Thankfulness for the Simple Joys

05 Sunday Nov 2017

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, 30 Days of Thanksgiving, Blessings, Change, Chasing Dreams, Inspiration, Journaling, Laptops, Peace, Personal Challenges, Personal health, Perspective, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, Suffering, Thankfulness, Tough days, Writing, Writing Goals

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“I have learned over a period of time to be almost unconsciously grateful–as a child is–for a sunny day, blue water, flowers in a vase, a tree turning red. I have learned to be glad at dawn and when the sky is dark. Only children and a few spiritually evolved people are born to feel gratitude as naturally as they breathe, without even thinking. Most of us come to it step by painful step, to discover that gratitude is a form of acceptance.” ~ Faith Baldwin

 

Today woke me to a somber mood that mirrored the gray Ohio skies outside my door. The wind is blowing away the temperate climate now by beckoning and ushering in the cold that will last for days on end. We won’t see sun until the end of the week, I’m afraid.

How might I feel an ounce of gratitude on such a dismal day? I light an autumn-scented soy wax candle and allow the glow of the orange flame to warm up the house with its ambiance and fragrant aroma. I answer a phone call from a sibling and feel gladdened by the goodness of spirit in the sound of his voice, and pleased we’ve made plans to be together on Thanksgiving Day. I sit with a steaming cup of tea and conjure up a dinner menu that will include my favorite roasted vegetables. I journal through my anxiety, type away the fear, and continue editing my essays that remain in-progress by diligently writing closer to completion.

My gratitude today is rooted in having a creative craft to focus on, noticing the plain and uncomplicated blessings that cultivate joy, and that my eyes, mind and heart are made open-wide by the gifts of simplicity.

 

“Forget about the money for a moment. Lose yourself in the wilderness, listen to the music of the softly blowing winds, feel the rain on your bare skin, let the mountains take the burden off your shoulders.” ~Kiran Bisht

 

Motherhood and Finding the Time to Write and Create

26 Thursday Oct 2017

Posted by in Chasing Dreams, Inspiration, Journaling, Motherhood, Personal Challenges, Seasons, Writing, Writing Goals, Writing routine

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“…there is nothing you can buy, achieve, own, or rent that can fill up that hunger inside for a sense of fulfillment and wonder. But the good news is that creative expression, whether that means writing, dancing, bird-watching, or cooking, can give a person almost everything that he or she has been searching for: enlivenment, peace, meaning, and the incalculable wealth of time spent quietly in beauty.” ~ Anne Lamott

 

The local library where I live brings to town many well-known and accomplished authors. A few years ago, I was one of many in the crowded auditorium at the central high school mere miles from my neighborhood where these literary events are held and the author of a favorite novel was the guest speaker. My memory serves that this author’s talk on writing was exceptional, especially the bits about how her stories came to life and how her writing life came to fruition. She was gracious in her answers during the Q & A, one of which I posed, a version of, “How did she find the time to write with children underfoot?” In so many words, she prescribed that you must write any chance you can get, master writing to the background noise and chaos, scrawl away during short spurts of free time, and urged not to wait for the ‘perfect’ conditions conducive to writing because they will rarely appear and the writing will never happen. What I took from her eloquent answer (more precisely delivered than I am reiterating to you) is that if you are a mother longing to write (or create in any artistic endeavor) then you must accept that you must write to the cadence of the season you are in, and weave the craft into the fabric of your daily life, willing to adjust and change your writing tempo as your children change and grow along side of you.

If you are a mother-writer and struggling to find the time to write, here are a few simple suggestions to help you carve out more time for your writing and that have worked for me:

Take a break, and give yourself a break.

There will be days, weeks, and even months that you won’t be able to carve out one minute for writing, and that’s alright. Don’t berate yourself. Embrace the peaks and valleys. Invite the rest in and allow the time off to invigorate your senses. It’s quite allowable to take time off from writing, and preferred, if I might add. After all, living your life and experiencing the world around you will only improve your creative abilities.

Quite by choice, summers are the most challenging time in my writing calendar. Since I don’t employ a daycare facility, a part-time sitter or nanny, the warm summer months around my house are full and well-enjoyed, even on days when camps and classes aren’t on the schedule. Along with my children, I prefer to soak up as much sun as possible while we are blessed with the Vitamin D producer, and the vibrancy of kids enjoying their months of freedom is something I don’t want to miss out on–especially while they are still so young. This is where personal journaling and keeping notebooks nearby come in handy. When there are chunks of time that I don’t feel like powering up the laptop, though want to record my thoughts, ideas, recollections, observations, and experiences, then I journal. I find that the break from typing also helps to refuel my creativity in pertinent ways. Never once have I felt regret for relishing in the days off.

Write at a time of day that works for you.

Although I would love to tell you to set your alarm an hour earlier than your first child wakes up, this has never worked for me. I’m not now, and doubtful ever will be, a morning person. When I was on a writer’s retreat, I insisted I wake up at 5:00 AM every morning to start writing, and I did. However, I did not have the pressing urgency of a child to attend to that week, either. I was there for myself and had only myself to take care of during five, blissful, writing-centered days. It was my opportunity to utilize as much time to write–and I took the gift of being there seriously, not wanting to waste the opportunity. That was three years ago, and I have yet to replicate that early morning habit so easily enacted on an island miles and miles away surrounded by other women-mother-writers. What I have continued is the discipline and confidence earned, and the ability to be flexible with both myself and my writing process.

Please, do not feel obligated to wake an hour earlier than your family does if the extra sleep is vital to your emotional, physical, and mental well-being–especially if you have young toddlers or school-aged children as I do. In this time of my life, it is more important that I sleep in after nursing Baby Boy in the early morning hours. After we rise and ready for the day, eat our breakfast and clear up, then I can think about some writing if our schedule permits. Don’t neglect your health and essential needs, nor those of your children, for the sake of your craft. It’s a recipe for failure. Instead, take care of yourself and children first, and pockets of writing time will appear, I promise. (Just my two cents.)

Let them see you write.  

If you have young children at home able to entertain themselves for a while, take advantage of late morning play time and make that your daily writing time. After I have finished in the kitchen, and perhaps have even started a load of laundry, I set my toddler up nearby with some favorite toys and I write in my journal while sipping my first cup of tea of the day. This has become my almost-daily practice of emptying my head of the noise and clutter inside, or when I may flesh-out ideas for the book I’m working on, conceptualize upcoming blog posts, or even free-write. I keep my journal nearby for reference, and it’s a daily practice I’ll never reject. (By the way, these are my favorite ones.)

Cultivate ideas during their nap time.

If you’re lucky enough to have a child that still naps, I’d love to know your secret! When The Boy was younger, he was a champion napper. It gave me ample time for freelance projects and personal, creative pursuits. Baby Boy is rejecting his nap time most days, I’m sad to say. So for now, I take a midday walk with him and use this time to commune with nature and let my thoughts run free. I highly recommend an afternoon walk for some fresh air and the chance to gather eclectic ideas for your creative endeavors. During most of these walks, my son will doze off for a short time. By the time I return home and transfer him out of the stroller and back inside, I have only a brief time for writing before the older children arrive at their bus stop at the end of the school day. This is the toughest time for me to write. Nevertheless, I strive to utilize that time for me and my writing, if even for thirty minutes, or less. Thirty minutes spent writing is better than writing nothing at all.

Burn the midnight oil, but only if that works for you.

During my younger days, I was a night owl. In my forties, though, I am slowing down in the evening and feel that my writing time is wasted after a certain hour. My wonderful husband will handle baths and the nighttime routine. If given the choice, I honestly choose to exercise most evenings rather than write because a brisk walk or fitness class helps me to decompress in a healthier way. Though, if the weather is uncooperative, or I’ve had ample time to exercise during the day (which is rare), I will plant myself at my desk to scrawl or type away. On the nights I write (like tonight), it’s usually time well-spent. Anymore, I like to have my computer turned off by 8:00 PM so that I can unwind with my husband and rest my mind. I am confident that the writing pieces swirling around my head after hours won’t flitter away into the abyss of forgetfulness, and this schedule helps me to acquire the essential sleep I need to meet, God-willing, another full and challenging day of motherhood.

Designate and schedule one, non-negotiable chunk of time per week for creating.

Lastly, I have declared the mid-week morning that Baby Boy attends nursery school for two-and-a-half-hours as “Sacred Writing Time.” Sacred Writing Time is designated and guaranteed; the only moments in my week that are non-negotiable, set aside for writing and only writing. During these couple of hours, I do not take phone calls (except from my children’s schools), nor do I read, shop, set appointments, clean, etc… Making this time a priority and only for writing has been a gift and game-changer in my life as a mother-writer. Knowing I will write at least two hours a week takes the pressure off during my busiest weeks taking care of all the essential motherhood tasks, caring for sick kids, running to and from appointments, and more. “Sacred Writing Time” is just that, sacred, and I take it quite seriously. Once I return home from preschool drop-off, I am eagerly at my computer without delay.

For further inspiration about how to carve out the time to write while entrenched in the glories of motherhood, or distracted by your presently busy life, please look no further than to these, more seasoned and reliable writers than I:

http://www.sunset.com/travel/anne-lamott-how-to-find-time by Anne Lamott

https://jamesclear.com/daily-routines-writers by James Clear

http://www.latimes.com/opinion/op-ed/la-oe-menkedick-literary-value-of-motherhood-20170416-story.html by Sarah Menkedick

https://www.creativenonfiction.org/online-reading/writing-motherhood  by Marcelle Soviero

If inspired to, please comment on how you carve out time in your week for your creative pursuits. As always, thank you for reading and happy writing!

 

“We are all carrying so many things in our life and inside ourselves. Often it feels there is no place to put them down. Where do you place the questions you carry” ~ Sabrina Ward Harrison, Spilling Open: The Art of Becoming Yourself

 

Seeking joy in the present moment

11 Wednesday Oct 2017

Posted by in Inspiration, Journaling, Love, Motherhood, Peace, Personal Challenges, Personal health, Perspective, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, Suffering, Tough days

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“If you carry joy in your heart, you can heal any moment.” ~ Carlos Santana

 

When you feel anxious waiting for a call from your child’s doctor with his or her test results, what eases your stress? When a family member, living hours away, is sick again with the symptoms of his or her chronic mental illness, what can you do to effectively help them through the trial? When you’re feeling less confident in your abilities to weather the storms of motherhood while the days, weeks, years go by, how do you pick yourself up from your bootstraps and carry on for the good of your family? How do you decide to embrace all the hardships of your life, acknowledging tough days and challenges are here to stay, while attempting to seek joy for yourself in the present moment?

~

Today, I was overwhelmed by fear. (Rampant fears are the dirty little lies our minds tell us.) No matter what I did nor where I went, this nagging fear tracked me down. I couldn’t be rid of the mountainous despair despite my multitude of attempts to diffuse the lingering smoke surrounding me; I was left gasping and choking for breath. Acknowledging the named fear magnified the cloud; it clung to me. I wrote down the characteristics of my fear, though the words remained locked inside my core. Busying myself with mindless tasks only increased the solitude of my thoughts. Walking it out only intensified with the raciness of my heart, and the fear chained itself to my ankles, slowing my pace. Praying through it all was having ill-effect, opposite of what usually occurs.

Having had enough of this misplaced, ridiculous lingering fear, I ultimately chose to leave my Wednesday routine and unnecessary obligations to see if getting out of my rut would help at all to wander about my hometown for sunny solace and a change of pace. And you know what? Treating myself to an organic smoothie and favorite dish at a hip, local restaurant; writing in my journal amidst the hustle and bustle of other adults meeting and eating; feeling alive to the beat and vibrations of indie music and conversations surrounding me was the exact distraction my worried mind needed to reset and be relieved. Scrawling away while I awaited my delicious food, the entrapped words came out free and fluid, and I was able to write past the illogical thoughts I was harboring. A quick trip to my local library for a heap of new reads and to leisurely browse the stacks at-will only continued my newfound, released, inner-peace and I was overjoyed for the mental break.

On my way back home, refreshed and renewed, I realized it took such little effort to put myself first, for once, yet the benefits were tremendously rewarding and necessary. Especially in the darkened, tumultuous times of our personal lives, giving back to oneself is vital to maintaining the reserve and strength needed to weather the storms of the present day, and to face those unexpected, wrathful patterns no one can predict.

~

Please, find a concrete way to honor your heart today and you will feel the joy creeping back in–of that, I promise. If you’re going through a tough season, even if you’re feeling a little run-down or stuck in a rut of your own, try to remember to be kind to yourself and offer as much love to yourself as you shower upon those closest to your heart, for, you matter—every bit as much.

 

“Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow.” ~ Rumi

Joy: It’s Your Choice

08 Thursday Sep 2016

Posted by in Change, Glorifying God, Journaling, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Perspective, Prayer, Tough days, Writing, Writing Goals, Writing routine

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“When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.”
― Jalaluddin Rumi

This blog post has been a long time coming–a year in the making, actually. The time away has been spent on rest and rejuvenation, intense personal renewal and reflection, an invaluable year spent refining myself in a chaotic storm center of trial that has taught me lessons about slowing down, pacing myself, letting go, breathing deeper, choosing happy, loving stronger, praying more fervently, infusing simplicity, being still, and living day by day–going no farther than the moment ahead. This incredible change inside of me, I feel, has been powerfully positive. God is working through me in this crisis at hand and I feel compelled to not resist His timeline. I know that the struggles and challenges being placed before me are not for nothing, and that I am being sanctified in the process.  There is so much to say about letting go of control and placing the internal care and future success of your loved ones, and of yourself, directly in the hands of God.

As I’ve learned to live a new normal and continue on with an intentional pace, I’ve continued to read voraciously and write almost daily. Although, I’ve not made much time for writing on the computer, hence the hiatus from creating blog posts here, I have, instead, handwritten my way through the year by filling two fully lined notebooks that I use as journals. Two weeks ago, I broke open the spine of the third. This daily practice I’m adhering to is therapeutic, melodic, and life-altering. Truly, I believe writing, or any creative endeavor, is a healer.

My plans for the coming year include writing–both inside my journal and online–and pursuing lifelong dreams. Some of the journey, I will chronicle here. Though, what I want to explore through writing in the coming months involves living well–gently, creatively, and intentionally–despite life’s challenges and struggles. This I know for certain, we can be met with the worst kind of heart-wrenching loss, yet still come out of the abyss fully alive, even choosing joy in the process.

Won’t you join me?

 

 

Thank You Poetry, I Owe it All to You

03 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by in Journaling, Poets and Poetry

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Always be a poet, even in prose.  ~Charles Baudelaire, “My Heart Laid Bare,”Intimate Journals, 1864

Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.  ~Plato, Ion

The smell of ink is intoxicating to me — others may have wine, but I have poetry. ~Terri Guillemets

 

Barely visible to any unassuming pair of eyes, a dusty collection of old journals lives down in the farthest, darkest corner of my home. Hidden away in the basement storage area for obvious reasons, but still accessible enough that anyone on a hunt for something else would be able to find these passionate records, a scattered history of my early life remains in clear storage bins. This vast array of books hold the secrets to my early truths. Held inside is the trail of self-discovery I embarked upon—forming this collected record—written snippets of a life searching for meaning. Scribbled letters formed tightly together at first, moving quickly toward a type of sprawling formation all over the page—my most raw emotions and thoughts, previous perceptions and presumptions are preserved for any reader to read in a type of dark ink, however now slightly faded.

A younger version of myself wrote out of pure emotion and often only when my heart had been broken or my ego bruised.  (Not unlike any other adolescent girl, I presume.) To make sense of it all—the quick swirl of emotions, the intensity of love with all its ups and downs, the joy and disappointments—much like finding yoga and hiking or walking through the woods to calm the storms atypically rampant in adolescence and young adulthood—writing became my refuge and rejuvenated me in ways no other system or activity ever could. Always in unlined journals, I tried to capture my life in words and hoped to free myself from the pains that followed hard choices and experiences that left me feeling empty and alone. By writing through it all, I was pulled  by the words of my own making and gained a clearer sense of the moving on and the freedom and fright of moving away, and conquered the anguish and mixed emotions that accompanied me every time I planned on coming back home. Inside these deeply personal books lie the questions of that time, my profound discoveries, the compelling answers, and also the mundane of my early life.

~

As far back as I can remember, books were the answer to almost everything in my family. Struggling to spell a word? My mother would say, “Look it up in the dictionary.” Bored to tears? “Read a book,” was always my parents’ first answer to our whining and complaints. The day I started my period, I sat on the hardwood floor of my bedroom with my back against the pale blue wall and wrote in my teal green college-ruled composition notebook to work out the mixed emotions I had rushing over me all at once. A soft knock at the door interrupted my writing, and my mother came in with a hardbound book in hand. She presented this new genre to me with a, “Read this–then we’ll talk.”

It was about this time in my life that I discovered poetry. Where I could lose myself in all sorts of novels and actually loved reading my school textbooks, poetry met me where I was and took me to places I’d never imagined before. Back then, poetry held all the answers by insight and depth. In eighth grade, we had an assignment to write poems inspired by Langston Hughes’ “Dream Deferred” and I still remember the joy that came with the discovery of another poet that inspired and amazed me, and the pleasure I felt in trying to mimic his style as I worked diligently to perfect my own writing. My library card was well-worn by then as I borrowed what seemed like all of the library’s poetry anthologies and collections. At night, I eagerly devoured each poet’s words by the aid of a flashlight in my bed during the calm of the night–the only peaceful time in my family home. Although my family knew I read–that was my thing like sports were to each of my siblings–I still didn’t want to catch any flack for reading poems. If found out, I feared opening myself up to even more ridicule and relentless teasing by peers and family members alike.  So, I hid my propensity for the most captivating and beautiful literature I had ever encountered and read on.

The more poems I read, the more I needed to read. And amidst the discovery of old and new poets alike, I fell in love with the process of poems. As I eagerly took on the more obscure, lesser known poets and their poems, I made a game out of trying to figure out their form, guessing the poem’s purpose and intent, and letting the poets themselves teach me about their chosen craft. What I enjoyed most about the learning process was how poems made me feel closer to the words themselves and I felt empowered knowing that I could go deeper in my own writing, revealing my innermost self in ways unimaginable before my discovery of such gift-bearing literature. Reading with more awareness now, I gave in to the hunger for drawing nearer as I read, digesting the deeper meaning and learning to let the words soak through my skin and touch me to the core. I aspired to write like these master wordsmiths, and my ambition to achieve this goal still remains one of the most important objectives in my writing today as I allow the poets to guide and their poetry to continually enlighten and inspire me beyond expectation.

~

In honor of National Poetry Month, I’d be pleased to hear about your favorite poem, poet, or collection of poetry!