Category: Poetry

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Solitude

Laugh,
Weep, and
Sing,
and the hills will answer;
echoes bound to seek you;
they turn and go.
and you lose them all.

This may be the smarmiest poem ever written. Ella Wheeler Wilcox was the ultimate Pollyanna, which annoys the crap out of me. I do love to “fix” her poems, though. I like to think of it as posthumous editing. Someone really should have told her that less is more.

The growing soul aches
tiny roots,
dark
with inborn restlessness
to stir
strange seas
unfurled,
And vast shores
never dawned
what is
is a
restlessness of soul
urging
your upward reaching
spirit.

Dead wrong
it always comes
easy enough
when nothing tempts
your soul away
But it’s only virtue
that is
cumbered to-day
And hides
these
we find
but once.

I know each Wrong
has its purpose
as sure as the night
be long
the soul
means to suffer
there are no errors
in the quest

One of my life goals is to assist the immortal soul of Ella Wheeler Wilcox to find her inner goth girl.