Shattered Ceiling

For so long I lived in a loop,

reliving the same stages,

never to lead further than two,

and then, begin anew.

For so long I believed I plateaued

at a glass ceiling so low

it hardly sounded anthems of exultation

until you shattered my frozen expectations.

Now, the glass ceiling lies at our feet.

I can again see the skies, know no limit,

I am charging in uncharted territory

and you helped set it up for me.

You and me, we’re breaking all the records,

we’re past that which made us lesser.

Now that I see the sky, I’m assured again

that I’m not stuck in patterns without end.

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Update – 03/22/2018

Hello to all! Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and good night, wherever you are on Earth. I hope you are all well.

I am truly grateful to everyone who’s decided to follow the blog. There are so many blogs like “The Writer’s Corner” out there and with all sorts of goals that it can be a bit of a challenge to build & maintain reader interest. I look at this like the amount of choices we have as consumers in this day and age: there are so many blogs out there trying to grab our attention that it can get hard to choose. Still, it gives me a lot of comfort to know that people enjoy the content enough that they want to get an update every month for every new poem that is posted.

The original purpose of the blog has been to make weekly postings of poetry every Sunday. Recently, I’ve decided (albeit slowly) to expand into story-writing. It’s still a work in progress for me. And yet, nothing in life ever comes to us so simply.

Someone I’ve known since I was young told me this: a blog needs to be super simple so that people can enjoy reading what you have. Judging by how the follower base has grown, I’d say I’ve managed to do just that in the last few months. With this being said, though, something within has compelled me to post every night since Sunday, March 11th. I hope you’ve enjoyed what’s been posted so far on a nightly basis and I hope to continue posting new content. However, I fear this current rate of production is unsustainable and that I might run out of ideas…

This being said, in order to sustain this production over the long run, I would love to hear from you. Let me know what you want to see on the blog, whether you’re enjoying the content on the blog (and if not, keep it constructive – We’re all human, here!). Also – and I can’t stress this enough – if you want to become a guest poster or a regular contributor, please feel free to contact me! I have a contact page on my website with a form you can use to reach out. My vision for this blog is that I’m not holding a monopoly on the posts. I would love to have other writers come and showcase their writing “brand” on “The Writer’s Corner”.

I would love to expand “The Writer’s Corner”, but the truth is that there are real-world commitments I have to keep, just as I’m sure there are commitments for you too. That being said, crossposting on each other’s blog is the easiest way to maintain content. If you follow me and post on “The Writer’s Corner”, I would be more than happy to reciprocate. I want to build a positive writing community around (and with) this blog. I hope you do too! We are all writers; we are all in this art together!

Thank you! I hope to hear from you soon!

Coeur d’un Poète

Crucibles

Crucibles either remake or consume you,

whether guiding the flame or gobbled by fire.

Some scars are more visibly burning than others,

some more continue on through their endless cycle.

How do you react to your crucible,

how does it burn in your temple for a body?

Do you let yourself become the burning sensation,

or have you risen above the flames of fiery temptation?

Are you always to be defined by your past,

or seize the moment of fire when it comes at long last?

When you see the day you find out why you are alive,

are you dogged by pattern, or do you finally thrive?

These are the questions you need to ask everyday

to master the fiery crucible that challenges your ways.

Crucibles are the truism to the quoted apocryphal ties

Of two most truthful days: your birth, and finding out why.

Mantra of Resilience

I am as still as the old oak tree,

standing tall in this suburban forest.

Nothing will bend or break me,

and nothing will batter me down for less.

The oak tree is venerable, much older than me,

having lived through generations of change.

While winds can tilt us from sea to sea,

The oak tree follows the compass; ahead it charges.

I am as the oak tree, unburdened or worn,

not letting events hack at me ‘til I’m torn.

I am resolute with strong, steely resolve

to let things pass, and on their own, evolve.

I am as impassive as the oak tree,

unburdened by constant changes that others see.

I’ve been on Earth long enough to know

when it’s time to live, and when you must let go.

The oak tree’s resilience didn’t come overnight,

nor was it ever shattered by fright.

The oak tree’s resilience was born on resolve

built by time and the will to evolve.

I shall endeavour to stand, thick and tall

like the oak tree, unbroken to a fault.

I am an essence of total resolve,

to remain as I am, calm and collected towards it all.

Spark # 2

Hope is sparked when chance is lit,

the flame of beginnings that seeds all life.

For no spark ignites properly

without good fortune to lead in the dark.

A spark starts one path and ends another

when dreams and destiny meet each other.

Sparks fly when hope’s flames are fanned

and fuel desires formerly dormant.

Spark # 1

Pay it forward.

If you are the first,

pass on what you know

and watch what others grow beyond.

If I’m to be your spark of light in the dark,

you need to pass it on after you,

and so on and forth.

Or be the spark in your own dark,

a candle of hope in the personal abyss.

When you set your mind to brighter lights,

your body soon will follow suit.

In the same manner, one being leads,

and others are moved by the guidance of the first.

Leaders are what the followers grow beyond,

sparked to action and passing on what they know.

Pay your love, your hope forward,

be the example you’d want to see in others.

Be the spark that ignites the flames of all,

forever to give without needing to get.

One being does make a difference

when their cause is inclusive and inviting.

Be the being of light they are to emulate.

To you they’ll dedicate, to others they will teach,

and to those they touch amidst darkest treads,

your actions will have been the difference.

Belief

Optimism is a business with low demand,
counter to the cheap large supply in pessimism.
While the latter is easier to provide,
the former makes of us far better value.

When you see rain or a cloud in the sky,
do you batter down and brace for the worst,
or do you run out and joyfully pump your fist,
embracing every weather in all their glory?

When we experience constant hardship,
are we to curl and surrender in abandon,
or do we continue our march, pushing ahead,
believing in breakthroughs moving ever so near?

What separates these two sides of a coin,
this divide of pessimism from the optimist,
is the simple currency of belief –
a simple change in faith for good things yet to be.

The Seeds

I recon that personal relationships are like farm soil,

where each date experience nurtures the ground

and sets the stage for a seed to sprout.

A person’s romantic landscape is rather barren

when they’ve gone long stretches of time

without the experiences necessary for the seedings.

Romance requires cultivation of multiple seeds,

some more developed and mature than others,

but that ultimately bring beauty from the fruit of labors.

Two seedings sprouted at the same time will clash

as it is a law of nature and humanity for behaviours so,

and only one seed can fill the space of love.

Love, once grown, only withers when untended to,

when it is dying or lost, with only remnants of lost presence

that nurture the soil for new seeds, just as nature intended.

Love is only as fertile as a person’s being lets it be.

Seeds only grow when the conditions permit,

and when each seed has seen sufficient investment.

Night

Another short poem for your enjoyment!

Night has fallen on the street, just as it does daily.
Streetlights brighten a few dark corners in my view.
All is silent, with only the occasional walker passing by,
taking their dog out for their scheduled urgent business.
They telegraph their presence in the snow,
an exceptional noise for an ordinarily silent scene.
Along the street, a few rooms in each home are lit,
but are nonetheless entirely, blissfully quiet.

This scene is a privilege, the thought of which not lost on me,
having spent so long in the safety of this home.
Everything in sight is frozen in peace and silence,
things not all people have the fortune to experience.
I thank the night for being the calm moment in my life,
as not an end on it’s own, but a renewal and beginning.
All is silent on this street I’ve known for so long,
this suburban landscape forever stored for remembering.