Category Archives: Poetic Musings

27

Feb. ’14

#tbt Poetry – Silence

In keeping with my “Throwback Thursday” poetry idea from last week, here’s one from 2011.  (Didn’t throwback too far with this one.  Truthfully, I seem to have misplaced my old poetry folder in my recent move, so I’m still searching.  I’ll get to the really old ones as I soon as I find that darn thing….)

***

Silence

Nothingness.
Quiet.
Confusion.
Silence.

Memories begin to drift back to the noise…
Back to the happiness,
the lights, the sounds,
the laughter
Spinning around at top speed on a merry-go-round
Filled with smiles and giggling children and chirping birds
“Tickets, get your tickets!”
Come ride the ride!

Then suddenly…

Silence.

Where did it go?
Was it even real?

I want my money back.

silence

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20

Feb. ’14

#tbt Poetry – Forgotten Mistress

“A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.”
– W. H. Auden
I see everyone posting these “Throwback Thursday” photos on Facebook, so I have decided to do my own little blog version of it.  Every Thursday, I plan to post an old poem that I wrote, together with the approximate year it was written.  I used to write a lot of poetry back in the day (not great poetry, mind you) before I started writing the essay/short story style writings that I now prefer.  So, let’s dig out some of this old stuff and broadcast that old undeveloped talent, shall we? 😉

First up, is Forgotten Mistress.  Written in 2003.

Forgotten Mistress

I am looking in the window-
Standing on tiptoe to see-
Watching the life go on inside
The life that doesn’t include me

I see the family that loves him
Who will always welcome him home
I see the good times that abound
As I stand here all alone.

I wonder, Does he see me
Out of the corner of his eye?
Am I included in his vision
As the walls keep me outside?

Am I the secret no one mentions-
The dirty reminder of a fall?
Or have I already been forgotten
Not even thought about at all?

I know that I should turn away
From this sight I cannot bear to see
From watching the life go on inside
The life that doesn’t include me.

But yet, I stand here waiting
For that invitation I will never receive
And I’ll remain outside this window
Until I can find the strength to leave.

mistress

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14

Feb. ’14

To My Valentine

“At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”
– Plato

To My Valentine….

Valentine’s Day’s
the time they say
to show what they mean to you;
Chocolate bars,
sappy cards,
dinners just for two

Candlelight talks,
moonlit walks,
Sweet music to serenade
One night to show
that special glow
From the love you both have made

It sounds so nice
most don’t think twice
They throw their all into this day
And while I do understand
most couple’s plans
For us, it’s not quite this way

The lives we lead
are busy indeed
And are filled with much to do
With four kids between
(and most are teens!)
Little remains for me and you

With their needs galore;
clothes, concerts and more
Birthday presents around every bend
The wallet stays bare;
(surprised we even have hair!)
And before we know it, the money’s all spent

So we find other means
(not requiring much green)
To show the love that lies within
Those arms that you place
around my waist
Those sweet dimples in your grin

The hours you spend
shoveling snow with no end
So my little car can get out of the drive
The errands you run
when I’m coming undone
From the stress of these busy lives

Your sweet, gentle ways
through these hectic days
That keeps me from coming unglued
Every kiss that you place
upon my grateful face
Shows how much I am loved by you

I hope mere words are enough
to thank you for your love
For all the many loving things that you do,
Valentine’s Day and the rest
I am loved by the best –
Thank God for the gift that is you.

valentine

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17

Oct. ’13

Chasm

splitpaths1

Chasm

And then, just like that,
It happens.
Up ahead, you see it.
The path is splitting.
Your companion takes no notice.
They follow on their path as if nothing has changed.
As if nothing looms ahead.
But you.
No.  You’re different.
You’ve always been different.
You see what others do not.
What they will not.
Your paths are not the same.
You know the other path is not the one for you.
The things that please others do not please you.
You find your contentment among books, words,
Children, footsteps on pavement.
But not there.
Not where that path leads.
The loudness, the chaos, the fake laughter, the mornings after.
No.  No, those aren’t for you.
You have stepped over to that path in the past,
This is true.
But it was fake.  Not the real you.
You hurriedly made your way back to the path where you belong.
Where you felt safe.
Where you are content.
Where your footsteps make sense.
Where your smiles are genuine
And there is no pretending.
But now.
The distance between the paths is getting wide.
The chasm is no longer traversable.
Reaching out to hold the hand of your companion
No longer seems possible.
The path is splitting.
You hold on for as long as you can.
Until fingertips are all that connect you.
You stretch.  You reach.  You strain.
It’s no use.
The distance is too evident.
Too much.

Someone must step across.

Or let go.

***

“Look at every path closely and deliberately, then ask yourself this crucial question:  Does this path have a heart?  If it does, then the path is good.  If it doesn’t, it is of no use.”
– Carlos Castaneda

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11

Sep. ’13

Escape

emptyroom1

Escape

Crawl into the corners of
Your own mind now and then
Find out what is hidden there
Meet your closest Friends
Listen to the Silence, dear
She whispers what you need
Clear the chaos that surrounds
Let yourself be freed
Make a date with Loneliness
Do not shy away in fear
The stories she will have to tell
Are ones you’ll want to hear
Knowledge – she awaits you
Take her hand and just be still
Savor the warmth of her embrace
As the wounds begin to heal.

© Melissa Halsey Caudill, 2013

***

“I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude.”
– Henry David Thoreau

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19

Aug. ’13

Muse

“I never exactly made a book. It’s rather like taking dictation. I was given things to say.”
– C. S. Lewis

museblog

This writing thing is weird.

Let me explain…

Lately I have been in a bit of a slump in my life.  I have fallen out of love with something that used to be my biggest passion. My sanctuary.  My oasis.

Acting.

I actually stumbled across a poem I wrote years ago about how I felt about acting.  Mind if I share it with you?

Acting

My passion.

The feel of the hot lights on my face –
The way my heart beats wildly just before the curtain rises –
The adrenaline rush.

My escape.

Reality takes a back seat for two short hours –
Life’s problems are forgotten –
I am no longer me.

Scenes and emotions swirl around me
I get lost in the drama, the melodies;
Dilemmas are solved, Everyone is satisfied –
Happily ever after.

Not like the real world at all.

*sigh*

It makes me sad to read this.  The passion that I felt while writing this poem has managed to disappear somehow.  My escape from the stresses of everyday life has now become one of the stresses.  It has become work.  It has become tedious.  It has become a chore.

I’m just so tired.

Feeling something you once loved slowly slip over into something you dread is a very unsettling feeling.  It can really throw you off course.  Something that once defined you and made you who you are is no longer something you even like.  That’s crazy!  I mean, think about that for a minute.  If you don’t like the thing that defines you – the thing that you are, doesn’t that mean that you no longer like yourself?

Hmmm.  No wonder this has affected me so deeply.

So, my thoughts are weighted down with this heavy stuff this morning – feeling like I’m going to throw in the towel altogether on this whole acting business – when, as part of my normal morning routine habit, I check my blog stats.  Now, my stats show me how many views that each blog entry has received, including when the particular entry was last viewed, and it always surprises me when an older entry has been looked at.  It makes me wonder why.  Did someone remember it and look it up?  Did it show up in some kind of search results?  What called this old stuff to someone’s attention now?

This happened this morning, and the blog in question was the one entitled Burnout.

I saw that so many people had viewed it so, on a whim, I clicked on it myself and read it again.

Wow.  I wrote that?

At the time when I was writing it, I was talking about running.  But, reading it now, it blew my mind realizing how much I could take what I said and apply it to my acting.  There was a time that I felt like I would never run again.  But I was wrong.  After a much-needed break, I’m back.   I’m even thinking of signing up for another half marathon in November.  Being a runner is in my soul now.  It’s too late to turn back.  I couldn’t if I tried.  I’m a runner, whether I’m running or not.

Wait…what did I just say?

I’m a runner, whether I’m running or not.

Well.

Now, how about that?

I guess after re-reading that old blog entry, it’s safe to say that I can make the same assumption now.

I’m an actor, whether I’m acting or not.

No matter how much I feel like I’m ready to give it up, I’m not.  I just need a break.  I really needed that reminder.

Who knew that I would be turning to myself for advice?  It’s crazy, man.  I read this stuff and it’s almost like someone else wrote it.  At the time that I write these things, I’m tapping into a source of strength and energy that is not always there.  I’m not always positive.  I’m not always seeing the ‘silver lining.’  I’m not always someone who Chicken Soup for the Soul is ready to claim as one of their authors.  Believe me.  I can be just as grumpy and grouchy as the next guy.  But somewhere inside me is…well, I don’t know what.

A muse, maybe?

Oh heck, I don’t know what you call it.  But whatever it is, I sure am glad it’s there.  And I hope that the people reading this stuff can benefit from it the way that I have.

Sometimes I’m actually kind of proud of this thing I do.  I can’t wait to see where else it takes me.

***

“…Call it an angel
Call it a muse
 Call it karma that you’ve got comin’ to you
What’s the difference?
What’s in a name?
 What matters most is never ever losin’ faith
‘Cause it’s gonna be alright
You’re not alone tonight.”
– Keith Urban lyrics

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23

Apr. ’13

Unreachable

Someone mentioned this poem the other day and I decided to go back and look at it.  I wrote this a long time ago.  And I’ll be honest – there has always been something about it that hasn’t exactly sat well with me.  You know what I mean?  For goodness sakes, I wrote the darn thing.  So I should like it, right?  I should believe it.  But something about it just bothers me.  Can’t quite put my finger on it.  Maybe because it could be construed as ‘giving up’?  Maybe.  But sometimes giving up is a requirement, right?  It’s necessary.  There’s no other choice. 

Maybe it just bothers me because there’s such a thin line between ‘giving up’ and ‘moving on.’ 

I don’t know.

You be the judge.  What do you think?

unreachableblog

Unreachable

Have you ever tried to climb a tree with no branches?
Oh, it is the most frustrating thing!
You know that reaching the top would be wonderful –
So many awesome possibilities –
So much possible potential –
Such a beautiful view!
But how do you get up there when there are no branches –
No stepping-stones along the way –
No one to help you?
You begin to think . . . maybe this tree isn’t meant to be climbed.
Maybe I’m not ready just yet.
Maybe I should just admire the view from the ground for a while.
After all, who knows?
Maybe there is another tree just around the bend.
It may not be as majestic and beautiful…
But it probably has branches.
Maybe, just maybe
It will even bend down to help me up.
Maybe it’s time to move on.

Good-bye to old unattainable dreams.
Hello to new, realistic ones.

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22

Mar. ’13

Ounce of Strength

I got the sweetest text from my mom yesterday.  It was in response to the latest batch of blogs I had mailed to her.  If you missed it, in one of my previous entries I mentioned that my mom doesn’t have a computer, so I print out and mail all of my blog entries to her.  She’s my biggest fan. (Maybe my only fan??  “A blog only a mother could love?…” But I digress…)

So, this is what her text said: “You are one strong woman! I wish I only had a portion of your strength.”

I read that, and then went back and re-read it again.  First, because my mom is just awesome.  Who doesn’t need to hear stuff like that?  I’m so lucky to have her support.  But secondly, I re-read it because it sounded so familiar to me.  And I couldn’t quite place why.

Then, it dawned on me.

When my daughter was only 2 years old (she’s 13 now), I could already see the fiery strength of her personality.  I remember watching her one day and just being able to visualize with such clarity what a strong woman she was going to become one day.  I saw in her the person I wish I could be – strong, determined, feisty.  And when I saw those things in her, I wrote this poem:

***

Ounce of Strength
Look at you.
I’m amazed at your abilities,
At your determination,
At your strong will.
Nothing can stop you!
I watch you in awe.
You adapt to change so quickly.
You remain steady
Even when the world around you changes.
You amaze me.
You inspire me.
You are my constant.
What I wouldn’t give to have just a little of your ability –
Just one iota of your determination –
Just one ounce of your strength.
Thank you.

***

Turns out I was right.  She’s still a little superwoman.  Full of an unending energy, wit, and strength that astounds me at times.  Nothing gets to that girl.  She is who she is and that’s just all there is to it.  Stubborn, dedicated, determined little Kelly.

And after getting that text from my mom, it finally hit me.  All of that is also how my mom sees me.

Wow.  I’m not sure if I ever realized that before.  That’s pretty awesome.

And you know what?  I’m willing to bet that her mom sees her exactly the same way.  Which makes me realize something else.  Maybe, just maybe, I just might have had a little something to do with Kelly’s personality.  And you know what else?  My mom had a little something to do with mine.  And her mom had a little something to do with hers.  And so on, and so on.

Hmmm.  Well, how about that!?

We need to remember that more often.  Really let this thought sink in:

Who we are will manifest in our kids. 

And you know what?   If we’re careful – those manifestations may just end up being some really great things.

***

And thou shalt in thy daughter see,
This picture, once, resembled thee.
– Ambrose Philips

kellyblog1

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12

Mar. ’13

Tunnel Vision

I see you there.
Are you looking?  Can you see me?
I’m performing.  Don’t you see?
(I act like I don’t see you, but I do.)

I’m moving; I’m swaying; I’m smiling; I’m laughing; I’m staying in the lines; I’m following all the rules.
I’m doing it all for you, my solitary audience member. 

Look at me.

Look at me!

Yes, I’m aware that there are others in the room, but it doesn’t matter.  I don’t see them.  I see you.

I hear the applause…the thunderous applause…but it’s all just noise.  Irritating noise that interferes with hearing you.  What if I missed something you said!?  Are you saying something?  What was that?  I can’t hear you over the crowd…

Yes, yes.  I see that ovation out of the corner of my eye.  Sit down, people!  Can’t they see they’re blocking my view?  Are you still there?  Are you standing? 
Are you impressed?  How did I do?  Are you there?  Did you see? 

Wait! 

Are you leaving?

NO!

But I’m not done.  The show isn’t over.  Come back!  There’s still more performing left to do.  Stop!  You just haven’t seen the best part yet.

LOOK AT ME!

And then – just like that – you’re gone. 
Gone.

Sigh.

Oh well, there’s still an audience left.  Surely they’re still here.  Right?  Right?

Hello?

Silence.

tunnelvision5

***

“I was single-minded and I had tunnel vision. 
Now it’s time for a change.”
-Evelyn Ashford

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10

Mar. ’13

Landscape

bloggraveview

I went for a walk yesterday and stopped to take a picture of the scene before me.  And yes, I was a little mopey during the walk.  It happens.  It’s not all sunshine and roses with me, people.  I know – shocking.  Anyway, all that kept going through my mind was this beautiful, melancholy poem by Dorothy Parker.  This chick knew her stuff.

And I think she knows my heart.

Landscape
by: Dorothy Parker

Now this must be the sweetest place
From here to heaven’s end;
The field is white and flowering lace,
The birches leap and bend,

The hills, beneath the roving sun,
From green to purple pass,
And little, trifling breezes run
Their fingers through the grass.

So good it is, so gay it is,
So calm it is, and pure.
A one whose eyes may look on this
Must be the happier, sure.

But me- I see it flat and gray
And blurred with misery,
Because a lad a mile away
Has little need of me.

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