Seasonal Haiku

Recently, a writing group I'm part of posted a challenge to create some haiku poems during this time of strangeness, so I wrote my first ever haiku poems. Check it out:


1. (Of Haikus)

I'll write a haiku
To meet this virus challenge,
But I'm not a fan.


2. Distance

Alone in my room
Stranded far away from home
In Slovakia.


3. Self-Assessment

I'm eating chocolate
Clearly not symptomatic;
No lost appetite.

:)

COVID-19 Poetry

Hello, everyone!

I thought it would be nice, since I'm all alone and since a lot of people are flocking to the internet while they're holed up in their houses, apartments, Hobbit holes and  the like, to perhaps post some entertaining fluff poems.

Fluff poems are what I call poetry that I dash off quickly, without too much thought beyond making sure it's coherent and structured. It's poetry for fun, and it's for your fun, too! So I hope you enjoy my very first COVID-19 poem, creatively titled "COVID-19."  :)


COVID-19


There was a lone poet who lived abroad
In an ancient, Slavic land;
She came to teach and live the life,
Then things got out of hand.
A bat and pangolin, they say,
May have made the brand new strand
Of virus which was spread abroad -
Now travel's mostly banned.

The poet hunkered down inside
Her dorm room all alone,
And thought she'd take a little time
To write this little poem.
And so, to all of you, she says,
"Take heart - we're not alone;
Our God still watches over us
In this strange, new war-zone."


Happy hunkering!

-RL

Big, BIG Changes

Perhaps you noticed. It's been a while since I last blogged. I apologize.

But here's the good news! I've moved! I had to leave my beloved Pacific Northwest mountains behind and trade them in for Indiana uplands (which are themselves rather picturesque, thankfully), but it was for the best. Now, instead of working a nearly full-time day job and editing in my free time and not having hardly any time or energy to write in my other "free time," I am now a full-time writer and editor. !!!

I moved back in October, but it's taken a while to get settled in and figure out how to actually do this. I feel pretty situated now, and just in time for the new year! :)

So. It's going to be interesting to see what all I get done. I'm working on a middle grade fiction novel that has eluded me for ages, and a SciFi trilogy that I'm unexpectedly excited about. I've got a middle grade historical fiction novel planned and another in the idea stage. I'm working on trying my hand at writing for television, and of course, I still write poetry.

There's a lot going on and I'm not sure what will actually stick. We shall find out together. :)

It's Easy to Write A Poem

I wrote this yesterday evening at a coffee shop. I'm sure I'll do some (more) editing at some point, but I thought I'd share it - just a bit of fun. :)

Flashback Friday

It's been a while since I've posted because

1. I was busy preparing for the debut of my first full-length play.

2. I was out of town on vacation.

3. I'm getting ready to move!

4. Etc.


But now all of that is done* and to get me started again, I thought we could have some fun. Here's a #fbf** poem I thought you might enjoy. I wrote it in high school during Algebra 2/Trig class. We were having independent work time, and I had miraculously already finished. Since math wasn't my favorite subject, I decided to do something totally different with the time left in the period. This is one of the first poems I ever wrote:^

In the World of Mathematics

Here strange symbols do abound,
Like pi and sigma - mental Titanics,
And countless others as profound
In the world of mathematics.

Numbers jump up from the page;
Fractions display frightful antics;
Exponentials play mind games
In the world of mathematics.

X, Y, Z, and A, B, C;
Those variable fanatics
Even created trigonometry
In the world of mathematics!

Who out there really wants to know
The equations of the Atlantic?
Surely just those filled with woe,
In the world of mathematics.^*

*Except for #3...

**Flashback Friday. Hashtags - they're a thing. Apparently... ;)

^There was one in elementary school that I remember, maybe two or three in middle school, one in ninth grade, and a handful in 10th, including this one.

^*No offense to math nerds (of which my oldest brother was one) is intended. I just needed a rhyme. :D

The Great Devotional Poetry Project

You know that thing called New Year’s Resolutions? I normally don’t make them, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. However, back in December I had an idea for something like a resolution. I’d written a few poems based closely on scripture over the years,* and I always really enjoy those poems when I’m done with them. I have scripture references or quotes in most of my poems, so I’m not talking about that, exactly. I’m talking about something rooted a bit more deeply in the text over the course of the whole poem, as in my Isaiah 65 poem. 

Writer's Tools - The Poetry Notebook

Ah, the pleasure of writing longhand. Even the Tok'ra Anise kept a journal because her host Freya enjoyed the "tactile sensation of handwriting.* I used to write everything by hand, then type it up later. I remember in high school I wrote a middle grade fiction book, all in notebooks, double-spaced so I had space to add or change things if I needed to. Obviously, that used up a lot of paper and a lot of time. Later on, I went digital and did all my writing directly onto the computer (unless I wasn't near a computer). Except for poetry. For whatever reason, I still hand-write all my poems.

New Poem: In Peace

The beginning of this poem is taken from Psalm 4:8 - "In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety." (ESV) I started with the first bit and built from there, obviously branching off pretty quickly. I wasn't sure what I was going to write about before I started, but I think it turned out alright.


In Peace

In peace I will lie down and sleep,
But peace feels far away,
And I don’t know how I have walked
So long on feet of clay.

They’re crumbling beneath me now,
Refusing to convey
My soul of lead another inch
Along my chosen way.

I curse them but I bless them too;
I know who they obey.
I close my eyes and find that I’ve
Forgotten how to pray.

I ran from all you have for me –
I led myself astray –
Pursuing any vanity
That might keep me away.

So now you’ve stopped me in my tracks
To hear what you would say.
Restore my trust and I will turn
To meet you on the waves.

Confessions of a Nagging Secretary

Howdy, Campers!

Don't forget to submit your bulletin updates before you leave today! You can still get the EarlyBird rate if you submit your updates before 9:00 tomorrow morning; anything after that costs the full rate.

Thanks!

Rachel Lulich

Activities Director
Bulletin Dictator
Receptionist Extraordinaire

And that's how it all started. An simple attempt to make the weekly reminders I sent to the church staff feel a little less ... naggy ... and a little more fun. But it didn't stop there. Oh, no.

Writing Hymns

Most of my poems are what's called lyric poetry.* Lyric poems are typically short, written in the first person, and deal with specific emotions, concepts, or moments. This is in contrast to, for example, a narrative poem which, as you may guess from the name, tells a story. So, The Gray Havens' song lyrics are typically narrative poems, whereas Ginny Owens' are usually lyric poems.

My own poems are most often born out of a concept I've been thinking about, or a significant time in my spiritual walk.** Sometimes, an idea comes married to a piece of music. I've written a few poems to melodies created by Ginny or Sara Groves or Amy Grant, and every now and then, I get to write words that fit the melody of a beloved hymn. Those are always gifts. Faithfulness, which I've shared on this blog before, was one such poem. Another I wrote shortly after a bit of a personal/professional crisis, which I also blogged about without posting the poem. I am including it now.

Spoken Word

A while back, I was introduced to spoken word poetry. I'd heard of it before, but I'd never actually heard the poetry.

The basic idea (from my perspective as a written word poet, if you will), is poetry that is meant to be presented verbally; it's meant to be heard, not in addition to being read, but instead of being read. So if you'd like to buy a spoken word poet's work, you'll get a CD (or audio files) instead of a book.

Christmas Poems

A few years ago, I wrote a fun little poem about the last-minute purchase of my Christmas tree, and a long time ago, I wrote about how my brothers and I used to sneak out after Mom and Dad went to bed on Christmas Eve to lay on the floor by the tree, talking until we fell asleep.

I wrote another Christmas poem back in 2002,* when I was living in Germany as an exchange student my senior year of high school:

Wonder - A Poem

I wrote this poem while sitting in a hotel bistro one day, eating lunch and reading a book. Tired out by my work in the Air Force, I had decided a weekend getaway was in order, so I drove to Atlanta for a couple days' rest. I had been writing quite a lot of poetry during that season, most of which ended up in my book, To Do This Right.

This poem turned out to be one of those rare one-draft poems; I think I changed maybe one word during edits. And I still like it.


Wonder

I cannot hide and cannot tell,
Though I have tried them both.
Once the blessings that I sought;
Once me, now him alone.

A burning bush or blackberries?
The distinction can’t be made.
Scaffolds of truth surround the lies
He already forgave.

How to give back the life I owe
And spurn blind unbelief?
How to meet Agape’s love
With Phileo, causing grief?

God is his own interpreter –
Objective truth in Word.
His wonder colors all I’ve seen
And everything I’ve heard.

Isaiah 65 Poem

I really like the book of Isaiah, and certain chapters in particular. One of those chapters is number 65. Some of the word pictures are very striking, like those first few verses: "I was ready to be sought by those who did not ask for me; I was ready to be found by those who did not seek me. I said, 'Here I am, here I am,' to a nation that was not called by my name. I spread out my hands all the day to a rebellious people," (v 1-2a).* The descriptive language in this whole chapter is very effective in creating a sort of cinematic presentation of the broken relationship between God and his people, followed by its eventual repair.

There are also some wonderful repetitions. In verse 12 for example, God, speaking of his rebellious people, says: "when I called, you did not answer; when I spoke, you did not listen." This is juxtaposed beautifully (and doubly)** in the promise of the new heavens and new earth, as God says: "Before they call I will answer; while they are yet speaking I will hear" (v 24).

I encourage you to read Isaiah 65 for yourself; there's so much more to it than what I've briefly mentioned here. I like it so much, it inspired a poem:

Priorities

Kids think the darndest things.

When I was very small, my parents used to tuck me in every night with a prayer. When it was time to settle down and get into bed, they would say, "It's time to P - R - A - Y." I'm embarrassed to think how long it took after learning to spell, to realize that wasn't a word, but rather, the spelling out of another word I knew: "Pray."

When I wrote my poem about being nearsighted, the subject made me remember a long-forgotten childhood concern about my eyesight, years before I ever needed glasses. I jotted down a not very well-done poem about it, which I have now revised.

Fishing in Sunriver - A Poem

When I was six years old, we moved to Central Oregon. I know Disneyland claims to be "the happiest place on earth," but their marketing team has clearly never been to Sunriver. We lived there for about four years, maybe five. I have so many memories of being a kid there. What a place to grow up! Plenty of wilderness to explore, 33.5 miles of bike paths, and on and on. I remember standing on 5-foot high snow piles from the plows as we waited for the school bus in winter. I remember running through the woods in the summer. It was the kind of magical childhood you see in movies.

One place we used to go from time to time was the marina, a nice spot for a family of five to go fishing and swim a little. It seemed like a good subject for a poem:

Poetry Isn't Always So Serious

I was looking through my files today and I realized: I've written a lot of poetry! Much of that is serious stuff - about God, or about life. But there's a lot of lighter fare too; simple, fun poems that make me smile when I read them. The serious poems take me ages to write, and they don't come every day. Often, they don't turn out well. But for some reason, I can almost always write the fun stuff.

For instance, earlier this year, I went to a coffee shop for the sole purpose of writing serious poetry. As I sat there thinking, I decided a warm-up poem might be in order. Now, I didn't end up writing anything profound that evening, but the warm-up poem turned out pretty fun! Here it is:

Faithfulness

Well, Saturday was The Gray Havens concert. It was wonderful. Dave and Licia are really lovely, and of course the music was phenomenal. We got to chat a little here and there, and they wanted to know about my own writing. This, naturally, resulted in further thoughts about how I really don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going as a writer. So when I was trying to decide what to post today, I started looking through the poetry folders on my computer. This one caught my eye.

Misplaced Glory

Heresy

I am afflicted in my soul for the sins of the people.

I am disheartened in the house of the Lord –

in the very house of God they deny you

in affirmation of their own goodness

and justice and mercy and lovingkindness –

distorted mirrors, waving as they flex.

Nearsighted

I'm nearsighted enough that it's illegal for me to drive without my glasses. I can't make out the titles on my bookshelves from more than about a foot away.

At Christmas, though, I like to take the glasses off for a minute while looking at a decorated tree; the little light bulbs become indistinct rounds of fuzzy color, bleeding into the blurred mass of what used to be individual green needles. In a way, it’s far more beautiful than the crisp, clear image I see when I put my glasses back on; it has an air of magic. It’s the same with stars. With glasses, they appear to be the tiny pinpricks of light that they are, but if I take my glasses off, they appear bigger as each bit of light expands in blurriness.