I didn't win and why it does not deter me

I entered another contest and did not win. I wasn't even an honourable mention.

It used to hurt. It doesn't any more. Now it makes me want to write more, to put more of myself out there.

Why I Write

For Snoopy, the author

It was a dark and stormy night.
The words are crisp and clear, but I am afraid
of where they lead and what they do not
say about reality. They show no sense of location or
circumstance. What they offer is vague and open.
Their position in this world is hidden by their
randomness; a cat says more by sauntering
through a doorway.

Suddenly, a shot rang out!
Mistakenly, a life was taken. Thoughtlessly,
my mind wandered into itself. Truthfully,
I say what must be said.

A door slammed.
A car crashed. A bird flew into an airplane’s engine and
the story took a turn for the worst.

The maid screamed.
I opened my eyes to the truth.

Suddenly, a pirate ship appears on the horizon!
Words leave clues to the path to follow,
to the destination of the story, and the moral
the author puts out for our education. To read is
to learn is to gain the answer to our abundance of questions,
even those we do not know we need to ask until,
too late, we call out for attention, and
receive only silence.

Why do I write? To see what words appear next
on this page, and to know
I put them there.

© Catherine Woods 2017

*Certain italicized words are from Charles Schulz, circa 1971.

I close my eyes

Words appear on this page

as if from magic or witchcraft,

but they are neither. It is only my muse 

speaking out 

loud and strong and clearly

making herself heard. Like a siren, she

draws me into her spell; her on the rock, solid as

diamond, whispering, weaving her words through

my mortality; me flailing about, treading water

unsuccessfully, drowning in visions of

chaos and wonder.  Then I awaken to

books, papers, and abstracts, knowing I’m concrete and

sentient and safe in reality,

until the next time that I close my eyes.

© Catherine Woods 2017

The country weeps for a loss expected but not welcomed

I woke to this news and am still can't accept it. We will mourn his passing for a long time.

Our Country Wept, Completely

On a sandy beach in the Kawartha Lakes,
driving down a lonely Prairie road,
as certain coastal cities are slowly sinking,
our country wept.

As the Maple Leafs return to glory,
while we reconcile our ancient prejudices, and
accept our own mortality,
our country wept.

In the Coke Machine Glow
of a movie shot out at the speedway
where fire works its magic spell,
our country wept

for Gord.

© Catherine Woods 2017

A series of thoughts

Confrontation always brings out my muse. For good or bad, it's a statement of what is going on in my head. And it needs to come out.

Listening to my Inner Voice

No one is listening
as I scream
inside my head.
There is a space
opening a door,
ushering me into
a new room,
full of questions,
full of answers;
now to match them up
and leave no
stones unturned,
no worries unanswered.
White is black.
and grey is unexpected.

© Catherine Woods 2017

Unreasonable Blindness 

Blindness of people seeing only their 

reality. A freshly mowed lawn, a warm sunny day, 

children playing in the park.

Not witnessing the real reality of hundreds 

of innocents dying because 

they are black or Muslim 

because hurricanes destroyed their homes 

because someone feels threatened by their mere existence.

Only if and when their reality is affected 

do they notice that somewhere has changed

 in their neighbourhood or their home 

or their own family 

or their own child.

Only then do they scream.

But by then it's too late to fix their reality and

they are lost.

© Catherine Woods 2017

Serious Moonlight

Where do I start the tale?

With old words from before 

Or new words recently put down to paper?

To bare myself for others to read aloud

Or to continue to hide among the masses?

To stop the muse, to shut her out completely?

NO! It is time to shout

To open my mouth and utter phrases, to cast them 

Into the air and onto the page

To speak, perhaps to cry,

To shout and break all windows keeping me inside.

So I begin …

Once upon a time 

A lovely, lonely little child was born to parents

Who didn’t understand and tried to hide her talents in the mundane.

She fell asleep and drifted on for years and years

Except for staccato breaths of creativity

Until she realized that 

Words have power

Ideas have merit

And time passes by without

Happiness

Unless you grab the moon and fly.

© Catherine Woods 2016