Bound & Chained, Yet Somehow Free

The Lady of Shalott by William Holman Hunt inspired the following poem, written in response to my poetry group’s December prompt: “Write a poem about a picture or photo that speaks to you.” I fell in love with Hunt’s The Lady of Shalott when I first saw it at the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, CT, where it is on permanent display. During a little pre-writing research I learned that this painting was inspired by Tennyson’s ballad of the same name.

It was the colors
And the hair
The wildness
That made me stare

The way the canvas
Still, but moves
Lady bound
In chaos loosed

How flaming shadows
Crown her head
While feet dance
In light instead

I’ll write a poem
Then, I thought,
Remembering
Her of Shalott

But as Hunt creates
A window
To a room
Inside a window

Where a mirror cursed
With magic
Reflects that
Window tragic

So my words devise
A poem
Of a picture
Of a poem

Enduring art, a
Clumsy rhyme,
Both by Tennyson
Inspired

Until today, I
Knew her not
The Lord’s Lady
of Shalott

Now, knowing what I
Know of both
I still like
The painting most

To gaze upon her
Fiery hair
Tangle in
Her web-like lair

To let his pallete
Color me
Bound and chained
Yet somehow free

©️ Nichole Q Perreault

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A Poor Girl’s Music

In the blackness
A small radius:
My hands
The edge of my pillow
My face
Lit by the glow of my phone

My thumbs quick, but sloppy
Autocorrect failing to predict
What I want to say

I hold the backspace key
Watch the words fall away
One by one
But fast
Like disappearing dominoes
Satisfying

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Uncomfortably Speaking | Writing with Purpose

A friend sent me this a few weeks ago:

 

 

 

 

 
She gets me. (She’s also a total rock star but that’s beside the point.)

I’m no Ernest Hemingway, but I’ve etched my pain all over the pages of this blog. Hard and clear. Ugly. Scary-to-look-at. And oh, so very uncomfortable. For you. And for me.

When I share my writing with anyone, it’s like giving them a piece of myself:

Hello there. I’d like to share my art with you, which is a risk, because you may hate and reject it. Or even worse, you may hate and reject me. But let me show you anyway…let me show you my deepest thoughts and greatest fears, my hopes and dreams, my shame and guilt and failures…open your hand…yes, there…perfect. Here’s my heart, my very soul. I hope you take good care of it.

That’s how I feel every time I click “Publish”. And yet I keep publishing.

Why?, you ask. Ummmm…because God tells me to? (Insert hiding monkey emoji)

If ever there was a time for the term “cray-cray” this is it, right? Oh, she cray, alright. Or maybe she’s just arrogant? Presumptuous? I get it. Believe me I do.

And yet, that’s the truth. God has called me to speak, to share and to write. So I do. Even when I’m reluctant or embarrassed or downright terrified.

There’s a quote by the famous runner, Eric Liddell: “God made me fast. And when I run I feel his pleasure.”

Well, I do NOT relate to that. At. All. When I run, the only thing I feel about God is that with every step and every gasp I’m getting closer and closer to meeting Him face-to-face. Maybe that should make me love running. But mostly, I hate running. If you see me running, you should join me, because I am probably fleeing a wild animal, a ravenous zombie or an apocalyptic disaster of some kind.

So, while I don’t know exactly how Mr. Liddell felt, I do know this: God gifted me to write. When I write, God reveals the truth to me…the truth about Himself, about others, about me. And in those moments, I feel His pleasure.

I can already hear the gears in those big brains of yours, clicking and cranking…just like mine would if I were reading this. You’re thinking, “Wait a minute. Does she think she has a free pass to write whatever she wants? Is she saying that she never makes mistakes? That her word is as good as God’s?”

Well, of course not! Geez. (Could you see my eye-roll from there? Sorry. Reflex. Those are good questions to ask.)

What I am saying is that I write on purpose. I choose my words carefully and prayerfully. There is a method to my madness. And it looks something like this:

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Creation 

Photo by Mike Petrucci (Public Domain)


My heart is in my eyes, like a periscope

reaching up from deep inside my chest, 

feeling everything I see. 

But not seeing everything I feel, 

I choke and sputter, 

searching for a picture, 

a story to settle the waves. 

Fumbling, my fingers 

cannot draw the dream,

cannot sculpt the scene

and so I paint with words. 

Paint a landscape 

with letters in black and white,

lines and curves 

that you speak to life 

with your heart-voice,

your mind-voice, 

your silent voice only you can hear. 

And your soul’s ear 

hears my unsung song, 

melting words like wax, into colors 

that splash across the canvas 

of your mind. 

You color in my landscape with you. 

So that together, 

you and I, 

we create this something.

This one thing.

Together. 

We paint a world.

© Nichole Q Perreault 

Freedom, Fear and the Discovery of Truth…Sort Of

To my friends, readers and subscribers. I have been a little “stuck” lately in my writing and so, in trying to get “unstuck” I have joined WordPress.com’s Writing 101. As a result, I may be posting more than usual over the next month. My apologies for clogging up the inboxes of my subscribers. I debated not posting this one, but so many of you are my friends and while I write primarily to understand, I also write to be understood. So those of you who are my friends and family: Welcome to 20 minutes (or a bit longer) of my free-wheeling inner dialogue and thanks for being my friend anyway.  

So after hours of agonizing over this “free” write assignment, here I am. Writing. How “free” it is, I’m not sure. The only way I can even do this assignment is to tell myself or at least pretend that I’m not going to publish it. Because the moment I think someone is going to read it, all freedom goes out the window. Which I hate. Because, honestly, I like to think of myself as someone who is rather free-spirited and not burdened by what others think. The reality, however, is that I do care what others think.

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Not Quite Lunch Poems 1 & 2

I WANT….

VINES AND ROSES
I want to write beauty
Words that wrap and wind around each other
Like vines and roses
Strong and rich
Living and breathing out air heavy with the fragrance of mystery
Yet light enough to ride along a breeze

STORYTELLERS
I want to tell a story
Not mine but Another’s
Already written yet still being told
This story lives
And I live inside its words – because of its words
They are written on my arms, across my face
Upon my beating heart, drifting on the wind that leaves my lungs
Words unrecognizable
Symbols and signs from another time, another place
Perhaps never spoken but by One
And yet they speak of me
Of you, of all
They are every story
And the only story
One that was and is and will be told
Wont you tell me?
And I will tell you…

Written in response to the WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge
Not exactly written at lunchtime but kept to a limited time without overthinking.