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Ebbing and flowing.
All places I’ve been before and will be again.
Beautiful and bright as summer sun.
Dark and ugly as pain.
In between, wondering.
I listen for clues.
Everywhere.
Take me where I want to be.
Pure love resides there.
Tiny before exploding into greatness.
No air.
Then I remember.
I’m already there.
Here.
Ebbing and flowing.
Colleen Sohn
Tags: Poetry
Symbols do not dirty,
but endure, embraced by moss and surrender.
Punctuated by memories larger than life, clear and sure as the sky.
Always there, guiding in ways large and small.
Standing the test of time.
The blue light special twenty-two summers hence.
The tall shadows.
The ripe fruits
And blending of textures that make up a life.
See beyond what lies ahead.
Forget that you have changed.
Measure only the weight of the present moment,
No matter the color,
For there is always love, light,
And lemony hues of sun and flowers to come.
Just there, more memories.
Some fuzzy.
Then clear.
Touch them before they are gone
And replaced by the barrow full
With lofty dreams
Of new places
Hanging like gifts
Buried like treasure
But always home.
In loving memory of sweet Patsy:
You made my tea with milk and warmed my heart.
I know that your heart lies shattered,
Pieces strewn about the floor,
Waiting for your attention,
Waiting for your care.
Until that time arrives,
Until you have shed the tears still welling within you,
Tears for your brother and and the delicately fierce bonds of family,
Know that you are not alone.
The small hands you’ve enveloped in joy,
The eyes that have gazed upon you in admiration and wonder,
The ears that have heard your laugh and been made better by it,
The hearts touched by your caring,
Are collective souls hoping to buoy your spirit in this time of mourning
And return in small part what you have given so freely.
Colleen Sohn
Tags: Poetry
Well hello there friends –
I am not about to beat around the bush on this one, no way, no how. What do you think? Do you like it? I hope so, because I really, really do.
After all of that writing about it, I decided that if I am a Writer (notice me embracing that capital W), I better start acting like one. Step one, business cards. Super duper lovely and ever-so-Colleen style business cards. Many, many thanks to Marty of Bartleby’s Letterpress Emporium (how perfect that the shop shares the name, though certainly not the demeanor of one of my favorite literary figures, too). Ever so kind, patient (if you hadn’t noticed, I am a bit fussy), and supportive, not to mention her phenomenal talent with a letterpress brought this girl to tears, even though I promised her I wouldn’t. Not a bad promise to break, if one must, after all. They turned out exactly how I imagined they would: the heavy cotton, that beautiful texture, our our humble red roofed abode (drawn by me). They are perfect. By the by, if you live here in Stumptown and love fine paper goods, do pay her a visit. Her printed cards are exquisite, really. The shop is just a charming place to wander, too.
Okay, getting to the second step now, full speed ahead. I will also be attending the Willamette Writers Conference in August where I hope to wow someone into representing me. So, for the next month, I will be polishing my manuscript, honing my elevator speech, typing up dazzling query letters, and generally believing that I can do this. You know what the wonderful part is? I am not afraid. I am ready. I am worthy. I am talented. I am a good writer and a terrific person. Why wouldn’t someone want to represent me? Okay, I just ventured into Jack Handey territory, but that’s okay too. I am among friends!
So, a start. I hope you will join me on my journey.
Well friends, I have what is surely the last of the peony photos this year and a broken record alert! Aren’t they pretty? Aren’t they pretty? Well they are, and these two smell quite lovely, too. Yes, yes they do. We also managed to get two dry days in a row to enjoy them, but the clouds are rolling in, and I’m pretty sure that means Mr. Rain will be up to his old tricks in no time, which is okay. The little break of sun was enough to tide me over until next time.
I have no clever segue way to what comes next. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it is that I want and how to get it. I came to a conclusion that probably should have been obvious, but wasn’t, but now that I’ve made it, I feel as though I’ve been hit over the head with a hammer in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Yet, instead of stars, I am seeing what I do with greater clarity than ever before.
I have never called myself a writer. I have always said, “I’ve written a book,” or “I’ write a blog.” In some ways, I didn’t want to pigeon-hole myself in the “I am not what I do” way because I feel I am so much more than a single word. I also didn’t think I deserved the title of Writer without being published. Yet, in this way, I believe I have been selling myself short, for who will believe I am a writer, especially one who is worthy of publication, if I don’t? It also diminished my work, made it less important. Well, dang it, it IS important, even if only to me.
So, a change. A “this is it” moment: I, Colleen Sohn, am a writer. Gosh, I got weepy typing that last sentence. I am a writer. I wrote a novel that I hope to get published one day. I write a blog. I write poems. I dream up worlds. Words dance in my mind and through my finger tips. They are alive, just like me and you.
That felt good. Thanks for reading. I love sharing my writing with you!
