Hope everyone is able to view this. Not sure if WordPress will show link.
I had the opportunity to do a live podcast this morning, spoke about climbing and my writings. Nervous about it, completely out of my comfort zone but now that it’s over, glad I said yes.
Anyone able to view I do appreciate it and feedback is welcome
The first poem “greed and war” in the series “voices on skin” faired well in the U.S and internationally.
For the month of July, I was voted author of the month, my pieces will be showcased for the month of august on spillwords.com
I was surprised by this news, grateful and thankful to everyone who took the time to read through my writings.
Going through and interviewing ppl throught Connecticut has been very humbling, it’s my hope that these stories are brought to life through words, from a pen, their emotions flow. The reader may walk through their emotions, feel their struggle but also see the strength of will to keep going.
“The sky quietly painted upon blue canvas.”
The sky paints,
quite and still
Tapestries of gold,
Upon vastnesses sill,
The eye barren,
So much of this began alone. Trying to outrun pain and loss, that proved to be impossible. I needed to surrender to it, and learn how to release what I was feeling. I worked for two years to overcome, to find my possible and myself again. Not many thought I would but through grace, struggle, not giving up, feeling everything, most importantly, letting pain and loss have its work in me. Pain and loss have brought me this far. Brought me to healing. I see now, healing had been seeking me out from day one, the only way to connect to healing was to let pain have its work in me. This will be my second published poem. I’m nervous about this poem because it’s a different creative style of writing. I appreciate anyone who takes the time to read through this poem. When you read through the poem. Read through the poem as a whole, go back and read only the words seperated, these separated words form the second poem. These are the words “starved for verses,” starved for completion, healing and an ending. Ending the poems with the same word was difficult. This poem will be out tommo. Here’s the link, any feed back is appreciated. Thank you all for your support and encouragement. I appreciate everyone and enjoy all of your creative abilities. http://spillwords.com/author/bethtremaglio/
“My language held within formations, a depth ever seeking to reveal wisdoms.”
My random moments.
Thoughts placed upon stone.
Reflections of self imbedded.
My language held within formations.
Paths designed by gracies undeserved.
Brought to humble, wings outstretched, beyond beaten paths.
Bewilderment and wonder held within a single glance.
From enlightenments seed, furrowed handwritings carved upon slabs.
Wonderments depths ever seeking those desiring, beckoning to show continuous depths of awe.
Is it the coldness within, that creates the coldness without?
The same words that draw you, also infect deep within.
The same affections that lure you, injury you.
The same trust that brings you to openness creates lasting scars.
Is the world that’s grown colder, or we that grow colder to the world?
My greatest reflection of self and truth lay upon stone.
Left bare by touch.
Exposed through battles.
Made alive through fear.
Able to hear silence by the outward ear closing.
Seeing truth while the physical eye closes to all that’s tangible.
Perceptions change depending upon where the sole paces.
Granting the soul freedom to hear wisdom through endless formations upon stone.
This had been my storm. Many would say, I had opened the gate to allow entrance rather than take shelter.
Why not take shelter from the storm? Its cloud had passed trough me, deceptively touched my sense, my eye blinded by its beauty and in calm seduced me unto itself.
The tree sheds its leaf so the soul casts off debris no longer befitting.
The tree sheds its leaf in the time appointed. The eye beholding this can clearly see, it is foolish to dispute the wisdom so clearly witnessed. The tree warring against its own nature, and the seed from which it was formed, only death and barren are eminent. Victory will not be given to a foolish toil.
The soul bares witness to this wisdom. Casting off debris no longer befitting. Remains lay dorimant upon the ground. Unseasonable, no longer able to feast at the table, to dust the souls leaf returns.
Glancing upon my remains an echo released itself within me
I couldn’t forget anymore. I couldn’t labor this away, the seat of affections refused to go unheeded any longer. I could no longer remain sightless, my eye refusing to fully behold the truth.
I parked my car in the same spot several times. The sole of my foot paced this ground many times. What awaited me this time was different. It would change the numbness that dwelt within.
I had spent many months on this rock battling what resided within. This stone my verbal expression. War had engaged upon this slab, releasing emotions upon its surface. Slumbersome seeped from my soul and upon its features absorbed.
This rock had thrown me off it’s surface many times, breaking a shell until it shattered. Glancing upon my remains, a glimpse of a seed that echoed within my soul, “there is no other way for the seed of redemption to open, except it be broken by pain, and watered by tears. Nothing is exempt from redemption. You will learn to hunger anew.”