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Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 15, 2023
Early Release for A Heart Made of Tissue Paper
Thursday, July 6, 2023
Cover Reveal for A HEART MADE OF TISSUE PAPER
This is the big COVER REVEAL for a book that has been six years in the making. In the spring of 2018, I penned a simple poem that echoed a heartbroken moment in my life. It made me think about how fragile and yet at the same time how resilient the human heart is. That poem sparked the idea of creating a compilation of poetry based on emotional experiences every human heart endures in a lifetime. The following short poem was the beginning of this book:
It seems
my heart is
made of tissue paper;
I wish
the world would
handle it more delicately.
—Richelle E. Goodrich © 2018
From 2018 to 2023, as trials and triumphs occurred in my life, I penned a variety of verses to add to the book. A few deeply-personal poems were a creative and healing outlet for me, a way to put my emotions as well as a portion of my story into writing. Other verses were written purely for lighthearted fun. Each one—whether simple or complex, lighthearted or severe—has relatable lines that every heart in the world can appreciate.
About the cover... I tried a variety of possible cover ideas before settling on the final artwork. I even took photographs of pink tissue paper folded into the shape of a puffy heart! But nothing spoke to me (so to say) until a painting on the wall caught my eye. It hangs in a sunny room of our house where my husband keeps his keyboard. When we were dating, I painted that modest acrylic picture of him and me, our features basically undefined. He loves that painting because I made it for him. I love it because it was my attempt at expressing tender feelings for him in a simple work of art. Seeing it on the wall reminded me that I have dedicated this book to my wonderful husband. How perfectly appropriate to incorporate aspects of our cherished painting into the book.
So, I took the woman from the painting and placed a big, delicate heart in her arms. The background was created as an abstract marriage of a bright sun cutting through a dark storm. The final artwork pleases me. So, with no further delays, here is the cover reveal for my latest book. . .
Look for it now to preorder on Amazon.
Richelle E. Goodrich Copyright 2023
Tuesday, June 27, 2023
Down to the Cover Art
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Tuesday, April 18, 2023
A Heart Made of Tissue Paper
I am currently working on an original book of poetry titled A Heart Made of Tissue Paper. This book got its start a couple years back when I put together a few poems I had written to express personal feelings regarding trials that distressed me at the time. Since then, I have added to my developing book and now have a nice collection of poems. I decided early on to divide the book into seven separate chapters, each bearing the title of an emotion or feeling that human hearts endure in a lifetime, experiences that strongly affect soft hearts.
Of course the first chapter covers the passion, warmth, and uncertainties of love. I believe the majority of poems written throughout the ages (no, not all) attempt to convey what it means to love. The opposite sentiment, to loathe, has its own chapter in the book as well because we must experience opposites to understand what we feel.
Look for A Heart Made of Tissue Paper on Amazon in kindle, paperback, and hardcover formats sometime this summer, 2023. For now, I would like to share a few poems from the book; something to wet your appetite. I hope you enjoy them.
"It seemsmy heart is made of tissue paper;I wish the world would handle it more delicately."- Richelle E. Goodrich
“I am falling in love with you,
but I can’t say a word.
You don’t care for love.
It has bruised you, broken you, burned you.
You call it a curse. Yet, I fear I am captive of this enemy, love.
You warn of its destructive power.
Oh, but it warms me like none other! It engulfs me in caressing flames, and foolishly I crave more. I can’t bear to suffer the cold, so I let you feed the fire unwittingly.
I am falling in love with you.
I am in love with you,
and it’s getting worse.” - Richelle E. Goodrich
“I want to hear her laugh.
To watch sunbeams awaken her visage and shine through her eyes. To see the gray clouds of regret that hang heavy over her head rain away to nothing.
I want to hear her sunny voice dance on the breeze, as light and free as glossy bubbles, floating up…up…up to pop like hiccups. I want to know the type and form of key I must cut to unshackle even a portion of her joy.
If I could pluck the winning feather; if my smile could convince; if I could stroke her vocal chords like harp strings and make each treble note ascend to euphoria. Oh, to hear the giggled melody she would release into a world craving the balm of mirth!
I ache to experience that. I am desperate for it.
I live for the day I hear her laugh.” - Richelle E. Goodrich
“I found a room, both quiet and slow,
a room where the walls are thick.
Where pixie dust is kept in jars,
and paper rockets soar to Mars,
and battles leave no lasting scars
as clocks forget to tick.
I guard this room, both small and bare,
this room in which stories live.
Where Peter Pan and Alice play,
and Sinbad sails at dawn of day,
and wolves cry 'boy' to get their way
when ogres won’t forgive.
With you I’ll share my hiding place,
this room under cloak and spell.
We’ll snuggle up inside a nook,
and read a venturous story book,
that makes us question in a look
what nonsense fairies tell.
In fictive plots and fabled ends,
Our happy-e’er-afters dwell!”
-Richelle E. Goodrich
“Love by the sweat of thy brow.
Not through whispered words of hollow sound or lofty dreams ne’er substance bound that more than oft do run aground. Nay, love with mighty, blistered hands that turn the soil and carve the land. A bearer of toil and golden band.
Be strong! A founder of the feast!
Protective knight who slays the beast!
For promises and vows aloud are naught but wispy veneer shroud like cobwebs, frail, the airy words and wooing fail. So work, my darling. Toil as proof. Thy loyal heart be drained of youth and yet beat on, incessant sound. Both feet take root within the ground, and service be thy kingly crown.
Love by the sweat of thy brow.” - Richelle E. Goodrich
“Hush, hush.Hear the earth breathe.Watch the wildflowers bloom.Feel the calm of the silent dawn.Be still.”
-Richelle E. Goodrich
“A thousand times over with you,
I yearned to linger in a perfect moment
and stop the passing of time.
A thousand times over with you,
I caught your tender smile and tucked it
carefully away in my heart for safekeeping.
A thousand times over with you,
I took in your sunny gaze and
hoarded its light for the wintry season.
A thousand times over with you,
I heard your laughter and sat silent
as it vibrated like music in my soul.
A thousand times over with you,
I saw your eyes twinkle like stars,
and I made a wish for forever.
A thousand times over with you,
I noted wisdom in your years,
and I filed away your thoughtful words.
A thousand times over with you,
I felt the warmth of your hand in mine
and squeezed tight, reluctant to let go.
A thousand times over with you,
I pondered how quickly mortality ushers us
from sunrise to sunset, and I dreaded the night.
A thousand times over with you,
I embraced the promise of immortality,
dreaming of a day when perfect moments
linger pleasantly on and on and on
a thousand times over with you.”
-Richelle E. Goodrich
Copyright 2020 Richelle E. Goodrich
Sunday, October 9, 2016
Halloween Poems by R.E.Goodrich
In the spirit of
All Hallows Eve, I dug up a few of my original short Halloween poems.
I've added some new verses to the mix in celebration of this spooky
holiday. I hope you enjoy them.
A pumpkin lives but once a year
and on that night it stirs up fear
until its flame is snuffed.
Monsters excite us in this way or that.
They make our pulse thrum and steal lives from the cat!
They're frightening creatures, one peek and you'll see.
Yet life without monsters, how dull it would be.
Your tense, nervous laugh tells me you disagree?
They make our pulse thrum and steal lives from the cat!
They're frightening creatures, one peek and you'll see.
Yet life without monsters, how dull it would be.
Your tense, nervous laugh tells me you disagree?
Witches cackle.
Goblins growl.
Spectres boo,
And werewolves howl.
Black cats hiss.
Bats flap their wings.
Mummies moan.
The cold wind sings.
Ogre’s roar.
And crows, they caw.
Vampires bahahahaha.
Warlocks swish their moonlit capes.
Loch Ness monsters churn the lake.
Skeletons, they rattle bones
While graveyards crack the old headstones.
All the while the ghouls, they cry
To trick-or-treaters passing by.
Oh, the noise on Halloween;
It makes me want to scream!
— Richelle E. Goodrich (Slaying Dragons)
Goblins growl.
Spectres boo,
And werewolves howl.
Black cats hiss.
Bats flap their wings.
Mummies moan.
The cold wind sings.
Ogre’s roar.
And crows, they caw.
Vampires bahahahaha.
Warlocks swish their moonlit capes.
Loch Ness monsters churn the lake.
Skeletons, they rattle bones
While graveyards crack the old headstones.
All the while the ghouls, they cry
To trick-or-treaters passing by.
Oh, the noise on Halloween;
It makes me want to scream!
— Richelle E. Goodrich (Slaying Dragons)
A Halloween flower,
if ever there was one,
would smell like an onion,
have thorns like a rose.
With charcoal black petals
and vines that entangle,
t'would grow under moonlight
in mud, I suppose.
Treats and
tricks.
Witch
broomsticks.
Jack-o-lanterns
Lick their
lips.
Crows and
cats.
Vampire
bats.
Capes and
fangs
And pointed
hats.
Werewolves
howl.
Phantoms
prowl.
Halloween’s
Upon us now.
Haunt an old house.
Ask for a treat.
Laugh like a witch.
Lick something sweet.
Offer a trick.
Wander a maze.
Echo a boo.
Exclaim the phrase—
Normal's unnatural on Halloween!
Ask for a treat.
Laugh like a witch.
Lick something sweet.
Offer a trick.
Wander a maze.
Echo a boo.
Exclaim the phrase—
Normal's unnatural on Halloween!
The jack-o-lantern follows me with
tapered, glowing eyes.
His yellow teeth grin evily.
His cackle I despise.
But I shall have the final laugh
when Halloween is through.
This pumpkin king I’ll split in
half to make a pie for two.
The coldest day in fall
is at the Hallows Evening ball
where ghoulish fun
avoids the sun
as monsters mingle wall to wall.
Copyright 2016 Richelle E. Goodrich
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Poetry as Therapy
Life hands us lovely days and awful ones; angry thunderstorms roll in
that eventually fade to reveal cheery skies. The sun rises to light our
way, always setting to give darkness due time. Every individual faces
trials, feeling the weight of fear and sorrow as well as the immense relief
that comes at their passing.
"No one is without troubles, without personal hardships and genuine challenges. That fact may not be obvious because most people don't advertise their woes and heartaches. But nobody, not even the purest heart, escapes life without suffering battle scars."
Coping with one's feelings during hardships,
finding a healthy way to manage, can often be as challenging as surviving the
trial itself. For some of us, it may be the most trying part. To
think you can escape or anesthetize or ignore your scarred emotions, believing
they will somehow no longer exist is like turning your back on the sun day
after day believing this will negate its effects. The sun was meant to
shine and to warm the world, as emotions were meant to give experience and
meaning to our lives. Yes, even awful emotions have a place.
Various tools exist to promote healing during tribulations; all of
them require the courage to feel.
Poetry is one such tool—my frequent therapy of choice. When I sit down to pen out
a poem, it is with the intent of expressing the emotions and experiences
consuming me at the moment. It is a healing exercise to struggle with
mixing words and my own feelings, pairing them up until I find myself mumbling
creative lines that match exactly the sentiments gripping my heart. Perhaps
I do this to better understand myself, knowing if I can communicate well
enough, others in similar circumstances will feel and empathize and understand.
I have written poems in the happiest of moods and in the depths of
despair. It may be that when you write, you choose to share your verse with others or
with no one. Either way, growth, cleansing, relief all come from the
process.
I Danced with Gods Abandoned All That I Have
Do I Love You
I stand in the night and stare up at a lone
star, wondering what love means. You
whisper your desire—do I love you? I
dare say yes. But my eyes drift back to
that solitary star; my mind is plagued with intimate uncertainty.
What art thou, Love? Tell me. I contemplate what I know—the qualities love doth not possess. Love lifts no cruel or unkind hand, for it seeketh no harm. It shirks from constraints and demands, for tyranny is not love. A boisterous voice never crosses love's lips, for to speak with thunder chases its very presence from the heart. Love inflicts no pain, no fear, no misery, but conquers all such foes. It is said love is not selfish, yet it does not guilt those who are. On a heart unwillingly given it stakes no claim. Love is nothing from Pandora's box; it is no evil, sin, or sorrow unleashed on this world. My eyes glimmer as the star I gaze upon twinkles with brightness I do not possess. I recognize my smallness—my ignorance of the One whose hands placed that star in the heavens for me. He is love. By His own mouth He proclaimed it. Again the whispered question hits my ear—do I love you? I dare say yes. But my eyes squint tight, wishing on a lonely star, wondering what love means. — Richelle E. Goodrich Copyright 2012 Richelle E. Goodrich |
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