Day 16 POEM: My First and Only

My First and Only
Janel J. Tutak, May 10 2015

My first hug, my first kiss

The first person I would miss

My first friend, my first love

The first person I'd dream of

The first I heard, the first I'd see

The first person I'd want to be

My first hero, my first knight

The first person I knew was right

My first helper, my first listening ear

The first person I hold dear

My first teacher, my first coach

The first person I could approach

My first everything, my first all

The first person I think to call

These things you were the first one

But you'll always be my only mum

--

In honour of Mother's Day today, it only seemed fitting to share a poem written for my mum last Mother's Day as a gift. I can't actually read this one with out getting teary eyed, and it isn't just because of my overwhelming love and appreciation for my mum, but also being a mum and being on the other side of that. The bond between a mother and child is a most precious and special thing. I am so blessed to have an amazing mother as well as be a mother to my amazing children. Happy Mother's Day to all mothers out there. We love you and appreciate you!

Day 6 POEM: I'm Gonna Try

I'm Gonna Try
Janel J. Tutak, February 2, 2005

I woke up this morning,
Nothing too exciting
Nothing much is going on today
Except I’m gonna live.

It’s like my head is spinning
Spinning round and round
My feet are running ahead of me
And I can’t see the ground
Nothing can go my way
But I’m gonna try today

I’m getting ready to go,
Nothing seems to fit
Nothing looks right on me today
Except my ready smile.

I’m rushing out the door
And tripping on the floor
But I’m not going cry
I’m gonna try

It’s like my head is spinning
Spinning round and round
My feet are running ahead of me
And I can’t see the ground
Nothing can go my way
But I’m gonna try today

I feel all my problems,
Fighting to bug me
Fighting to ruin my life today
Except I won’t let them.

Although my head is spinning
Spinning spinning spinning
Spinning round and round
And my feet are running ahead of me
I can’t, no I can’t
Can’t see the ground
Nothing can go my way
Nothing can go my way today
Nothing can go my way
But I’m gonna try today

-- 

After sharing such a dark poem yesterday, I wanted something a little more cheerful... or at least one with hope, to share with you today.  It is normal for you to have good days and bad days and then those in between days. But sometimes when you have a run of bad days, it can take it's toll. Especially when you are struggling with depression or anxiety. But just like this poem shows us, we can keep pushing through and living. Look at the line in the first paragraph: Except I'm gonna live. Life is powerful. Chose it.

Day 5 POEM: This Is Where

This Is Where
Janel J. Tutak, October 24, 2004

This is where he used to sit
And he’d have so much fun with it
For this is where he used to swing
It used to be his favourite thing
He used to love to swing so high
He’d laugh out loud as he’d fly
Simple pleasure created a laughing fit
This is where he used to sit

This is where he used to play
And he’d have fun all through the day
For this is where his bells he’d ring
It used to be his favourite thing
He used to love their musical melody
He’d was as happy as happy could be
Simple pleasure brought a happy day
This is where he used to play

This is where he used to hum
And perform for dad and mum
For this is where he used to sing
It used to be his favourite thing
He used to love to sing a song
He could do it all day long
Simple pleasures loved by some
This is where he used to hum

This is where he went to school
And he was popular and oh so cool
He was crowned the prom king
It used to be his favourite thing
He had the pictures, kept the crown
It cheered him up when he was down
Simple pleasures of his high school rule
This is where he went school

This is where he slammed his bedroom door
And he broke down, couldn’t take anymore
He was planning what the future brings
But it was his parent’s favourite things
He’d wanted to write, not play football
But that wasn’t what his dad had in mind at all
Simple pleasures weren’t allowed anymore
This is where he slammed his bedroom door

This is where he used to sleep
And when no one was there, he’d weep
He was doing what made his heart sting
Forbidden to do his favourite thing
But he doesn’t want to disappoint mum and dad
Too afraid to tell them why he’s sad
Simple problems seemed to pile in too deep
This is were he brought on his permanent sleep

--

This poem is fiction but unfortunately the emotions within it, the subject matter, is not. Suicide is such a tragic, tragic reality. I remember reading a poem (or maybe a short story?) when I was in grade 5 that a triggered the first line, This is where he used to... Used to. What a sad thing to write. The thought that someone used to do something before they died is sad within itself but to think they used to and died to young. Used to and it was a cry for help. Used to and it is missed. So many things can be conjured up with those words, used to. I never forgot the way it made me feel then and it is a line I have used for inspiration many a times. I actually remember writing a poem in grade 5 using that line but sadly not every poem or story I have written has been recovered. While remembering that poem, I wrote a different one, one more dark. If you know or think you know anyone who is feeling so down, feeling like suicide could be an option I urge you to reach out to them. Hold on to them. Show them love so they can move on and those suicidal thoughts can be something they used to feel but now they feel better.  

Day 4 POEM: Nothing

Nothing
Janel J. Tutak, November 13, 2004

I am not special
A forgotten toy that collects dust in a corner
I am nothing new
An old rumor that has lost its juice
I am unimportant
A file that keeps getting placed at the bottom of the pile
I am pointless
A TV show on a blank tape that has been taped over several times
I am insignificant
A penny that is all the change you receive so you tell them to keep it
I am forgotten
A promise you made many years ago while half asleep and intoxicated
I am worthless
A fake coupon that expired many years ago
I am me
A girl who is all these things and less

--
Another poem from that site. But I really like it. And though I can't remember who it was about or writing it, the emotion is not hard to imagine. I can read it and feel what I felt. The words are clear as are the emotion. That is one of my favourite things about writing poems. Sometimes feelings are tangled in your head, trapped in your body. But when you put it to words, it makes sense. Sometimes it helps to get it out, sometimes is just helps to have it become clear what your are feeling, even if it doesn't go away. Hurt. Confusion. Pain. They feed off of one another. Poetry is catching them in a spider's web and allowing you to see the beauty in it.

Day 1 POEM: Another Fight

Another Fight
Janel J. Tutak, circa 1999

another fight with daddy we scream, he yells, i cry
another fight with daddy oh how i want to die
another fight with dad and i can not take much more
another fight with dad i slam my bedroom door
another fight with father we just don't get along
another fight with father he still thinks he isn't wrong
another fight with Tim his voice ringing in my ears
another fight with Tim ending in more tears
another fight with him and another day does by
another fight with him my eyes are never dry
another fight with that man and still i cannot see
another fight with that man why does he hate me

--

This poem was written one night while I lay in bed crying and upset. I needed something, anything to get out the feelings thundering around in my head. This one is probably one of my favourite poems with a bittersweet reason. After I scribbled it out on lined paper, I remember showing it to my mum. The one parent who always made me feel better, safe and loved. As a parent now, I can't imagine how she must have felt to see such emotion from her child and know there was nothing she could do to help. Although, always in my corner, she did try to help. She showed the poem to my (now estranged) father. This was before he has truly subsided to the dark side and there was a glimmer of human still residing in his heart. The poem spoke to him and for an instant he wanted to be better in the way you do, without actually wanting to do something about it. So he folded it up and put it in his wallet. I probably had another copy of it, or maybe not. Who knows. All I know is later on, years later, when they had separated and he was trying to play with my emotions, trying to continue the charade of wanting to be better and be a real father, he told me about it. Pulled out the wallet and showed me the folded copy. I borrowed it to jot it down. At the time thinking, well, exactly what he wanted me to think, that it meant he still cared for me. And perhaps it was a sign of the good that did/could be a part of him. Perhaps it was him caring in the only way he was capable of caring. Perhaps it was just an elaborate ploy. Who knows. Obviously, the dark won over and that is why he is no longer in my life. But I still have this poetic reminder that words can be powerful. We must never stop sharing them, you never know who they will speak to.

National Poetry Month Pledge

Sometimes when you are a parent days blend in together, weeks and months are part of a fog of diaper changes, meals, bedtime stories, tantrums, forts and songs. Suddenly I look at my calender and I see it is no longer March but near the end of April. April... besides my mum's birthday, there is something else significant with that month, if I only could remember.... Ah yes.
National Poetry Month.
My love for writing poetry was the fuel that fed my love for writing when I was younger. If only I had kept it up a little more, although, perhaps adolescent angst is truly some of the best muses for poetry. Ah well.
In honour of what could have been one poem posted everyday for a month, I will still give you, my reader, a little throwback from my treasury. For 30 days, I will post one of my poems for your reading pleasure.

Bliss (a poem)

Oh how I must paint

the image of perfection before me

I watch the sweet slumber,

the whisper of her breathing,

the scent of soft skin and dreams

She stirs ever so slightly 

and I hold my breath 

so as not to disturb her

Time stands still

Oh how I could watch

the tiny angel that is

my daughter
forever.

Update: Poetry In Motion

Seriously?!?!?!?!? So I'm looking for a kit of magnetic words and after looking on Amazon, I decide I'm going to check out other options. I do a Google search of 'Magnetic Poetry'. And what should pop up first but a site called Magnetic Poetry. Upon clicking on it I discover not only do they sell the kits BUT.......

.......YOU CAN PLAY ONLINE AND USE THEM!!!!!!!!!

SAY WHAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTT???!?!?!?

Oh my goodie goodie gosh! It's literally Christmas in JULY!

SAVE!

Poetry In Motion

I used to go on poetry.com when I was a teenager and enter poetry contests. It was a great site and had useful stuff too like a rhyming dictionary. But the best thing they had was called the Poetry in Motion contest. Everyday there were a whole bunch of words (much like those magnets you can buy) and you had to write a poem using so many of the words.

Even when I wasn't entering the contest, I would go to the site and choose a bunch of words as a writing exercise. It was awesome and so helpful to keep myself writing, practicing.

Sadly even though the site still exists, Poetry In Motion doesn't. It was a great tool and I really miss it. It was my go-to when I had writer's block. Perhaps I should order a set of those magnets...

Looking for Reasons to Write

I just wanted to say that as a writer it is important to keep your passion alive by practicing.

"Practice, Miss Bennet. Practice. You can't do enough of it."
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Pride & Prejudice (1940 version movie)

I am consistently trying to find ways to keep practicing. Journaling of course is a great way. But it's more fun to find other little ways. Today I wrote a little poem on the memo section of a ziplock bag in my husband's lunch as I was packing it:

Roses are red, my eyes are blue,

I'll never love anyone as much as you!

Lilies are pink, your eyes are brown,

My life gets better with you around!