Blog by Dana Latisha Young
A.K.A Day Love
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Peace
Poem by Dana Young
That elusive, tangible feeling
comes when I reach for my pen
Pouring my heart out on blank pages.
Covering them in barely legible scribbled words
that only I can comprehend.
Peace is the breath I release when my
words take shape into the semblance
of a poem or a cathartic journal entry.
Peace is my surprised smile when I read
my thoughts aloud,
surprised at what I created.
Peace is the sound of the journal closing
from the satisfaction of a therapeutic
moment completed.
Poem by Dana L. Young
Indecision,
never met her
But I know her way too well
She has settled in my brain,
Uninvited.
A tenant that I can’t evict.
Every time that I think I’m in control
I’m proven wrong.
I change my locks
Take back the key, but
She finds an alternate way
To get inside.
I think I learned her tricks.
I understand her twisted games.
Her ability to make me confused
Even after I choose a path.
Her ability to keep me guessing
And going in circles
Like a merry-go-round.
It isn’t fair.
I hate the way she makes me look
When I can’t answer a question
Because I’m unsure of the answer.
When I can’t choose a direction
Because both paths seem right.
My life feels like multiple choice questions.
At every step I’m making guesses.
The safest option from A to D is C.
Because I can’t figure out what to do
My life needs option E
For all of the above.
Indecision
Never met her
But I know her…
I think.
(C) Dana Young July 26, 2024
Time
Poem by Dana L. Young
Time is so fleeting
passing quicker than the blink
of an eye.
Quicker than a speeding car
Quicker than a first place runner
But never fast enough
When you are waiting for
something to come
Or the day to end
so the next one can begin.
Poem by Dana Young
Tears, like rain wash my face,
soothing away pain, erasing blame
from my troubled mind.
Seeking peace hidden, so securely in misery.
So much beauty in the past, fading quickly like,
A passing storm. Warm drops of tears, like dew
caress my face, mesmerizing, tantalizing
memories dance across my troubled mind
but move away as I draw near. Vision barely clear.
A veil of sadness hides my heart, conceals my soul.
Forcing my troubled mind to rewind, to a time
of peace,
short-lived as always.
These are thoughts of a troubled mind,
Rewinding memories better off forgotten,
Swapping truth for fairy-tales, viewing the world and its inhabitants as
obstacles.
Too heavy to budge, too huge to go around,
too scary to face head on.
But I must.
Troubled mind or not.
It’s my mind, and it’s the only one I’ve got.
In our minds we may have a clear vision of what we want to say but sometimes the thoughts don’t fully translate on paper. We may not be able to convey the verbal or written message in that perfect way.
As Writers we are perfectionists. We want to put out our best work because we are also our worst critics. Something just doesn’t “feel right” or “sound the way it should”. So we agonize over the lines and try to figure out how to fix it.
That is what we call editing. Going over our words to try to find the perfect meaning and the right way to say what we want others to hear.
To edit, you must feel and see. It’s almost like a tangible feeling when you read your poem and try to get it to flow naturally. And stop at each line trying to see how it flows into the next line.
A good way to edit is to read your poem aloud after writing it. Read it slowly and with meaning and the authority of someone who has something to say. Take it line by line and pay careful attention to how the words sound. Is the line or sentence too lengthy? Do any of the words look, sound or feel wrong somehow? It’s okay to mess around with the structure of a sentence so that it flows better. After all, it is your work. You decide what is needed.
After making any alterations, read your poem again. Does it sound better now? That’s good. Take as much time as needed to make the poem reflect your mood, tone, mindset or whatever influenced the poem.
Does the poem speak to your creative mind and describe the mood or tone you wanted to show? If so and you are satisfied then the next step is to have another person read it. I would suggest at least 2 people. One person that you are close with and if you feel comfortable sharing your work then the other person can be someone you don’t know very well or a near stranger. Someone that can read it in an unbiased, objective way.
If you are satisfied with the final poem then the last step is to do whatever makes you happy. Whether it’s to add it to your personal poetry collection or post and publish it. You decide.
Poem by Dana L. Young
Giving false hope should be a crime.
Jumping my heart rate with brief moments of joy.
Thinking that I’m getting something because of the repeated phrase
“One more thing needed then you’ll get it.”
Only to have that hope and joy snatched away in a cruel twist of fate.
False hope is unkind because it forces you to finally be able to exhale and inhale in relief
Just to have the wind knocked right back out of you.
With unnecessary strength.
I hate false hope because it’s more fiction than a story,
More shaky then walking on a rickety bridge
More uncertain then a sheet of ice covering a lake
Daring someone to walk across it.
False hope causes brief hikes of happiness
That quickly turn to sorrow.
And That quick change of emotions
Is bad for your heart and mind.
So giving false hope should be a crime.
Poem by Dana L. Young
I see hunger in your eyes…
But don’t be surprised
No I can’t read your mind
But I read between lines.
Every whisper, wink and smile
And grin as your eyes bow
Down as if thanking me
for a gift of love so sweet
So sweet…
that we never had.
Imagined and replayed in your mind
Yes sir, I read between lines.
Poem by Dana L. Young
I’ve been lost for a while, like a cherished
but forgotten toy
Sitting in a Lost and found box at school
Not knowing when someone would find me
Pick me up, dust me off and save me
From being suffocated by other lost things.
Feeling my hope slip away as the time ticks away.
Each time a curious hand grabbed an adjacent lost item from the box.
I’d feel it. This pain in my heart.
The fear of never being found.
Of being trapped in this box forever.
One of the forgotten things,
Destined to be transferred to wherever
The next destination is for archived,
Ancient lost items
That are past their expiration date
Like old food, discarded.
I’ve been lost for a while.
Not knowing how to survive.
Until I realized that despite the
Obstacles and chaos in the box
Surrounding me
I have the ability to try to save myself.
So while I may still feel lost at times.
I still work. I’m not broken.
I am still capable of finding
My way home.
Poem by Dana Young
Written May 10, 2017 8:33 pm
Smiling Still
On my journey home from work
In pain but still I find joy in the little things
The brightness of the street lights,
The uniformity of the cars moving in single file
Like children exiting a classroom,
The smell of the dark, still air as it teasingly caresses my smiling face.
I’m smiling because there is pain in life but more reasons to smile even in the little things
