Thursday, March 29, 2012

The Writing Block- Part 2

This is a continuous segment about Writer's Block.

Today's note is about the nature of some writers, like myself, who struggle to figure out how to make a break through.

Here is what I propose writers do.  Write something! Anything! Even if it's not relevant to your book.  The more you're writing the more engaged your brain is and thus, the more likely you'll break through to the other side of that pesky brick wall.  It doesn't matter how you get there.  Who cares if you climb it, break it, use a police tank as a battering ram, just find a way to get to the green pastures you've been dying to frolic in.

Keep at it folks and remember, just because you passed one wall, doesn't mean more won't come up again. So keep keepin' on like the Brady Bunch.

Monday, March 26, 2012

A poem for one of my favorite romances

The Shepherdess

It was so innocent.  It was pure excitement.
He kissed me and here He stays a month.
I will never forget that touch.  His eyes,
His arms, his breath, and his smell.  Him.
I see him as I pass by, I love how he looks
At me.  Oh the determination.  I hide behind
My sheep, waiting, and wishing I knew his heart.

I knew it was going to happen, I couldn’t stop it
From hurting.  He was furious. His eyes were dejected. 
He dared not look at me.  I saw his sorrow, but
He came through for me.  Why must the customs
Barge our Love? Yet a week has passed and here
We are.  I can taste his sweat, his lips, and his hands.
The joy of love, there was so much sorrow to
Overcome, but I can’t help but be lost in our promise.

His Eyes

I saw Her, and a passion so innate came over me.
I knew not myself, but I knew my other half.
Work was worth every split second of a glimpse.
Just to gaze upon Her moving so gracefully amongst
Her herd.  She is no typical woman, She is the
Shepherdess I wish to watch over my children.  I
Don’t even remember much more than a second.

My heart was torn from me when I woke after.
Leah was next to me, not Rachel.  I cried out,
For I had defaced my love for Her.  Her father
Forced me into another seven, to make fourteen
Years.  Rachel was worth the wait, She may not
Know it, but there was no one else for me.  I
Would have Her.  She is my bride, my true bride. 

© T.S. Graveline

Sunday, March 18, 2012

A little news and a poem

News first: I have a friend who is going to take over editing duties on the first book.  Hopefully, this means the book gets completed sooner and in your hands.  It really should be a fun experience and will help me grow in my own writing I'm sure.  It always helps to get other perspectives on what is or isn't working.  So be excited about that.

Here is an older poem I thought I'd share that I enjoyed writing:

“Du arme Sau”

A roaring pain
Half of my mid-section is gone
All I can feel is pain
The senses have never been,
Alert like this
Next sensation comes
With warmth and sputters
I can feel it rising
All the way to my throat
Clogging my airways
Lungs gasp for air
Only to soak in the thick red
I gargle blood as if it was water
A cool hand jerks me back down
I don’t remember sitting up
The voice said something
I struggle, but my ears are ringing
So loud, my body crashes
With every second
My eyes flutter to a gray color
I see his dirty coat
No longer white
All is gray
I see her again
Her words icy and blue
“Alles wird gut,” said she
I didn’t believe her, those eyes
Then the most sensational cool came
I woke in the dark
Feeling almost weightless, yet still
Then like a slap
Everything was white
The barbaric thing took me
And caged me
Then she came again
The familiar gray
She held something so painful
I tried to get away
But my stubby fat got in the way
The cool steel punctured me
There was no cooing
She only barked,
“du arme Sau”
And I wailed with pain

Second time she said that

© T. S. Graveline 

Monday, March 12, 2012

The Polyphonic Thief

The Polyphonic Thief

I loved trains, with
Their bravado-like march
But when close, there was
No chugga-chugga, just overwhelming bass
Last time I enjoyed this,
I was two years old.  I
Was on my 3-wheeling Harley,
With all the sidewalk I could ask for,
And listening to “Highway to Hell.”

On my way home from the railroad,
I met Lincoln.  A white boat, and this old lady,
I never saw her face, just gray hair and a steering wheel.
I bowed before them.  They unceremoniously lurched atop me,

Andre the Giant had on white-metallic spandex that day, black rubber gloves,
Chrome teeth, maybe braces, and gray chest hair.  Never did see his face.  I knew
It was him though.  We wrestled, till his hair was breaking out of the spandex, ripping, distorting reality.  I think I was scared.  Or is it scarred? 

Darkness took me.

My head came out with the stitchings of a baseball,
Adorned with a body carrying a black rubber sash
Given for heroism, stupidity, or just pure grace.  

                                              The Polyphonic Thief robbed me.
                                              From that moment on, I never knew true sound.

© T.S. Graveline