A Little Surprise!!

 

Good morning, my friends! I have a bit of exciting news for you today. My second poetry book, Dear Mr. Covid, is launching NEXT WEEK!!! Today I have a post about everyday poetry as well as a sample of the poems you will find in Dear Mr. Covid. I hope you enjoy!

Maybe you’ve never written a poem in your life, except for those silly ones they make you write in English class. Or maybe you’ve written dozens of poems before and you want to see what this other poet has to say. Maybe you find it easy to sit down and spin off tales with rhymes and meter to boot, or maybe you struggle to make it through one line. 

Maybe you’re even wondering right now, “What is a poem?” “What is the first thing I do when I start a poem?”

The first thing I can tell you is that there is no magic formula. There is no secret that we poets have mysteriously hacked into. We’re all just a bunch of people who have decided to make words look like art, and sometimes that art looks pretty terrible. But we don’t stop writing. Something else snags our attention and we just have to write about it.

A poem is imagination packaged in the wrapping of emotion.

The second thing I will tell you is that the magic of poetry will fade after a while. You will run out of big things to write about.

I remember writing the first poem I was actually proud of. It was about Covid, which ironically got me officially writing poetry. After that I wrote poems about math, Robin Hood, and the sadness I felt upon the death of a loved one. Now, a few years later, Covid is still a pretty big thing, but I feel like I’ve milked it dry of poems. I still love Robin Hood, but what else can I say about him? I miss my relations, but I know I’ll see them again. But I still dislike math with unrivaled passion and, as a student, I have little choice in having to study it. Just a few days ago, instead of working through my pages of hyperbola problems, I wrote a poem about my feelings toward my algebra book.

My point is this: we will never run out of the little problems that only bother us.

So we write about those things.

That loneliness you felt when the cool kids shunned you? Write about that. That humiliating moment when you admitted that you were wrong? Write about that. That amazing, overwhelming feeling you had when you realized - for the two thousandth time! - how vast God’s love is for you? Write about that.

Because you may be able to put into words a problem that you are not alone in!

Poems take your imagination and emotions and let you make something beautiful with them. They let you communicate in a way that isn’t possible with normal speech. 

Maybe this has helped you, or maybe it hasn’t. I am no expert on writing poems. But one thing I have come to realize is that prayer will help you get the words out. You will run out of inspiration; the magic for an idea will disappear. But a whispered request to the Lord and some good old fashioned perseverance can make anything happen. 

Write about that. Write about your doubts, your joys, and your dog. Write beautifully without taking away the honesty from your words. Write about your inability to write on your own.

And then see what God will do.

Tally ho!

Rachael Anne

P.S. Here's a little peek inside Dear Mr. Covid. Come back next week to find out how you can purchase the entire book!

Dear Mr. Covid

Ah yes, Mr. Covid. I have to insist you read it in an English accent; the poem itself is very self-explanatory.:)

My dear Mr. Covid,

What an odd one you are!

And if I am honest

You’ve made my life quite hard.

The masks, social distance,

And the time spent inside

Make us all feel as if

We are on borrowed time.

I used to be worried

If I e’er got a cough;

I would think I was dying,

And if that weren’t enough

I had family around me

Who thought of the same,

Though if I stub my toe

It’s the very same way.

I admit, I still don’t really

Like you that much,

‘Cause remember the masks,

Social distance and such.

But I’ve learned so much

Through this rough quarantine 

Though not how to start fires

With rags and turpentine.

I’ve learned to be patient;

I’ve learned how to trust.

I’ve learned how to live 

Through the pain of death’s touch.

And through all the sorrow,

And the dreaded tears too,

I’ve learned that my God

Is e’er carrying me through.

So you see, Mr. Covid,

I’m not so scared to say

That I’m trying to make

The very most of each day.

With the help of my Savior

Life will keep going on

In spite of the masks

And the distancing hard.

While I hope that we never 

Become better acquainted

With a tip of the hat

I will bid you good day now.

Sincerely,

A Satirical Poet

Dear Mr. Perfection

In recent years I’ve felt the need to perform perfectly in front of other people. This was a reminder to myself that I don’t need to be perfect to be accepted by my heavenly Father.

Dear Mr. Perfection,

I am sure by this time

You have realized I’m easy

To ply with your lies.

There’s allure in your words,

In your hark, in your song.

And quite soon, before long,

I can’t tell right from wrong.

A bad grade in class,

I can’t get up on time.

Why, I’m not even sure 

How I made this thing rhyme!

But I’ll tell you a secret: 

I think you should know

That it’s probably best

If you pack up and go.

There’s One who died for me,

Took my sins all away,

So I can rise up 

And give thanks every day.

I don’t have to be perfect,

Nor each time must be right

‘Cause I’ve learned that it’s not

Worth the great losing fight.

So instead of perfection 

I’ll instead reach for Christ

And the day when my burdens

Will all be made so light.

Sincerely,

A Slave No More