(Art by Natalia Maroz)
Stillness surrounds
as twilight fades,
vying the chaos
of the day,
filling my spirit
with sweet respite,
replenishing my
strength
with quiet command,
becalming my senses
with absolute peace.
Angels whisper prayers
silence sings me to slumber,
in my dreams
I hold the stars.
Crystal R. Cook
I remember laying
in the grass with you,
silently watching
the clouds.
We were still young,
innocent enough
to see the playful
shapes hidden
within them.
Our blanket was not
the grass green
from my childhood
color box,
it was not lush
and soft.
The sparse,
dry blades
sharply jutted up
between tiny,
wilting weeds.
My skin ached
where it touched
the prickly surface
of the earth,
but I did
not complain
because I was
with you.
When you
beckoned
for me to
snuggle in
close and rest
my head on your
sleeveless arm,
safe from the
discomfort below,
I knew that you
loved me then.
Crystal R. Cook
artwork – Gerard ter Borch
A lonely young poet
with sweet, red wine
silently welcomes the night
as she would an old friend.
Crimson drops spill
as her glass fills to the brim.
Slowly she sips the nectar
that will transform her world.
Eclectic visions flow forth,
the laureates tongue slurs
under intoxication’s haze.
Her voiceless verbose rambles on
as she empties the bottle.
The crystal goblet glistens
as the days new light
finds its way into her
darkened room.
The page on which she rests
is stained with the color
of tears and old wine.
When she awakes
the words will greet her,
bringing with them
a few, still
moments of peace.
It will last until
the daylight
once again
fades.
Crystal R. Cook ~ 2000
In 1964, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, was published. In 1974, my mother gave me the gift if it.
The Giving Tree became my saving grace and my constant companion. The pages brought me hope; they taught me, and in many ways helped mold me into the person I’ve become. I need not open the book to tell the story; it was long ago ingrained within me. When my children were born I gave to them the very same gift my mother had given me and I’ve watched it become a part of them as well.
I wonder if Shel Silverstein knew when he penned those words just how important they really were. Was he merely writing a children’s story, to be read to sleepy little ones as they drifted off to dream or did he have a greater purpose? I think he did indeed have a much greater purpose in mind.
My children, now no longer children, still cherish the book as much as I do. They read it to me every now and again and my eyes never fail to fill with tears. The tale tucked safely between the covers of the book is a timeless masterpiece of humanity all should be blessed to read.
It is a story of selfless giving and sacrifice. It tells of youthful folly and selfish need, of acceptance and unconditional love. With simple style and unexpected grace, Shel Silverstein brings his story full circle and the moral resonates within the reader, stirring emotions and provoking thought.
Simple illustrations of black against white become colorful visions through the words they portray. I can see the grass and the green of the tree with bright red apples decorating the strong branches, lush with leaves and life. The renderings show such emotion, just sketches really, but they have life when you look upon them.
The Giving Tree is so much more than a children’s book. Readers of all ages would do well to learn the lessons so wonderfully written and shared. From the pages of this simple book I learned to look at the needs of others before taking what I wanted, even though they may have been given freely. I learned to give what I could; I learned to think of the future while living in the present. I learned to value friendship, I learned love was a two-way street and pure and precious love is forever.
This has always and will always be, one of my favorite pieces of literature. The pages may be few, but they hold infinite wisdom. They tell of change. They tell of lessons learned. They tell of growth. There is a beginning and an end, an end that is itself a new beginning of sorts. A moment of self-realization everyone must eventually face. The book ends with an epiphany of sorts, one some learn too late in life.
We should all be giving trees . . . Some of us are still full and vibrant, with much to give, some of us have given so much we fear we have nothing left to give. Ironically, what we still have is often the thing needed most by another.
Crystal R. Cook
To rhyme or not to rhyme, if you choose to rhyme, you must rhyme well, for if you don’t it will sound like . . . Well, you understand don’t you?
From the Devil’s Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce – RIME, n. Agreeing sounds in the terminals of verse, mostly bad. The verses themselves, as distinguished from prose, mostly dull. Usually (and wickedly) spelled “rhyme.”
When asked about English words without a rhyme, most will quite correctly say orange, purple and silver. There are actually many words in the English language lacking a partner in perfect rhyme.
If it’s true rhyme you’re looking for, you may want to steer clear of the words: anything, January, stubborn, apricot, dictionary and xylophone. Good luck with chaos, angry, hostage, rhythm, shadow, circus, crayon and glimpsed. Angst and empty, depth and width will be tough to rhyme, just like glimpsed and else and diamond and chocolate. Penguin and galaxy do not have any true rhymes, nor does elbow or engine, anxious or monster.
A perfect rhyme, sometimes referred to as true rhyme or full rhyme, is defined by the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language as; a rhyme in which the final accented vowel and all succeeding consonants or syllables are identical, while the preceding consonants are different, for example, great, late; rider, beside her; dutiful, beautiful.
Pure rhyme can be broken down even further. Words such as dog and log are single pure rhymes. Silly and willy would hence be referred to as double pure rhymes. An example of a triple pure rhyme would be mystery and history.
The longer the word, the harder it will be to find a perfect rhyme, this doesn’t mean they cannot be used in the context of rhyme however. Para-rhymes are defined as a partial or imperfect rhyme, often using assonance or consonance only, as in dry and died or grown and moon. This is also called half rhyme, near rhyme, oblique rhyme, slant rhyme or forced rhyme. This refers to words that do not completely rhyme, but use like sound to form the desired effect. A common example is the word discombobulate, to create a fluid sounding rhyme, three syllables must be utilized, populate would work well as a half rhyme in this instance. Hill and hell or mystery and mastery are examples of para-rhyme.
Masculine rhyme, or monosyllabic rhyme, is among the most common; this technique stresses the final syllable of each word, as in sublime and rhyme, or went and sent. Feminine rhyme differs in that the stress is on two or more syllables such as pleasure and treasure or fountain and mountain. Identical rhyme is simply using the same word twice.
There are various other examples of rhyme; eye rhyme is a rhyme consisting of words, such as lint and pint or love and move with similar spellings, but different sounds. Rich rhyme is a word rhymed with its homonym such as blue with blew, guest with guessed.
Scarce rhymes are words with limited rhyming alternatives like wisp and lisp, motionless and oceanless. Wrenched rhyme is the rhyming of a stressed syllable with an unstressed syllable as in words like lady and bee or bent and firmament.
Internal and external multi-syllable rhymes utilize the rhyming of more than one word, in this example, bleak and seek are internal rhymes; words within the body of the stanza, while night and light are external rhymes and fall at the end of a line.
So she found him
in the bleak of night,
lost on his quest
to seek the light.
Assonance rhyme is the matching of the vowel sounds, feast and feed, fever and feature. In syllable rhyme, the last syllable in each word is matching, pitter and patter, batter and matter. Consonance rhyme is matching the consonants in each word, her and dark. Alliteration is matching the beginning sounds of each word, often used in a series; perfect, poetic, personification.
Many people wrongly assume writing a rhymed poem is an easy task, until they actually try to write one, that is . . . There is much more to it than seeking words that rhyme, but we’ll discuss it at length some other time.
Crystal R. Cook
One of the definitions for niche is a place or position suitable or appropriate for a person or thing: How do we know just where this elusive, suitable, and appropriate place is when it comes to our writing?
It’s said you must write of what you know and understand, what you love and what you feel. I could choose to write about the care and keeping of coy fish, but it would be nothing more than ad ignoratum as I know nothing of real value regarding coy fish.
I would be recycling information gleaned from reading the words of those who actually do know a thing or two about the subject. This isn’t to say I couldn’t write about the topic, but it would be lacking in personal insight.
Perhaps a reader with just as little knowledge of coy fish would think my piece adequate, but those who have a true appreciation for the large, colorful, coy might find themselves looking for something more. If you don’t believe in or have knowledge pertaining to what you are writing, your work will more than likely show it.
If you aren’t certain where your writing strengths are, you shouldn’t limit yourself to a particular genre before trying others. When I began writing, my goal was to write for children. I tried and I tried, it was awful, but I was so determined I overlooked everything else.
As I sat to write in my journal one evening, I found myself reading instead of writing, I realized I was trying to write in a style which simply did not suit me, my journal read like the pages of a book I didn’t want to put down. I realized it was more my style of writing, stream of consciousness . . . bringing life to the page by painting emotional pictures with words. Every now and again I still attempt a children’s story; I’ve yet to write one worthy of sharing.
If you’re writing something that captivates even yourself, you may just have found that cozy place of penned perfection to slip into. I’ve yet to find my exact niche, the one which completely defines my voice in print. I write what words find their way to my fingertips. Every thought I pen is a piece of me, a heartbeat left to forever give life to the page.
I often write of love and life. Poetry and prose flow forth until darkness makes its way to the page, only to give reign to the light of knowledge as my words transform to teach and inform in articles covering topics I feel strongly about or have experienced and researched myself.
I ponder the possibility; perhaps not having a niche is my niche after all. My eclectic soul, left to roam the parchment with the quill of my choice.
If you write of things you’ve no passion for, things you haven’t knowledge of, your niche will never be found. If you write what flows forth from deep within . . . it may find you.
Crystal R. Cook
Four times a year, I celebrate the birth of a child. Four times a year, I jokingly say I should be the one getting presents and cake and adoration, after all, I did do all the hard work on those celebratory days in our family history. The most joyous days of my life were spent in agonizing pain, pure physical torture, really.
Don’t get me wrong, despite the unbelievable, indescribable, thought it was never going to end, pain, I look back on those seemingly endless hours of labor with happiness and pride. Those were the greatest days of my life. I look forward to celebrating the day each of my children made their grand entrance into the world, I just happen to think good ole mom should get a pat or two on the back as well.
With that being said, I want to thank my mother. Today is my birthday. Today is the day she used every ounce of strength and love within her to give me the gift of life. Today is the day she became a mother. Her entire life changed and she embraced her new identity. When she held me in her arms, the pain she’d endured faded into memory. I wish I could remember the first moment our eyes met. I cherish my mother.
Today, I celebrate her . . .
“Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.” – Carl Jung
Tomorrow I celebrate the turning of yet another page in the story of me. When I awake, my first thoughts of the new day will be the opening lines of my 44th chapter.
Birthdays always seem to be a good time for reflection, I tend to think of all the joys, sorrows, triumphs, and tribulations that filled the last 365 days of my life. Today, I find myself pondering the many things I’ve learned throughout my life thus far.
I’ve learned life is an ongoing process of discovery. Knowledge and exploration of all things emotional, spiritual, and intellectual transform the playground of youth. When I was a little girl, I thought once you reached whatever age it was you became a grown-up, everything you needed to know in life would somehow be revealed. What I learned, was you never reach some magical age when you know all there is to know. If anything, you need to know more and more as the years pass by.
I’ve learned each day is filled with challenges and twists and turns, I’ve learned there is no easy way to navigate through the labyrinth of life. Through trial and error we find new truths, we gain wisdom through experience, in turn we continue to grow and evolve into the person we will be when tomorrow comes.
I’ve learned it’s okay to make mistakes as long as we find the lesson in each one. I’ve learned it’s okay to fall as long as we pull ourselves back up, as a matter of fact; I realized we need to fall in order to learn how to stand.
There was a time in my life I thought I could do it all on my own, I thought I was supposed to. I’ve since learned it’s okay to ask for help. I now know there isn’t one among us who can live a full life without the aid and support of those around them. I must admit I still struggle at times, I’ve not yet learned to ask for help often enough, I’ve not yet learned how to fully accept it when it’s offered. Sometimes the learning process is long; perhaps this is why God gave us an entire lifetime to study.
I’ve learned to listen and to learn from listening. I’ve learned strength can be gentle. I’ve figured out being strong doesn’t mean putting up a wall, while it may keep the unwanted out at times, it isn’t impenetrable and too often it keeps out the good we need to keep our hearts from breaking. I’ve learned love is real and wonderful and deserving of both giving and receiving. Love is something you give and accept without condition.
Growing older has only brought me closer to the values and morals my parents worked so hard to instill within me. Faith, character, honesty, integrity, and humble pride are important companions as you travel through life. Without a road map, it can be hard to know just which way to turn when the paths are many, these are but a few life lessons which serve to provide the direction you need to reach your ultimate destination.
Every action we take impacts the way our future will unfold. What may seem to be nothing more than a shiny pebble in the road can become a mountain we must one day climb if we choose to pick it up and put it in our pocket instead of passing by. The pebble may be a moment of weakness, one wrong choice, one opportunity missed. Things in life are not always what they seem. That one little pebble may be the heaviest burden you will ever carry.
I’ve learned time is precious and fleeting. I’ve learned children grow much too fast, every moment must be treasured and used to teach and love and nurture them so they know how to pass those pebbles by when they come to them.
I’ve learned sleep is a gift, hugs are essential and respect is more than powerful, it must first be given if you expect to receive it. I’ve learned sometimes tomorrow doesn’t come and every hour of every day counts. I’ve learned sometimes the faster you try to get somewhere the harder it can be to get where you want to go.
I’ve learned not to let go of hopes and dreams, not to forget what it was like to be a child and to let the child still inside you come out to play. I’ve learned we must let go of anger or it will control us and eventually destroy us. I’ve learned there is no room for love in a heart filled with prejudice and hate. I’ve learned to give when you can and help when you should. Sometimes the impossible is possible and what seems so easy can be the most difficult. Simplicity can be complex and complexity can be simple.
Parents are gifts to be treasured and honored and revered. Grandparents are angels in waiting and when they hold you in their arms you can feel their wings wrapped around you in comforting warmth. I’ve learned never to miss a chance to say I love you or I’m proud of you or I miss you and need you.
I’ve learned sometimes we get second chances, but we should always try to get things right the first time. Failure is not optional, it is inevitable and it is a great teacher. Worry is wasteful, anger is unproductive and disappointment is fleeting. I’ve learned you must accept yourself if you wish others to accept you.
I’ve learned God is good and real and miracles happen and the only unanswered prayers are the ones never meant to be. I’ve learned faith truly can move mountains, angels exist and heaven awaits those who believe. I’ve learned acceptance is one of the greatest gifts you can give to another and I have learned ignorance can be contagious and we are the only cure. I’ve learned God truly is pure and perfect love.
I’ve learned I still have so very much to learn . . .
Crystal R. Cook
“It is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows.” – Epictetus
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