I learned this week that I’ve had a poem accepted for display at an international conference!
I started writing poetry when I was 7. My first poem was published in our school’s parent newsletter. Years, I mean decades later, I’m still thrilled when I have a poem accepted in a publication or for a display.
In my teens, I once had a poem included at a state cultural expo. A national or international conference, though, is a first.
I encourage my students to go out on a limb and share their writing. To receive recognition for doing so is an unexpected reward, like completing another marathon! For me, the hours spent becoming a better writer are like the many miles run to prepare for a marathon. Not every mile is exciting, and some are accompanied by aches and pains, but getting to the finish line is heaven!
I am grateful to:
1) My daughter for inspiring me to begin this blog where I first introduced the poem I wrote last summer.
2) My husband for putting up with me.
3) All of you for inspiring me to continue my blog after I had reached my goal of writing every weekday for an entire year. Your feedback is wonderful!
4) Amelia Earhart, one of many courageous pioneers I have always wanted to know more about. She was a woman ahead of her time, but in so being, she brought more attention to Civil Rights and inspired others to soar higher.
This was the poem I submitted:
The Ballad of Amelia Earhart
All I wanted was to fly higher,
to find endless skies.
Men determined too much of my life:
a father, giddy from flights of wine
who came crashing down
from his career and then we had to leave
one town after another until I found
more promising horizons and offers
to soar into the unknown.
But why did fame always greet me
with men who wanted marriage
to keep me safe and home?
I had to prove them wrong,
to fly higher and solo,
to hold my own and not drown
if I came too close to the sun.
All along, though, I knew
someday I would come down
so far that I would never
again leave the ground,
and men who ground me forever
except when they decide to tease me
about my one last flight
as if perhaps I’m still around
like a myth who never leaves
with wings intact or broken,
whose final act is interrupted,
tragic and unspoken.
Written by Rüdiger Rückmann
on 8 July 2017