Be True To Your Voice (The fear of rejection) I have always written poetry. It is only now with the passage of time that I have gained the confidence to let my voice be heard. I live surrounded by crazy animals and wonderful children. Over the years I have had a career in underwriting insurance policies. Recently I self published an autobiographical work of poetry. I am a mother of ten, grandmother of twenty and great grandmother of one. My story deserved to be told, to be related to by many ordinary people who have had similar experiences. Poetry cannot be stylised into somebody else's voice. Our voices are individual they belong to us they are us. In our poetry we should be true to our voice. I understand that poetry magazines look for a type of voice which is absolutely fine. In truth it can only be what an individual or individuals enjoy which limits their choices of poets to publish. Of course this is absolutely ok, however to try and emulate their voice is a fools errand. Surely we can only write, and create pictures from our own pallet. Each poem in whatever style or genre has value. Do not be discouraged or afraid, embrace rejection because it is only one or a group of individuals preferences. Your voice deserves to be heard. I found encouragement from a blog which helped me to hold true and have confidence in my work. I want to reach out and touch people in a way that only the written word can. I do not measure my success not in a monetary way. Although that is important and welcome. The measure of my success lies in these few simple words: If you laugh with me, I have succeeded. Cry with me, I have succeeded. Chuckle or weep, success. If I evoke emotion I have succeeded. The one thing I have learnt is that you cannot force or formulate poetry. The words just arrive and bang on the door until you let them out. I hope that this small rant has been of some interest and look forward to your comments. Taylor
Whispers How easily those words trip from your tongue. Softly spoken still they are wrong. Like poison delivered from a viper's bite. Swiftly gone as in the dead of night. Sickly murmurings soft as silk. Still the words drip drip from your cup of milk. Oh how easily you sigh. You hear my breath catch as you pass by. Thick and heavy your words rain down. Their smothering voice in which I drown. You are blind, can you not see, those whisperings destroying me. I am bowed, defeated this battle lost. I surrender, my life the cost. © 2018 Taylor Crowshaw Smile Where are you behind that smile. I have not seen you in a while. Your hollow laughter I can hear. I know you must be somewhere near. I want to reach in and pull you out. If I do you will only shout. Retreating again to your safe place. With just a smile on your face. © 2018 Taylor Crowshaw Who Said That? Someone once said to me. 'You need to write amazing poetry.' I can only write the words that come into my head, but I would love to write amazing poetry instead. Is there a special formula of which I am unaware? Or do they pluck the words from out of thin air? The words just appear to me as if I'm being fed, but I would love to write amazing poetry instead. I feel as if I'm always clowning around. Looking everywhere for amazing poems to be found. I can't find them anywhere, even under my bed. So I'll just have to write whatever pops into my head. © 2018 Taylor Crowshaw
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
When Did My Mother Arrive? (07/12/2018)
I Have Had a Life (06/12/2018)
I Have Had a Life (06/12/2018)
The Huntress (04/12/2018)
First One Last (01/12/2018)
Winter Haiku (26/11/2018)
My Aching Back (24/11/2018)
The Dance (18/11/2018)
Always Yesterday (13/11/2018)
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