In the amazing and magnificent world of authors I’ve encountered many amazing and wonderful people whom have helped me and inspired me to write.
I’ve received impenetrable encouragement that’s made my heart sag with joy.
I have been driven and captivated by this community that has welcomed me with open arms.
Despite my twelve years military service, I’ve never felt as though I belonged anywhere, as much as I do within the huge mass of the writing clan.
One day in May, I was feeling upset. I’d fallen out with a friend. I realised that I was being oversensitive, maybe because that friend is in fact an idiot who chooses to bate me when I’m either extremely low or on a happy high. Not really a friend I know…but we have a strangely unique dynamic and I do consider him as such.
Anyway, I digress (an on going issue for me). On that day, I wrote an ‘pity me please’ status on my FaceBook page. It had been a very bad day until this moment…
You Are More Than Who You Are
At the moment I am Sensitive, Prissy, snappy and snarky
And I pray this is not a writer’s bad omen or malarkey
Tampering with the thoughts of closing my eyes,
And then in my head, I hear a million replies.
Do not let the world get you down my lady,
Pick up that pen set it to paper my baby.
You are an inspiration, a first time write,
Take a short break and then write into the night.
And others say….
Don’t be that damsel who cries in distress,
Deep down inside you are better than the rest.
Forge through wickets that hold your pen back,
Sit back and relax and them plan your attack.
And even others.
You are new to the battle of writing the word,
There will be millions of rewrites, stay undeterred.
Continue on forward and finish what you started,
You need to look into yourself and know that you’re true hearted.
©REB (MAY 2013) we sometime want to just forget it all, but we follow our heart. Dedicated to L. T Kelly a writer and friend…
The poem was based on my status that day. I often get over excited about everything…but damn, I inspired someone. Someone truly gifted in the art of words. What wasn’t there to become excited about?
He asked me to read a chapter of his novel, ‘Placidity’. I agreed, I loved it the idea, the feel, and the words, it was a kick yourself, ‘why didn’t I think of that?’ moment. But, honestly, it could have only come from Rik.
I asked for more, he willingly gave.
That’s when I became consumed in my own novel, I hardly read a thing. I got up at 5am and went to bed past midnight; I flooded literary blood on to my pages. He didn’t press or push, he only asked once if I’d gotten chance to read to read it and understood when I admitted I hadn’t.
In June, Rik and I became closer. I told him his poetry touched my soul, it does. I said I couldn’t write like he does, ‘Placidity’ also has a deep and beautiful meaning.
I write to entertain, if I evoke thoughts and feelings, that would be wonderful, but Rik’s poetry as well as his novel is writing to be etched on your soul, forever.
He asked me to ‘entertain’ him. So, I sent him chapter three of ‘Falling to Pieces’ with a wicked grin on my face. I was merely attempting to appeal to a male audience. So, the sting of the slap on my face the day after he received it was almost poetic…oh, no…it was poetic…
Falling to pieces
I have fallen to pieces, oh, so many times,
I have felt and heard the deathly chimes.
Time has withered our beckoned souls,
And I sometimes see the death patrols.
I am of the vampire, of centuries past,
My life of darkness was duly cast.
I was the princess Teagan true,
Until I became the vampire masters due.
Tampering with Gods dying ways,
The vampire is void of his praise.
Strengthened by the believers blood,
The vampire begins to live and love.
I have been hoping for all these years,
That a man could rid me of all my fears,
I have felt nothing, just cold as a stone,
Full of bitter unhappiness, and all alone.
I have met a man that holds me dear,
And emotions are forming clear,
I feel love within my cold dark heart,
As if it wants recharge and start.
Could God have been following me?
Understanding my puzzle and set me free,
Could he truly be returning my soul?
And putting me back in full control.
I have fallen to pieces, oh, so many times,
But now I am renewed, as God defines.
Blessed be the soul of my new true man,
For he has freed me from the devils hand.
©REB (JUNE 2013) dedicated to the book “Falling to Pieces” by L. T Kelly a true friend.
Rik took my breath away when he begged for more. Tears sprung to my eyes and I sobbed like a baby. I read it on the phone to anyone whom would listen…even the call centres got a shock that day…”No, I don’t want what you’re selling, but listen to this poem…it’s about my book!”
Of course he’s had the full-unedited manuscript, it’s inspired many more poems, more than I can put here. He loves it! Or so he says…I think I believe him.
Rik, being the amazing person he is has granted my wish of allowing me to publish the poem ‘Falling to Pieces’ in my novel ‘Falling to Pieces’.
But, this is not the end of Rik and I…we now bounce creatively off one another and I cannot imagine a day of waking up without his page Poems and Writings of Rik Bertrand and reading the wonders that lie there.
Thank you, for being my friend. My forever friend.